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reidsconverse · 4 years ago

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bookstore • spencer reid

Spencer x Reader

Warnings: None

Based off of this request: reid,, falling in love w the reader bcos he sees them constantly in a bookstore reading his favourite fiction author (perhaps,,, stephen king,,,?) but he’s too shy to talk to them

It all started when his usual used bookstore closed for renovations, which was slightly more than an inconvenience seeing as the second closest used book store was a 30 minute drive away. He’d finished work early one day and decided it was time to stock up on some books to last him a week.

He got to the store about an hour before closing, just enough time to browse the shelves and see what this place had to offer, on the outside it looked bigger than his usual store which he thought could be a good thing considering his ability to fly through books at such a fast pace.

A small bell rang as he entered the store, the door that was slightly stiff with age closing behind him, there was one person at the desk who he assumed was the owner, they shared a quick smile as an acknowledgment of the presence of each other before returning back their original tasks. Spencer set out to find a copy of IT by Stephen King, Garcia had made them watch the movie at their last BAU movie night and it had sparked his intrigue to reread the novel.

The store wasn’t difficult to navigate and he easily found his way to where the book should have been, except it wasn’t there. He had called ahead earlier to confirm they had it to avoid a wasted trip. He quickly turned the corner to go and ask the person at the desk what had happened to the copy when he saw her.

Now truthfully, Spencer didn’t think he believed in love at first sight... until he saw her. Tucked away in the corner, wearing a beautiful yellow dress paired with a pair of yellow converse, she looked ethereal and Spencer almost forgot where he was and what he was doing. But then he saw it, no literally IT...the book he needed sitting in her lap and currently the owner of her attention.

Just as he was about to approach her to question her about the book, he saw her check her phone and sigh before getting up to put the book away. Spencer couldn’t help but watch her as she collected her things and prepared to leave, he wanted so desperately to stop her, ask her her name or even about the book. He just stood there frozen, pretending to look at the shelf of books.

“Are you lost?” He heard a small voice pipe up shaking him out of his trance, quickly turning around to see you looking up at him with wide eyes. “I know this store pretty well, I could help you find what you’re looking for.”

He stared at you for a few seconds before clearing his throat, “Uh no I’m ok thank you.” He regretted it the minute he said it, here you were offering to help him, to spend time with him and he had said no.

“Oh, ok, I hope you find what you’re looking for then!” The girl said, giving Spencer a wide grin. “This store has an amazing collection of works, I’ve been coming here for years although I never buy anything, I prefer to sit here and…,” She paused when she saw Spencer staring at her, she grinned sheepishly and pushed a strand of hair out of her face, "and I’m rambling I’m so sorry.”

“I-its fine, it's nice to see I’m not the only one who appreciates the vibe of bookstores, and I’m the worst when it comes to rambling I could talk for hours, my friends hate it when I start to go off on a tangent…” Now it was his turn to grin sheepishly, “as I’m doing right now.” He finished.

The girl giggled and looked up at him before saying, “You’re cute,” Her face quickly matching his in flushing red when she realised what she had said, “oh my god I’m so sorry I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

Spencer thought he’d died and gone to heaven. "No it's fine, thank you." He hated how awkward he was, why couldn't he be more like Derek with his smooth pick up lines and charms, maybe if he was less him he might've had the courage to continue the conversation and get her number, but no all he did was smile at her .

"I'm Y/N." She said, holding her hand out for him to shake.

He quickly looked down at her hand and before he could stop himself he blurted out, "The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss." He saw her purse her lips in confusion before retracting her hand and he immediately felt awful, "I'm sorry I don't know why I said that, I'm Spencer."

She smiled at him gently and nodded, "It's ok...It was nice to meet you, Spencer... I uh, I have to go but I hope I see you around here again." She gave him a quick wave before walking over to the front desk, smiling brightly.

“I’m almost done with the book Laurel, it's incredible. Stephen King is so talented.” He heard her say.

“Oh y/n, I didn’t tell you, someone called ahead and placed a hold on the book.” Laurel, who Spencer presumed was the guy at the desk, told the girl with a sad smile.

Spencer felt his heart physically hurt at the smile dropping from the girl's face, a small adorable pout forming on her face and she let out a small, “Oh…that's a shame, hopefully, you get another copy soon. I'll see you next week!”

He heard her bid goodbye to Laurel followed by the bell ringing out through the store, indicating she had left. He quickly walked over to pick out the book he had come for, however, his intentions had changed in the short period of time he'd been in the store. He took out his pen and began to write on the title page, something he would never normally do but he had to see her again and this seemed to be the only way.

He took the book to the front desk informing Laurel he had been the one to call ahead and put it on hold, before paying for it. He looked up at Laurel and said "Actually, could you keep that safe and give it to the girl that was in here before...her name was Y/N. I overheard her saying that she was almost done and I've read it more than enough times."

Laurel smiled at the awkward man standing in front of him and nodded, "Of course, she'll be so pleased, she's been coming in once a week to read it and it would've been such a shame if she couldn't finish. You're so kind for doing this, I know she'll appreciate it."

Spencer smiled before glancing down at his watch, taking in the time and knowing he had to leave now in order to avoid the traffic back, he quickly bid farewell to Laurel and made his way back to his car before beginning his journey back.

- one week later -

Y/N made her way back to the bookstore a small spring in her step despite her disappoitment that she was to be unable to finish the book she had been reading for the past few weeks, she was excited to select a new book.

The bell rang as she walked into the store and she smiled brightly when she saw Laurel at the desk, "Hey L, how are you?" She said, walking over to him.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm great and I have a gift for you." He said grinning at the young girl.

Her ears perked up at the mention of a gift. "A gift? Laurel you shouldnt have."

He chuckled before handing her a copy of the book she had been intently reading for the past few weeks, "Oh honey, this was nothing to with me... I think you should take a look inside." He said with a small smirk before going to the backroom to do whatever it was he needed to do.

She slowly walked over to her usual seat in the store and sat down before opening up the book, she let out a small gasp as she saw the note Spencer had written the week before.

Dear Y/N,

I hope you don't find this strange or too forthcoming but after our brief meeting last week I knew that couldnt be the last time I spoke to you. I overheard you (I promise I wasn't purposely eavesdropping, its just a small store) mention how you love this book and how you hadn't yet finished it, I also heard how disappointed you were when Laurel told you someone had reserved it. That person was me but I realised that I'd much rather allow you to finish the incredible book than reread it for the 5th time. I hope you enjoy the ending of this book, if you would like to discuss it with me and share other book recommendations please feel free to text me. I'm not the best at technology but I am good at talking about books.

Here's my number: xxx-xxx-xxx

Kind Regards,

Spencer

She closed the book quickly, pulling out her phone and typing in the number.

Y/N: Hey Spencer, this is Y/N from the bookstore, I got your note. Would you like to meet up for coffee soon and we could discuss the book?

He replied back almost instantaneously which took Y/N by surprise.

Spencer: Hello, I'm so glad you weren't weirded out by the note I left, my friend told me it was a little creepy and I was worried. Coffee sounds great, shall we meet at the coffee shop opposite the book store tomorrow at 5?

Y/N: Sounds great! Its a date! :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x you #my works!

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rokutouxei · 3 years ago

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a solitary walk

genshin impact | G | 2478 | [ ao3 ] side hu tao/xiao | hu tao birthday fic!

every year, hu tao lives her life the way she believes it ought to be lived—loud and outright. even if reincarnation was real, and that one day we might die and then return to the earth once again, we will only ever be living this very life once. only once in these special circumstances, with these people, in this environment. it’s not because she fears death—no, it’s exactly because she knows death will come to her in the end that she lives like this.

lives treating the stone lions like they were actual cats.

lives climbing up the treacherous cliffs of huaguang stone forest to write poetry.

lives spooking others, walking late at night along wuwang hill.

hu tao knows death like the back of her hand, which is why life means so much to her. why she lives so much of it.

there is only one year a day when the anxiety is stronger than usual. when hu tao feels like living through these ideals is simply not enough. when she begins to doubt her place among the living, when no funeral pyre of inner demons can clear her head. on this day, on her birthday, it’s the long journey taking her from liyue harbor to the solitary mountains of liyue that truly takes out the storm in her heart, heavy and pounding.

when she can be between the pages of herself, among the voices of people she hopes love her.

“going out today, director hu?”

zhongli is, as he usually is at this hour, promptly sitting in the study of the wangsheng funeral parlor, likely just having finished some morning lecture to the undertakers. hu tao hums, whizzing around him as she peers at what book he’s holding. a history on rex lapis.

“no business today, maybe we need to rework our advertising strategy,” she says, straightening her back. “with you here, i get free time to take a walk and think of better marketing tricks.”

“please don’t use me as an excuse to skip work.”

“aiya, what do you think of me? that’s not what i’m doing,” she pouts. then, she points at the book in his hands. “what were you reading?”

“the undertakers were interested in something i said about the themes of death in liyue’s history, and i was merely reviewing my history,” zhongli answers, strangely more somber than usual. “it is mortal to fear death, but it is to go beyond what it means to be mortal to try to comprehend death as greater than something to be afraid of. as with rex lapis, who surely has witnessed a great many losses in his long lifespan.”

“what do you think the divine feel about death, zhongli?” hu tao asks, hands behind her back, looking up at the mysterious man who always seem to know more than he let on. “do you think it still means anything to them, when they live across so much time and space?”

“i think, director hu,” zhongli says, “that every death can still leave its mark. the archons were mortal once, after all. to not fear death does not mean to not honor its rightful weight.”

“hmmm,” hu tao nods, deep in thought. “you may be right.” then, a clock down the hall begins to toll, and she is shaken out of her reverie. “aiya, what time is it! i have to go, thank you for entertaining my question. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

hu tao is just about out of the door when he speaks again.

“director hu?”

she blinks. “yes, mister zhongli?”

he gives a smile that feels like it bears too much memory. “happy birthday.”

hu tao only beams at him, and then hops out of the door.

hu tao still remembers the disdainful stares of some of the older, more conservative people of liyue once the kids caught up to her little “hilichurl song.” something about little children chanting about death and murder in such a joyful manner did not sit right with several of the elders. this reflected poorly on hu tao, but—

did it matter?

the kids were—are—having fun, the song is catchy and she wouldn’t be conceited to say that everyone in liyue knows it at this point…

she remembers the little boy who had run up to her, who had returned fresh from a funeral rite up in wangsheng, holding her still-ashen hand saying, “you’re the big sis with the hilichurl song! teach me! teach it to me big sis!”

she remembers being that young.

she doesn’t quite feel like being this old.

the least she can do is immortalize its transcience; she’d write all the poems on death for the living if she had to.

she encounters xingqiu, who has obviously just come from his daily perusal of wanwen bookhouse, two books under his arm and another clasped between his fingers. she comes up right up before him and goes—

“xingqiu!”

he doesn’t even flinch, long used to hu tao’s little antics. he finishes reading the paragraph he is on before putting the book down, smiling at her.

“well, what is my liege doing this fine day?”

“oh, i’m off to take an adventurous little walk! what are you up to today, young master?”

the honorifics turned pet names were special little sparkles in their conversation. it had become so normal between them they no longer think about it, but the others who overhear are a little more curious.

“to put a little spice into the lives of a young exorcist and an aspiring cook, would you like to join me?”

were it any other day, hu tao would have said yes. there was nothing quite like getting off work early and messing around with chongyun and xiangling, mixing up the ingredients, activating excess yang energy. but today was not that kind of day, so she shakes her head and gives a little smile at her friend instead.

“not today, unfortunately. but soon, for sure!”

xingqiu nods. but before he leaves, he pulls out a bookmark of pressed silk flowers from behind his back, and hands it to her.

“taken fresh from the wilderness.”

“you mean yujing terrace?”

“where i got it is of no matter—” xingqiu says, stifling a laugh, “but instead what message it brings. may you find good company on this special day of yours, my liege.”

hu tao smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, the one that so few people see, and then pushes xingqiu lightly down the road toward wanmin.

“go cause trouble!”

the first half of the journey is a lot less tricky. at a certain hour every day, without fail, there are wagons that begin their trip from liyue to mondstadt. hu tao usually hitches a ride on one of these all the way to wangshu inn, where she stops for lunch.

wangshu inn has become such a common culprit to their little meetings that no one gets surprised to see her anymore, smiling and waving at everyone all the way upstairs to the top floor. (sometimes she even passes by the kitchen for some almond tofu, but, ah, yanxiao doesn’t really want her using the kitchen, if for the sake of the food she makes.)

today, when she gets there, she finds aether and paimon sitting at the tables at the very bottom, waiting for their meals to be served.

“hu taaaaooooo!” paimon calls and waves, to which she waves in response, hopping up the stairs to get to them.

“if it isn’t the mighty traveler and paimon! my offer for a discount coupon for accidents is still available, if you’ve changed your mind!”

aether ignores the joke entirely—wisely—and asks, “not staying at the parlor today?”

“aiya, does that seem like such a strange occurence? is it wrong for the director of a funeral parlor to catch a break?”

“...from offering discount coupons for parlors?” paimon turns to aether. “and why so far out here of all places?”

the traveler knows. “we haven’t seen him today.”

“do not fret! the ever omniscient hu tao knows exactly where he will be,” she teases. “can i join you for lunch?”

"wait!" paimon whines. "who's he?"

hu tao orders nothing festive, just some plain snapdragon salad and some fish, but verr goldet hand-delivers a little assorted tray of desserts anyway—red bean soup, mango pudding, custard—all on a celebratory looking plate. she whispers to hu tao: “from the young gentleman.”

and aether’s eyes go wide as plates in realization, but before he can say anything, hu tao hushes him with a finger, not wanting paimon to make a big deal out of it. the traveler only chuckles, paimon neck-deep into a bowl of noodles, and mouths happy birthday while facing the director.

once lunch is over, they talk a little until their stomachs settle with the food, but then they are on each other’s ways. aether and paimon, headed up to mingyun to clear out a camp of hilichurls that have been causing trouble, as commissioned by the guild. hu tao, to qingyun peak, where the clouds can brush over her cheeks.

“are you gonna walk all the way there?”

“oh, it’ll take me just a few hours. i’ll get on any patrolling millelith carts if there are any. i’ll be fine. thank you, traveler!”

“take care, hu tao!” aether calls out. “and send my regards!”

“i knew i would find you here,” hu tao says, as she lands ever so gracefully on one of huaguang stone forest’s highest peaks. xiao sits there, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. the exhaustion from the journey sinks into her bones as soon as she sees him, as if knowing she will find rest in him—perhaps the same way the sun has sunk dark blue into the horizon.

“i’m here because i knew you’d be here,” he retorts. not even turning to face her. hu tao sinks wordlessly next to him, her hand on his lap.

she loves the way they fit together like this, two puzzle pieces magnetized to each other.

“thank you for the desserts.”

he places his hand over hers and squeezes.

xiao has never been the type for comforting words. the best he can offer is his understanding silence, the kind that makes hu tao know he can comprehend what is going on in her little, mortal mind--even when she herself is not sure where exactly her thoughts are taking her.

“i wanted to bring you almond tofu, but it would have melted on the way here.”

“you don’t need to worry about me.”

you know i’ll worry about you anyway.

worry about yourself.

i already do, why else do you think i’m here but for rescue?

here in huaguang, the breeze silences everything in her mind that speaks, so that all that remains is this: just her, just xiao, just liyue’s star-dotted night sky.

just good company.

no dead, no ghosts, no demons. just them.

they stay there until time seems like it stops existing.

the thing about xiao and hu tao’s relationship is that somehow they always find each other perfectly as one needs the other. it has always been like that from the beginning. from the very first time hu tao had gotten herself lost around mt. aocang, cornered by a family of geovishaps hell-bent on getting her for disturbing their nap; to when hu tao had found xiao slumped against a tree, bloodied with his mask on his face and near unable to breathe, her presence and stupid humor like exorcising the demons clinging onto him;

they find each other always, as if sensing death on the other, and they come to the rescue.

without even needing to call out each other’s names.

hu tao, leaning against him like deadweight, turns her hand around so they can interlock their fingers together. xiao does so wordlessly, and hu tao memorizes the warmth of him against her skin.

keeps it in the back of her mind for when he isn’t around.

they speak without speaking, passing each other the same old questions like they always do.

what if i die today?

you’re not dying today, hu tao.

what if i die tomorrow?

you’re not dying tomorrow, xiao.

who will take care of you when i am gone?

who will remember huaguang like these, starry nights with our hands clasped together?

who will i come to when i’m in need of aid, when i need someone who sees death as i do?

don’t go, it’s too early to do so.

hu tao only voices out one of many, many thoughts passed between their intertwined hands, when she says, “when death finally comes for me, thousands and thousands of years before yours, adeptus xiao…”

xiao hums.

“remember me?”

he scoffs just the littlest bit and hu tao knows he means always. “rest,” he says, as xiao turns and presses a kiss on the side of her face, tucking a pair of qingxin flowers with braided stalks behind her ear. one he’d made before she’d arrived, prepared to find her in this state.

“for sweet dreams,” he promises.

while in his arms hu tao dreams of her grandfather.

she is watching her young, 13 year old self host her grandfather’s funeral, incredibly young and small and out of place in the grandeur. her yéyé liked grandeur, and it was hu tao’s mission that day to make sure that everything about his grand goodbye went the way it was planned.

it was hard.

she was calm, and composed, and so unlike the hu tao the rest of liyue knew that day. she was solemn during the entire ceremony, not a twinge of a smile or a frown on her face, just calm and detached like it wasn’t her grandfather she was preparing to set off. like his hat wasn’t sitting on her desk at home drenched in her tears.

the present, older hu tao looks on to spot the little signs of breaking left unnoticed by everyone else, like the little ticks at the corner of her mouth, her hypercontrolled breathing, the way she squeezes the staff she’s inherited specifically for this day, under her grandfather’s request.

and while the younger hu tao does not catch him, the older hu tao spots her grandfather among the trees, standing there with his hat still on, in his usual garb, the kind that reminds her of chanting poetry in the afternoon and—

—he smiles.

at younger hu tao, then, eventually, at her, older, smarter, more mature hu tao, as if saying:

thank you.

you’ve done so well.

before he disappears into a fog of light.

hu tao does not feel the need to follow.

hu tao wakes up in her room in wangsheng funeral parlor smiling, feeling the clouds still on her face, qingxin still in her hair.

#huxiao #hu tao #hu tao genshin impact #hu tao genshin #genshin impact #genshin #xiaotao

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap. I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion. It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue. In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Well, not a stranger. Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic. Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived. The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless. Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey. For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness. Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door. Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots. A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well. I wouldna squander yer food. I have all we need right here.” Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist. An experiment.”

Two saucepans were set on the stove. Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed. To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken. After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates. Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model. “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure. Variability,” my teacher argued. “See here? If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key. An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic. It was otherwise quite bland, though. When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good. Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know. Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken. If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing. Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one. “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp. Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?” I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour. Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result. It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones. From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist. Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch. Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour. Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking. When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour. We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route. “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside. Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door. He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November. Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics. I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them. There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided. Honey-crisp apples. Peppery radishes. Herb-infused venison sausage.

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours. Still, I complied immediately. A rubbery moisture tickled my lips. “Open,” he said simply. I opened. “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy. Thick. Salty. Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises. His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction. The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough. Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser. My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile. Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one. Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium. Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure. Closing my eyes as I ate, every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold. Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks. It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door. Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway. No-one was there. Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch. As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam. Homemade cock-a-leekie soup. I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever. Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest. I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted. I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself. As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm? Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry. Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.” He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What! Jamie, what are you doing here? You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles. An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist. Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep. Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth. Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon. We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith. Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him. We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity. I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station. He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces. Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks. I chopped. Mary baked. Angus filleted. Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall. Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs.

Music played in the background. Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings. Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside. The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved. One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done. Claire, ye were a godsend. Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing. Glancing down, I felt my face fall. I’d completely forgotten about Frank. Now he was texting, asking me where I was. I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse. As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger. “Congratulations.”

He said the word as though every syllable pained him. I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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comfreyhollywings · 2 years ago

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Hi!! May I hop on the exchanges train? 😁I use my cards and my intuition, I hope that's okay! I'm curious about what the near future brings into my life( romance, career, whatever what's to come out lol). Honestly your blog gives me tranquility vibe, peace and calmness.💜💟💜 The exchange = From tarot I got the 9 and 10 of Wands, page of Wands. While shuffling and getting the cards my body and shoulders were feeling heavy? Similar like the man on the 9of wands card, are you exhausted? It seems like you are working on something and have been dealing with a certain struggle for some time, now I didn't pull cards for what the exact matter is but it feels close to your heart and your passion. You seem perhaps a bit confused to what the next step is and how long to keep going, but the 10means and ending so its safe to day your troubles and weight will be lifted and u will finally figure it out. It's gonna end. After that you can feel young and like a child again, you might even start something new and exciting. I keep thinking of travel, so a new journey za short trip or a summer vacation? If not, just the feeling of rejuvenation and brand new hope.

Hope you enjoyed this reading! Tell me how it resonates 😂 my initials are MCS ♥️

hello hello, mcs !!! ✨✨ thank you for hopping into my exchange reading !!! honestly... yes. i am exhausted. there were a lot of situations i have on my plate that i've just cut away. i've also have a couple of passion projects very, very dear to my heart but.. trying to balance them is difficult with stability is difficult. hearing your reading does resonate with me and i am dearly clinging onto the hope that this weight will finally end and be lifted. plus... travelling sound like heaven right now ;;; i really would love to embark on that new journey. ╔═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╗ - The High Priestess - Ace of Swords Rx - 3 of Swords Back of the Deck: 10 of Pentacles Rx ( bonus cards: Ace of Wands and the Magician Rx ) ╚═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╝

i feel.. sad. there is this current situation that you’re kind of in the middle of right now. like.. i don’t… have a solid grasp on it because everything feels so confusing. trying to tap into your energy, it’s.. hard to find the words or even process the sort thing you got going on. is this a family situation? could it be that your entire family sort of flaked out on you or proved to be instable? so you’re.. sort of in shock about the situation? like i honestly can just barely type about the situation as much i want to because your mind isn’t allowing you to process things as you’d like. i have the feeling that your family is in poverty so they left you behind in some way to have you fend on your own, and it’s like… so sudden. and so traumatic. i have a feeling that a religious organization is also involved in this situation at the moment.

i know you asked for a future reading but i think your guides are a bit more adamant to give you validation that they see where you’re at.

“why are you so self critical?” “feels like there’s swords pointed all around me.” “hard to breathe.” “can’t tell anybody. “trying to communicate and using logical thinking is blocked.” you’re…still in shock. a lyric from jhene aiko's nobody: ┴┈┈┈┈■┈┈┈┈┴ No one ever listened, no one called me pretty Everybody called me Penny, I think I am worthless I don't have a purpose Who am I enough for? Why we always lose what we work for? Why we hurt more? Why we never see my mother cry? She's so tough for us, poor her

┬┈┈┈┈□┈┈┈┈┬

is that how you’re feeling? firstly, it’s okay to feel how you’re feeling. you don’t need to rationalize things. second, trust in your intuition and allow yourself to grieve. it’s okay to wish for better times. it’s okay to want something good to happen. it’s okay to allow your mind to wander at times. the more you try rationalizing it, the more you end up blocking yourself. think of emotions like data. they tell you things, but it’s up to you whether to accept the data. they’re neither good or bad, but they’re telling you important things that you might want to pay attention to. when you allow them to flow, you allow yourself to talk about it. and there’s no shame in that.

i drew out some bonus cards for you because this.. was heavy. and you deserve something to hold onto. so, for the future: you got The Magician Rx and Ace of Wands. um. okay. tea. so.. i have two interpretations for this. 1.) whatever your intuition is saying about this religious organization or whatever, you’re most likely correct. it… feels like.. this organization is using a facade/mask under the illusion that they’re doing your family good when they’re really tricking them. your gut feeling is spot on and you will inevitably find a voice in what you have to say about this through your creative works. 2.) this is a wakeup call for you to express yourself because this situation is like an ‘illusion’. the magician card talks about “as above, so is below”; but with it reversed.. it kinda feels like you’re nuking yourself in the foot with the lack to want to express and create a voice for you to take part in. you will find your voice. this won’t last forever. you’re not alone.

#exchange readings #exchange game #tarot reading #tarot game

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thefinalcinderella · 3 years ago

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Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 5)

Hakone finally starts in the next chapter, which is like, 80 pages long

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Kamaboko is a type of fish cake and Odawara is well known for its high quality Kamaboko

2. Zouni is a type of soup that contains rice cakes and is usually eaten on New Year’s Day

Previous | Next

That night, Kiyose was planning to explain the Hakone Ekiden entries as well as hold a drinking party. After training and jogging, the residents gathered one after another in the twins’ room.

Kiyose had gone off somewhere after training. Nico-chan and Jouta were in charge of cooking; they were probably making something to serve as an accompaniment to the drinks. Thinking he should help, Kakeru was just about to leave the twins’ room and go down to the kitchen when his phone rang. It was his home phone number in Sendai.

His parents hadn’t contacted him once since he had moved to Tokyo. He had sent them a postcard with Chikusei-sou’s address, but that was it; just transferring the money for school fees and minimal living expenses into his bank account was enough for him. His parents had wanted him to go to university on a track recommendation because they had had high hopes for their son as a well-mannered track athlete.

When he pressed the button to answer the call, he heard the nostalgic voice of his mother say, “Kakeru?”

“Mm.”

“You were written up in a magazine, weren’t you? We told you so many times not to do anything that would make you stand out. Your father is very angry with you. Are you listening?”

“Mm, sorry.”

“Please put yourself in our shoes, living here. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing for the New Year’s holiday? Are you coming back?”

“No, I’m going to be in Hakone, so I don’t think I have time to come home.”

“Ah, yes,” his mother’s voice took on a distinct note of relief. “Okay, then. Take care.”

Clutching his now-silent phone, Kakeru stood in the middle of the stairs for a while. In a daze, he belatedly noticed Yuki’s presence at the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Yuki said. “I didn’t intend to eavesdrop.”

Yuki was holding a bag from a record store in Shimokitazawa. No matter how busy he got, he never lacked music in his life. “No problem,” Kakeru answered, and walked down the stairs to stand in the hallway with him.

“Was that a call from home?”

“Yes. They got angry at me for standing out.”

“You’re the man of the hour, after all,” Yuki laughed. If it was Yuki, he might be able to tell him—Yuki was so far the only one not happy about being interviewed. He wanted someone to hear out his painful feelings, so Kakeru deliberately confided in him as though it was no big deal.

“I don’t get along well with my parents.”

Yuki was silent for a minute.

“I see. It’s the same for me,” he said. “In my case, I guess you can call it being overprotective. My mom remarried. The guy’s not a bad person, and I have a little sister who’s a lot younger than me, and she’s pretty cute, I guess, but… It bothers me when I’m told 'we’re your new family now' and get fussed over a lot. To be honest, I don’t want to get too close to them.”

“How old is your little sister?”

“Five.”

“Eh, so she’s more than fifteen years younger than you, Yuki-senpai?”

“Yeah. My mom’s doing her best,” Yuki pushed his glasses up as though to say, Good grief. “It’s a given that family members would bother you. You have to not expect too much from them and keep a reasonable distance.”

Yuki walked towards his room—it seemed that he had given his advice. “Okay,” Kakeru answered, and then went to peek in the kitchen, which had been noisy with the sound of running water and pots falling from a short time ago. Then, Yuki returned to the hallway.

“That’s right, Kakeru,” he said. He beckoned him to a corner of the hallway. “When I was coming back, I saw Haiji at Seijo Station.”

Is he doing some shopping? Although it was a station where express trains stopped, Kakeru and the others didn’t go to Seijou that often. If anything, they usually went to Soshigaya-Okura Station, which had a folksy and mixed atmosphere.

“He went into an orthopedics clinic in front of Seijo Station.”

Kakeru jerked in surprise. There was an old scar on Kiyose’s right shin; even after the qualifiers, he had looked like he was having a hard time. Kakeru had completely forgotten about it in the commotion of training and interviews.

“I don’t know much about the injuries of track athletes.” Yuki knitted his brows. “But maybe Kiyose’s isn’t completely healed.”

In any sport, the best athletes all had some sort of injury, and track and field was no exception. Hard training and risk had always gone hand in hand with each other—the more you trained, the sharper and more delicate your body became.

“If he’s seeing a doctor, they’ll stop him if he gets too reckless, so that actually makes me relieved, but…”

“Would Haiji listen to the doctor? Especially at this time.”

That’s true, Kakeru thought. The fact that he had gone to the doctor meant that he must be feeling some kind of discomfort, maybe even distinct pain. Even if he requested a prescription to suppress the pain, Kakeru had a feeling that Kiyose would not listen to the doctor’s advice.

“I understand. I’ll ask Haiji-san later,” Kakeru assured Yuki.

Kiyose returned to Chikusei-sou before they knew it. Kakeru carefully twitched his nose around Kiyose to see if he could smell a poultice, but he couldn’t find any evidence.

“You’re a strange guy.”

That was all Kiyose said to him.

“There’s been a lot going on lately,” Kiyose said, looking around at everyone gathered in the twins’ room. “Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll get our answers through our running.”

“Haiji-san, you’re so cool!”

“’What do you want with our Kurahara?’”

The twins, who had already been drinking, made fun of him. Ever since the incident with the Shinjitsu Weekly reporter, the twins seemed to have recovered their trust in Kiyose.

“The month of November is finally coming to an end. There’s no time left until the Hakone Ekiden,” Kiyose continued, ignoring the twins. “From now on, taking care of your physical condition will be the most important thing; be careful not to get injured at the last minute.”

At the word “injured,” Kakeru couldn’t help but exchange a glance with Yuki.

“Kakeru, explain the entries for Hakone,” Kiyose said, and Kakeru shook off his worries for now. The gazes of the residents, sitting in a circle, were focused on him.

“The first step is to submit the names of up to sixteen people per team to the organizer on December 10,” Kakeru began to explain. “At this stage, who will run which leg will not be revealed. Next, on December 29, it will be the leg entry, where the sixteen runners will be narrowed down to fourteen, and ten of those people will declare which leg they are running. The remaining four will be treated as alternates. Changes in leg entries are allowed on the day of the Hakone Ekiden. The final runners will be announced before the start times of the outward and return trips. However, once a runner is removed from a leg, they cannot be entered into another leg.”

“I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Jouji asked.

Kakeru thought about it a little, then simplified it. “Suppose Rokudou’s Fujioka was entered into the second leg on December 29. This means that Fujioka cannot be assigned the fifth leg in the final entry change on the day of Hakone. If Fujioka isn’t feeling well on the first day, they have no choice but to put one of the four alternates in the second leg, and even if Fujioka recovers on the second day, he wouldn’t be allowed to run.”

“I see.” Musa nodded. “Conversely, if Fujioka-san is one of the four alternates, can we assume that Rokudou will change its entry on the day of Hakone?”

“That’s exactly right,” Kiyose said. “If there’s a strong competitor in the alternate slot, then they are either not feeling well or they plan on changing the entry of an important leg on the morning of the race as a secret weapon. After seeing the entries for each leg on the 29th, each university will consider its strategy and, trying to read their opponent’s mind, unfold a new strategy.”

“We can’t lose focus even right before the start, can we?” King seemed to feel pressured. “But we only have ten people, so that’s got nothing to do with us. We don’t have strategies or anything.”

“It’s true that we will be showing all our cards on the 29th.”

Feeling uneasy, Kakeru looked at Kiyose; Kansei had no alternates, and once they made their entries, it wouldn’t be possible to switch legs. He wanted to know what Kiyose thought about that.

“We’re not the only ones with a small lineup,” Kiyose said calmly. “Changing your entry on the day of the race can be a good or bad thing. After all, sometimes it won’t go well when you’re suddenly asked to run. In fact, there are many schools that have a policy of not changing the leg entries unless there is a serious problem. Knowing that there’s strategy regarding the entries, it’s better to know early on which leg you’re running so that you can prepare.”

“Haiji, have you already decided which legs we’re going to run?” Yuki asked.

“Yeah,” Kiyose said and straightened his posture. “Of course, if you have any objections, we can discuss it, but I think this is the best we can do for now.”

Kiyose took out a memo from his track pants and laid it out in the center of the circle. Everyone leaned in to take a look and let out cries of surprise.

Hakone Outward Journey (Day 1)

First Leg Otemachi to Tsurumi Prince

Second Leg Tsurumi to Totsuka Musa

Third Leg Totsuka to Hiratsuka Jouta

Fourth Leg Hiratsuka to Odawara Jouji

Fifth Leg Odawara to Hakone Shindou

Hakone Return Journey (Day 2)

Sixth Leg Hakone to Odawara Yuki

Seventh Leg Odawara to Hiratsuka Nico-chan

Eighth Leg Hiratsuka to Totsuka King

Ninth Leg Totsuka to Tsurumi Kakeru

Tenth Leg Tsurumi to Otemachi Kiyose

“Me in the second leg? I cannot do it.” Musa was trembling all over. “The second leg is the section for the aces, yes? Why is it not Kakeru then?”

“It’s pretty bold to put Prince-san in the first leg…” Jouji reservedly tilted his head.

Even Prince muttered, “What are you doing throwing the race from the start?”

Kakeru immediately understood what Kiyose was trying to do when he saw the lineup he had planned. Haiji-san is going to try to win the race in the second half. He’s seriously aiming for us to get seeded. No, if the race goes the way Haiji-san thinks it will, it won’t be about seeding—with these placements, we can aim for a much better ranking…!

They were such a weak club that they were in danger of not surviving next year. They were just a bunch of amateurs that had finally managed to crawl up this far, but Kiyose didn’t know the meaning of giving up; he was always looking upward, holding up dreams and goals, and firmly leading the residents of Chikusei-sou. Aiming for the heights of running. Aiming to reach the top of the Hakone Ekiden—the ultimate intermediary between individual and team competitions.

Seeing from the entry form how serious Kiyose was, Kakeru clenched his fists. If he hadn't, he would have gotten so excited that he would have ended up looking like an animal.

“Prince is the only one for the first leg,” Kiyose said gently. “Maybe it’s because you don't have any interest in the 3D world, but you’ve never been scared at the meets or qualifiers; you’re the most suitable person for the first leg, which has the most attention focused on it. You’re also tough enough to have kept up with the training until now even with your very slow times. I’m sure you’ll be able to hold your own in the race.”

He casually said something rude again, Kakeru thought, but Kiyose wasn’t lying about his expectations. Prince must have felt that as well, and a light came into his eyes.

“But in these past few years, the first leg has often been fast paced.” Yuki asked a question based on the data he had collected: “This time too, won’t each school choose a runner for the first leg based on speed?”

“There’s also a chance that it’ll develop at a slow pace in reaction to that. That’s a gamble,” Kiyose readily admitted. “But even if Prince gets separated from the others, he can still make up for it in the first leg. That’s why I chose a solid group of runners for the second to fourth legs, and there’s no one but Shindou who could do the fifth leg’s mountain climb, right? Musa and the twins should be able to steadily make it there.”

“It is too much for me to run in the ace’s leg.” Musa didn’t seem convinced.

“What do you think?” Kiyose turned to Kakeru. “Musa seems to want you to run the second leg.”

“No. I think Musa-san is the perfect fit for it,” Kakeru said with conviction. “Musa-san has been training while pushing aside all sorts of pressures. Even though he never did long-distance before, he can now run ten kilometers in the low 29-minute range. And Musa-san has always encouraged me.”

His effort and personality were second to none. Musa was an ace among aces.

“You are giving me too much credit, Kakeru,” Musa said, embarrassed. But it was unanimously decided that he would run the second leg.

There were no objections to the twins running the third and fourth legs, and they were very enthusiastic about it.

“The third leg is a road that runs along the sea. The scenery’s really nice,” said Jouta.

“Can we buy some kamaboko (1) in Odawara?” said Jouji.

The fifth leg was good with Shindou, but the problem was the sixth leg, which was Yuki’s mountain descent.

“Why am I doing the sixth leg?” Yuki asked Kiyose, looking for an explanation.

“On the trial run the other day, your posture was very stable. Normally, when people run down a steep slope like that, they’d be bent forward,” Kiyose glanced at Yuki’s legs, which were in a cross-legged position. “Also…you have thick legs.”

“What?”

“No, it was a compliment. Anyways, if your legs and loins aren’t solid, the sixth leg is out of the question.”

“It’s like sturdiness is my only good point. You say that, but what would you do if I get hurt?”

“It’s fine, isn’t it? You already passed the bar. You won’t have any opportunities to do serious track and field after graduation.”

“Oi oi, that’s irresponsible and cruel…” Nico-chan said, but Yuki was surprisingly calm and said, “You have a point,” accepting Kiyose’s words. If it made sense, he would swallow any cool-headed opinion. It was a method of persuasion that perfectly grasped Yuki’s character, and Kakeru was once again in awe of Kiyose’s ability to manipulate people.

“About Nico-chan-senpai in the seventh leg and King in the eighth leg,” Kiyose continued, “I think that when you get to this part of the route, the runners will start to break up, and there will be times when you’re running by yourself. You won’t be able to see the runners from the other teams in front or behind you. Even in situations like those, both of you will be able to run at your own pace without panicking or becoming careless. The battle to get seeded will intensify, so this is an unassuming but important section.”

“Are we planning on getting seeded?” Jouji nervously asked.

“Of course,” Kiyose decisively stated. “Now, for the last two legs, I entered Kakeru into the ninth leg, which is also called the ace leg of the return trip. As for the anchor, the tenth leg, I’ll be the one responsible for it, as I was the one who said we’re going to the Hakone Ekiden and got you guys involved.”

Kiyose only gave a brief explanation for himself and Kakeru. However, Kakeru thoroughly sensed Kiyose’s feelings for the Hakone Ekiden, and he also knew what kind of running they would have to show in the ninth and tenth legs.

Kakeru looked at Kiyose. Kiyose was silent, then nodded at him.

“That’s all. Are there any questions or thoughts?”

No one raised their hand. Pulled along by Kiyose’s conviction, everyone was finally thinking about the Hakone Ekiden as something concrete, and their fighting spirit was rising.

“Okay. Until the announcement of the entries for the legs on the 29th, what I told you is of course confidential. I want each of you to do your own image training and study the leg you’ll be running.”

Kiyose picked up his cup full of alcohol and said, Let’s drink. “With this team, it’ll definitely turn out well. Twins.”

Jouta and Jouji looked up when they were called.

“I’ll show you the top. No, we’re going to experience it together. Look forward to it.”

Kiyose smiled like a fearless king.

After the drinking party had reached its climax, Kakeru quietly approached Kiyose.

“Haiji-san, your legs aren’t doing well, are they?”

“Why do you ask?” Kiyose gently countered and poured himself another drink. Kakeru was at a loss for words—there was no way Kiyose was going to complain, however doubts swirled in Kakeru’s chest.

Haiji-san told Yuki-senpai, “You won’t have any opportunities to do serious track and field after graduation.” Isn’t he really talking about himself? Isn’t he going into this Hakone Ekiden with the resolve that he’s not going to be able to run anymore?

He was scared just thinking about it. Not being able to run was the same as dying for Kakeru. He believed it was the same for Kiyose. And yet, he…

“There’s nothing like what you’re worried about.” Kiyose smiled and spoke, “Come on, you drink too.”

Kakeru couldn’t say anything and drank the alcohol Kiyose served him in one go, full of anxiety. Kiyose was wearing that padded kimono jacket with the frayed cuffs. Soon, Kakeru would have spent all four seasons with the residents of Chikusei-sou.

Kakeru recalled the night he met Kiyose for the first time—the night when everything started.

A strange feeling like nostalgia and longing sprouted in his chest.

---

The residents of Chikusei-sou continued to train wholeheartedly even into December and had a quiet New Year’s Eve together in their rundown apartment.

On New Year’s Eve, they went to a nearby shrine to ring the temple bell, and on New Year’s Day, they ate zouni made by Kiyose. (2)

The tension was building minute by minute, but even that felt good. It was because he wasn’t alone; in Chikusei-sou, Kakeru could feel the presence of the people he had been training and living with.

He wasn’t alone—until he started running.

He had comrades who were always, always, waiting for him to start running, to finish running and to come home.

The ekiden was that sort of sport.

---

At last, it was January 2.

The Hakone Ekiden began.

It was the end of the year-long battle the ten of them had been engaged in. At the same time, it was the beginning of the first and last fierce battle of the ten, which would be handed down as long as there was a Hakone Ekiden.

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

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what-the--curtains · 3 years ago

Text

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 4- A Story in the Sand

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: A crime scene leads to Arianne’s captors, freeing her however is an entirely new problem.

Authors Note: hello all you lovely people! Sorry for the wait but motivation still evades me! Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this part!! Ill be moving this week so ill be MIA for a bit hope yall r staying heathy and safe💕💕💕

TW: mentions and allusions to sex (nothing depicted), blood, nudity, swearing

Word count: 6.4k

Tagged: @evyiione, @xsadderdazeforeverx , @agingerindenial, @ayamenimthiriel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The red hues of the rising sun paint the outside of the wooden stables that you walk towards. The smell of straw and manure fills your nostrils as you enter through its immaculate doors, the shade of the structure cooling you off as you take note of Oberyn. He had for-gone his typical golden hued robes for armour not too dissimilar from yours. A single horse standing in the cross ties.

“Can you ride or will we ride together?” he questions, hand smoothing the colourful fabric over the creature's back.

“I can ride, my prince,” you say, smirking slightly as he turns to face you.

“I think I'll be the judge of that,” he quips.

‘”I meant a horse,” you retorted flatly, spreading a map and Arianne’s journal down on a nearby table.

“Did you? are you sure,” he whispers in your ear, before looking down at the map from over your shoulder.

“Your daughter handed me this yesterday,” you say, ignoring the sudden heat rushing over your body and looking down at the map.

“What is that?” he asks

“Ariannes journal,” you reply.

“They must have broken into her chambers to get it,” he murmurs

“Broken in?” you question head turning back to him, causing him to return to his full height.

“She was under strict watch until, well now. What do the pages say?” Oberyn probes.

“ She’d been planning on leaving for some time, though she doesn't go into detail. I assume it's due to being locked up like a common prisoner. She convinced those that brought her food and guarded her to help her escape,” you say “My brother feared she would be murdered after our sisters death, so he kept her under close watch, ” Oberyn admits

“He made her a prisoner, in her own home,” you spit

“I did not say he’s reasons were valid,” he remarks, watching you eye him. “By the looks of it she was planning on heading to Norvos,” you state, making a mark on the large map. “which means if she's as smart as her entries would have me believe, they would have taken the longer cut through the desert, to avoid any bandit groups, or watchguards,” you continue, tracing the route down on the map, “do you know the surrounding terrain well?”

“Yes it’s flat sand mainly, a few rock forests, some dunes. The heat is the main concern, or perhaps the lack of water, and the scorpions of course,” he lists, unfazed.

“It's about a day's journey, so we will have to make camp at night, though I am more than capable of going alone, if you are needed here,” you say, turning to face him, giving him an out, assuming he preferred the comforts of the palace.

“I am needed to find my niece,” he assures you dutiful to his role as ever.

“Then we should depart as soon as we can” you say, as the stable boy reappears with another horse for you. It nudges its long nose into your back, pushing you forward slightly Oberyn's hand stopping you from hitting into his body. You turn, a smile spreading across your face as you chuckle in disbelief.

“rytsas uēpa raqiros” *Hello old friend* you whisper, resting your head against its snout.

“Seems you know one another, ” Oberyn says.

“I sold this horse three years ago to one of your palace guards,” you chuckle as it nudges into your face “or did you know that already?” you ask, looking back to him.

“I may be good, but I'm not that good,” he admits “ it seems destiny has brought you here after all.”

“Destiny or fate?” you question

“Does it make a difference?”

“All the difference in the world,” you say stroking the creature's long nose, its large eyes blinking at you, ears relaxed.

“She reminds me of you,” Oberyn states.

“Is it the hair,” you remark and he laughs, caught off guard by your making jokes.

“Perhaps, do you need a saddle?”

“I can make do without one,” you say, hoisting yourself up onto the back of your horse before following Oberyn out the gates into the Dornish wilderness.

“I wasn't aware they spoke High Valyrian in the north, nor that the schools taught it,” Oberyn states, turning around on his horse to face you. His eyes sparkled in the sun, the hint of playfulness dancing on his face as he began to engage you in conversation.

“gaomis daor” *they do not* you say smiling at the look on Oberyn's face as he tries to parse out the language from the multitude of others he had learnt as a child. Perhaps he should have paid closer attention to his studies.

“You don't speak it?” You ask, surprised considering his accolades. “Not as well as I should and not since my school days,” he admits, immediately regretting his decision when a wicked grin crosses your face.. “kostilus lo ēdā pikībagon tolī pār ēdā ēdas qogror ao'd gīmigon skoros vestran” *perhaps if you had read more, then you'd know what I was saying* you laugh, causing Oberyn to grumble before turning back ahead. You kick into a canter, pulling up beside him to continue your provocation. “kostilus nyke kessa ánghowa ao isse Valyrīha pār” *perhaps I will insult you in Valyrian then*

“I do know a few words, sīr urnēbagon aōha ēngos,” *so watch your tongue* he shoots back clumsily causing you to chuckle slightly watching his jaw clench eyes looking to you, almost annoyed. Seeing the look on his face you break off into a canter and he follows suite.

The two of you ride in relative silence until the sky sinks into a deep indigo, the black of night creeping up threatening to expose the stars.

“Shall we make camp here?” he questions and you halt your horse, hopping down to assess the area. You push on the few standing trees, sturdy enough to tie the horses too for the night. The area was open, exposed, but so was everywhere in the desert. You roll a dead log over and a scorpion scurries out. You stab it with your knife.

“Should do for the night, though we should keep watch just in case,” you say gazing up to him as he dismounts. Opening the side satchel and retrieving your provisions for the next day and a half. You break off a portion of the deadwood pairing it with the desert grass as kindling, blowing on the ember until it turns to flame. While Dorne remained hot throughout the year, its winter months were marked by cold nights, the desert retaining little heat and temperatures becoming frigid.

You shuffle through the bag you had packed pulling out a long rope wrapping it around the camp area.

“Afraid of snakes my lady?” Oberyn queries, a laugh dancing on his lips.

“Only the venomous ones,” you retort as you lay the rope flat, ends overlapping. “What about vipers?” he asks, prodding the fire causing the flames to flicker, the sparks beginning to burn bright as night falls.

“Gentler then I initially thought, still deadly however, always lying in wait. If pushed their prey doesn't stand a chance. I do hope I have no reason to fear a viper attack,” you respond as you drag the remaining driftwood into the circle huffing as you let it drop, slightly displeased that Oberyn had taken the optimal resting spot beneath the two trees. You drop to the sand propping yourself up, chest heaving. You shoot him a glare for not helping you as he throws you half a loaf of bread and some cured meats the palace chefs had prepared.

“You have no reason to fear me, though that glare has me fearing for myself,” he chuckles, tearing off a piece of the dried meat with his teeth. Your glare softens, something about the Prince often managing to lessen your frustration.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to sleep outside your usual comforts,” you say, chewing on the salted meat, eyes looking just above his head.

“I attended a brothel before I left. Such pleasures make trips such as these much more… bearable,” he admits, tearing off a corner of the bread and popping it in his mouth.

“Especially when the return promises a warm bed and warm hole to bury yourself in,” you state, causing Oberyn to choke on a piece of bread coughing it up before breaking into a deep laugh.

“Did you parents ever teach you proper manners, or is it true the northerners are as brutish as the rumours claim,” he ponders gleefully, wiping his lower lip slowly with his thumb, eyes still on you.

“My apologies, must be easier for you to have a man or woman to bury yourself into at the end of such a displeasing trip with such unsatisfying company my prince,” you offer, smiling sarcastically at him.

“Perhaps I'll have to do something about that tongue of yours discipline you, seeing as no one else had bothered,” he remarks, eyes darker, slightly more dangerous than before. You squeeze your thighs together shifting your weight slightly, his words sending a sensation through you.

“Or you could save time and have me hung,” you offer, trying to direct your attention away from the heat pooling at your core.

“That would save me hours, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun,” he confesses, beginning to grow bolder as he watches your positive reactions to his words.

“This is all very improper,” you say stoically, “you are a prince after all, you should know better than to speak to your subjects in such an adulterous manner,” you prod,

“Princes are well known for disciplining those who speak out of turn,” he says

“All princes or just those who sleep with half of Westeros?” you chide

“You say that as if it is an insult, your puritanical Westeros beliefs would lead you to see me as a walking sin,” he states, head thrown back in a building laughter.

“Aren’t you though?”

“I see something I want and if they want me I take them, there is nothing wrong there,”

“Your daughter seems to think, you only invited me back to the safety of your home based on my appearance” you state, keen to find out if he merely saw you as another pretty thing to have.

“And what if that was true,” he queries

“then you're not the man I believed you to be. To show kindness to someone solely because of there face,” you scoff, shaking your head

“Perhaps you have mistaken me then, though I would have allowed anyone to stay safely in the walls if needed, besides I find beauty in all the sun shines down on,” he says, confused as to what he had said to upset you, you were beautiful he’d be foolish not to pursue you.

“I'll take the first watch,” you say, tiring of the conversation at hand.

“I…” Oberyn begins, but you cut him off.

“I insist, you are a prince after all and I am but a humble subject, my duty is to watch out for you,” you state, he raises eyebrows before leaning back against the tree crossing his arms over his chest and falling asleep.

The moon was bright tonight and it's cool tones paired with the fire’s warm hues illuminated the prince in a magnificent way. You study his handsome features as you try to unpack the feelings that had been clawing their way out of the cage you had built around your heart. You pull Robbs knife out holding it up hoping for some kind of divine sign you suppose, but nothing comes. You loved Robb, you thought of him every day and every day you hoped that he’d return, or that you’d wake up and he would be next to you, all of this nothing more than a bad dream. But you knew such thoughts were foolish, Robb was dead, he wasn’t coming back to you, at least not in this life. Your eyes rise once again to Oberyn. You watch his chest rise and fall, longing to feel his arms wrap around you, but this thought was equally as foolish. His flirtatious nature towards you was obvious, but it was the same with everyone. As he said, he finds beauty in all the sun shine down on and those he finds beautiful he brings to his chambers. You weren’t willing to abandon your husband for a brief moment of fleeting passion. Besides you were sure he’d be bored of you when the morning came. Your future held no such luxury of finding peace with another, no any hopes of that died long ago. You lean back against the log waiting for the sun to rise, problems always seemingly less heavy in the warm glow of the morning. The sun begins to creep over the horizon, the fire only embers now. You throw sand over it snuffing it out before lightly kicking Oberyn's boot. He opens one eye first, displeased as the being awoken as such much preferring waking in the arms of two or three, or four lovers, though he would have happily settled for a single individual had they asked. He looks up to see you illuminated by the sun, a golden aura radiating around you.

“Why didn't you wake me sooner” he asks, both eyes now open and alert to the fact you had let him sleep through the night. “Wasn't tired, besides you're much more agreeable when you're asleep,” you joke, smirking down at him. “You’re more agreeable when I'm asleep as well,” he retorts, causing you to chuckle

“Not far now my prince,” you say reaching your hand out and pulling him up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun radiates off the desert sand, a stark contrast from the cold of the night. You’re sweating heavily when you bring your horse to a halt, Oberyn mimicking your behaviour watching as you dismounted into what appeared to be yet another expanse of the desert. You kneel down on the sand wincing at the pull of an old injury. The surface is hot to touch. You run your fingers through the first few layers, it's cool beneath. Noticing a small dip in the ground you crawl ahead a few inches. You scoop up the sand bringing it to your nose, the smell of copper fills your nostrils, you dig a little deeper. The sand has clumped together. Liquid had been spilt here, but there had been no rain for at least a fortnight. This, this was blood. You stand up scanning for other dips in the ground, potential burials, any weapons, a trail of blood, but there's nothing but the small indentation where you stood.

“How old is Arianne?” you ask

“10 and 6” Oberyn responds, still mounted on his horse staring down at you doubtfully.

“Is she a slight girl?” you continue to question.

“Average sized,”

“Less than a large foot soldier though?” you ask, beginning to get frustrated with his refusal to directly answer your question.

‘Yes,” Oberyn answers, brow creased as the sun hits his eyes. Too much blood for a girl her age. Something glinting in the sun catches the corner of your eye and you bend down retrieving the reflective arrow tip. Only then do you notice the trails, likely left by footprints, evidence of hand to hand combat.

“There was a fight, it began here, but it's not where it ended, how many men were with her?” you ask

“Three,” he says, watching you staring in the distance towards a large dune “what do you see?” he queries, increasingly interested in the inner workings of your mind.

“Carrion,” you say walking back towards him.

“Vultures?”

“Could be a dead animal, could be human,” you say swinging yourself back up onto your horse and trotting towards the birds which scatter upon your arrival. The dune covered a deep windswept valley, large rock formations created by high speed winds decorating the basin.

The maze stretches a few hundred miles, as you begin to descend your foot kicks something heavy, causing you to curse the gods loudly as Oberyn arrives by your side. Before he can ask if you’re injured your on your knees digging at the area, pulling out a metal shoulder piece

“One of yours?” you ask

“ Yes that our sigil” he says, watching your nose scrunch in disgust.

“Do you smell that?” you ask.

“No,” he admits

“Death,” you say, his face hardens as you continue down the dune, following your nose through the rock formations. Oberyn follows you curiously through the naturally formed maze. He sees you standing, and his eyes follow your line of sight up until he sees what has stopped you. Three bodies slowly decomposing in the heat, skin pecked at by scavengers, a large pile of ash beneath them.

“Must have been her carriage,” you say crouching down, most of the pile had blown away only the heavier fragments left, a few large pieces of wood and metal, you brush it away, revealing a locket among the ash. You pick it up dusting it off before offering the locket to Oberyn. You watch his knuckles turn white clutching at the chain. He’d given this to Arianne for her birthday.

“Is she,” Oberyn hisses, an anger radiating through his body.

“No. There's no sign of a burnt body, ” you reassure and he exhales,

“These men they did not deserve this death even if they plotted against the crown princes wishes,”

“I can lead a party out, another day make sure they are returned to their families and buried properly.” “Thank you,” Oberyn says..

“ This was an ambush,” You assure, it was carefully planned out, but how could they have known that she was planning on leaving? “but it…” you continue, shaking your head letting your thoughts trail off.

“What?” he asks staring down at you in wonderment

“It didn’t occur here,” your forehead scrunched a look of perplexity and complete concentration etched on your face “why did they move the bodies here, and the carriage just to burn it, that’s a lot of effort.”

“To hide the evidence, they knew we’d come looking for her,” Oberyn offers as an explanation.

“ If they had burnt it where it occurred then buried it, we'd never find them. This” you say painting to the bodies “this was a warning, posting them up like this they knew we would find them here. Why here, why not where the fight occurred.” “To discredit them in death” he offers again, watching your head suddenly look up, eyes scanning.

“How many men,”

“Three,” he repeats “All trained in combat?”

“They would have been at least able to hold a spear, to guard the princess,” before he can finish, you turn on your heel and rush back to the horses, remounting and heading back to the skirmish site.

By the time Oberyn reaches you, your elbow is deep in the sand. Oberyn was right, these were good men, ones who deserved a burial. A similar thought would have likely crossed the minds of the ambushers. Returning to wherever they came from with even one dead body would be too much of a task, they would have had to abandon their fallen. But they wouldn't have abandoned their religion, a burial at an unmarked grave is better than none after all, and one skilled dornish fighter would have taken down at least one opponent. Your nails fill with sand, the heat scorching your skin and you dig towards your answers. He watches as an arm appears and he crouches down next to you about to help unbury the rest but place your hand on his chest. Gripping the dead man's hand you lift up his hand, a ring, a golden lion forged into existence, eyes looking up to him.

“Lannister” he spits

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you stroll through the trees dressing the mountain, the cover of shade paired with the sun going down offering a cold more resemblant of your home especially as you climb higher towards the peak. Despite your initial uneasiness about being led far into the mountain alone with one of the deadliest men in the seven kingdoms, he had assured you he merely wanted to speak freely away from the court. As the trees part you come upon the mountain top where snow was beginning to fall. Your eyes then go to a series of ancient ruins, a hearth burning in the middle, tapestries draped along the pillars and a bed made up, with furs. Your heart skips as you turn to look up at Oberny who for once looks nervous.

“You said you missed the cold, this is as cold as it gets here, a small thank you for finding the evidence needed. I do not think anyone else would have figured it out,” he says as a feeling you hadn’t felt in years coming over you.

“Thank you” you whisper, kissing him on the check, warming him through, “but I'm sure any good tracker would have found the same,” you state, pushing back off him and turning to face the outlook, attempting to hide your sudden embarrassment.

“There are guards a mile down shout if you need them, thought I doubt they would be able to protect you better than you could protect yourself , i'll collect you tomorrow, if you’d like,” he says

“I’d like that very much,” you admit, and he smiles before heading back towards the woods.

“Prince Oberyn,” you call, and he stops turning back “Thank you,” he nods and walks off

You remove your clothes and stand in the breeze allowing the chill to ripple over your body until goosebumps form. You smile and let out a slow breath a cloud forming in front of you, as snow falls lightly around you. It was a reminder of home and you close your eyes, a tear falling as you exhale. You walk towards the ruins and settle under the sheets, the crackling of the fire lulling you to sleep until you hear footsteps approaching, multiple men.

You grab your dagger and throw it. It hits one in the jugular, blood spurting out as you roll out of the bed and duck behind the ruins near the body. You’re preparing to fight when a spear pierces the air impaling one of the approaching figures causing the other to turn towards the woods. He doesn't make it far. A strong arm stops him and slits his throat. You relax when you see Oberyn appear from the shadows.

“Lady Stark, I heard of an attempt, I apologize for...” His words are cut short and his jaw drops when he sees you walk out from behind the ruins to your tunic pulling it over your naked skin.

“Careful, my prince you'll catch flies,” you chuckle, before dragging one of the bodies over the cliff.

“I can see why he screwed over an entire kingdom to marry you,” he says, doing the same with the assassin closest to him.

“You couldn't see that before you saw me naked? Help me with this,” you say, grabbing the final man's feet as Oberyn grabs his arms.

“Even more so now. You have more scars than I had thought, do you have a favorite?” He asks as you both throw the body down the mountain side.

“I do, care to hazard a guess,” you say, wiping your hands clean.

“I'd need a longer look,” he offers, raising his eyebrows.

“Of that i'm sure, I must thank you again for tonight, seems as though my life is owed to you twice over,”

“Perhaps I can ask another favour then, As for now it's late and a long walk back, so I will be on my way,” he bows his head before turning on his heels.

“Why don’t you stay, as it's such a long way down,” you ask, eyes down, suddenly feeling overly exposed, more so than when you stood naked before him.

“Only if you wish,” he says, surprised you’d allow him to stay in the same bed as you.

“Only if you think you can brave the cold for the night” you say returning to the bed after reclaiming your knife. He joins you shortly after, removing the top half of his attire, despite preferring to sleep completely bare, he wasn't about to make you feel uncomfortable. He shivers in the cold, while this chill was likely nothing to you, Oberyn had rarely spent time in anything below comfortably warm. His shiver continues even beneath the furs and you feel it.

“I'd like to see you In the north, you wouldn't last a month,” you murmur, turning to your side facing his direction.

“Are you saying I'm soft?” he asks, remaining on his back, head turning to you, a slightly disgruntled look on his face.

“No, but you're not weathered,” you state, sitting up removing one of the furs covering you and placing it over Oberyn who looks up, the warmth of your breath clouding in the air, as snow falls lightly around you, not a goosebump on your body.

“Not like you late husband” he questions pulling the blanket up to himself and you ignore him, laying back down. “Do you think he would truly wish you to be alone? To live the rest of your life without pleasure?” Oberyn, queries, upset at the notion of you alone.

“No…but,” you begin,

“but what, you do not do him a disservice by allowing another to give you love.” Oberyn stresses, begging to warm.

“Is that what you offer?” you ask, a look of suspicion on your face.

“Yes,” he offers earnestly, shifting up onto his arm so the blankets fall slightly.

“As you do all you find appealing,” you state, eyes locked on his bare chest.

“yes, and no,” he says, hand going down lifting your eyes to meet his “I enjoy divulging in all of life's pleasures, my body belongs to all those that catch my eye, but my heart I do reserve that primarily for one” he says softly, your heart now beating faster than it ever had.

“Reserved” you correct, quietly.

“Ellaria was my greatest love, I would have kept her with me until the end, had the Lannisters not taken her from me,” his hand now dancing over the wound above your shoulder, eyes still boring into yours, leaving you nowhere to hide.

“Then you know how I feel,” you whisper breathlessly.

“No, my heart is willing to accept love again because I knew that is what she would want. I fear you are unable to see that it is what your husband would have wanted as well,”

“Part of me died that day on the docks, part of my heart will always be with him, but today I thought...maybe” you stutter, a tear falling from your eye rolling down your cheek, you go to brush it away embarrassed, but Oberyn beats you to it. Gently wiping it before running his thumb softly along your cheekbone.

“It is not a betrayal of your love for him, I do not presume you to abandon him, I wish merely to bring you some semblance of joy.”

With that you roll over so you straddling him and he sits up hand reaching to the back of your head pulling you down to meet his lips. A fire builds inside you upon contact and your hands move to your tunic, only parting from his lips to rip it from your body. You look down hesitantly, unsure it was what he would have expected, or what he wanted, not as pretty and smooth as those of the brothel. Oberyn no longer shivering even with the blankets fallen to the side, eyes drinking in every ounce of your being.

“Are you sure?” Oberyn asks, hands running up and down your sides.

“Yes,” you say firmly, before leaning down kissing him again.

He'd kept you close to him in the night even after you’d tried to pull away to the other side of the bed. You had been right, one appeal of the cold was being trapped beneath the naked body of one you loved. He wakes first, trailing his fingers lightly across your body until he sees your eyes bat open.

“Now I really understand why he risked his reign for you,” Oberyn whispers, kissing your scrunched up forehead. You yawn, detaching from him and maneuvering onto your back as His hand trails over the wound above your shoulder “ this is your favourite” he states and you look up to him, “I guessed correctly” he laughs at the way your mouth hangs open.

“How?”

“You can track lands, I can track bodies” he says, placing a kiss over it trailing up to your lips.

“Can you now?”

“I thought you knew that, based on your loud approval last night,” he remarks and you shake your head chuckling slightly “If you don’t remember, perhaps I can remind you this morning” he says nipping at your jaw and dipping below the sheets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You return together the next morning only to see the crown prince pacing frantically

“Brother, come now a council has been called,” he gestures for you to follow and you do

“Who is this?” he asks, pointing at you.

“Someone who has a stake in the game”

“ Arianne is in king's landing, confirmed today by this letter penned by Cersei herself,” Doran confesses as the advisors close the doors to the marbled room.

��What?” he spits, tearing the piece of paper from between Dorans hands.

“They have taken her, stating she was plotting to murder the Lannister princess,” Doran says

“Was she?” you whisper to Tyene who shrugs her shoulders.

“She awaits a trial, a trial by combat” Doran continues

“Bastards,” Oberyn exclaimed, hands slamming down on the stone table. “ Send me brother, I will fight for her, I will get you daughter. I have done it once, I shall do so again.��

“If you go they kill you in the streets,” Tyene pipes up, causing her father to turn to her.

“I’d like to see them try, ” Obery spits, more fire than you’d ever seen radiating around him, as the room breaks out into pointless bickering.

“Let me go,” you interject all those in the room turning to face you.

“And, why would I allow one of my brothers whores to go and retrieve my daughter?” Doran scoffs.

“because, I would very much like to gain some kind of revenge on those who butchered my husband and all the events that occurred the night of the red wedding.” You say pulling down your hood, exposing your identity to the room full of strangers.

“Lady Stark, but you’re supposed to be dead,” the grand maester whispers.

“Medical marvel,” you assure

“And you would fight for us,” Doran queries Tyene and the rest of the scattered sand snakes staring at you.

“I would,if any of your family ventures to Kings Landing they will be killed on sight. I on the other hand am the last person they would expect to show up. Though, I must admit my business there may extend over to a few other debts the Lannisters owe me”

“This activity?” another council member begins to probe

“Would only occur after Arianne is safely back on a ship,” you see Oberyn fidget “with proper antivenoms, anti poisons, everything and a skilled healer on board, just in case”

“You would remain there for how long after?”

“Only for a few extra hours perhaps a day, you would have no role to play in my removal, I am more than capable of finding my own way out,” you promise

“Who fights for the Lannisters?” Nymeria asks,

“They say a man carved from stone, reanimated from the dead, the size of two men” The grand maester begins, “It's rumoured the queens sorcerer managed to salvage the Mountain after Oberyn's victory.”

“But those are just rumours sprouted from venomous tongues, as such my offer still stands,” you assure.

“No,'' Oberyn interjected, eyes narrowed at you, shooting daggers. Your head turns on a swivel, furious.

“Why not? I am capable” you explain.

“Did you not hear them, the mountain fights for the Lannister”

“I've taken down worse,” you snap, all semblance of properness lost

“He’ll kill,” you he states calmly , his eyes stormy

“He didn’t kill you,” you retort

“No but I killed him and yet he is still alive, whatever that man is, is long gone,” The two of you locked in a glare, you failing to find a response that wouldn’t paint you as childish.

“Then we're in agreement, we find someone else,” he punctuates making you feel like a scolded child. The tension hangs heavy on the room, unsettling a few of the council members as your eyes bear into his before leaning back against the wall. As the meeting ends Oberyn waits by the door, but you refuse to move, you shoot him a glare and he raises his eyebrows shaking his head before exiting the room.

“Prince Doran, a word if I may,” you ask, as he passes by you. He hesitates but nods to his two advisors to carry on and turns to you.

“I will go, I will defeat the Mountain, or at least secure Arianne a contingency plan if all else fails.”

“My lady, I am afraid my brother will not have it...” he states.

“Your brother doesn't control me, and as you said I am just another of his whores. I am free to make whatever decision I see fit,” he sighs, scanning you up and down assessing whether you could be successful.

“You are sure you can retrieve her,” Doran asks, looking up into your eyes searching for the answer.

“I am sure I have a better chance at it than any of your family, ”

“We will have a ship on standby for you the following day,”

“No need, I do not expect to return from this,” you mutter and his eyes narrow, “I am no fool, the odds are not in my favour I fear, but I must try...” you pause nodding your head “I must try and make things right.”

“Oberyn?”

“Will know nothing of this, nothing of this meeting, or of this plan, hold a ship for me if you wish but do not hold out hope.”

“Arianne returns alive” he demands.

“I promise you that” you affirm before he calls for an advisor to escort him out the room.

As you exit the council room you begin towards Oberyn chambers. If you were to be gone tomorrow you knew where you wanted to be tonight. As you open the door you chuckle at the sight before you, Oberyn entangled with two of his lovers, both resting against his chest, sweaty and panting slightly. He leans over to kiss the man on his left before addressing you.

“I did not expect to see you here tonight,” he says as the woman bites at his jawline. “Why's that?” you question. “I thought you were going to rip my head off in that meeting,” he chuckles, pulling the woman's hair back to kiss her.

“I don’t enjoy my ability to choose being removed,” you scorn.

“Is that all you came to say?” he questions.

“I suppose, goodnight Prince Oberyn…” you begin, turning to exit, hoping to call him on his bluff.

“Vorian, take Fryenne to my guest chamber, show her a good time,” he says, slapping the man's ass as he exits the sheets. “Will you not join my Prince, I have always wanted to try a Targaryen,” she whispers into his ear, blushing slightly.

“Not tonight my dove, we have business to discuss,”

“Perhaps another time,” she says wistfully as she approaches you, running her hand up your arm planting a soft kiss on your lips before exiting. Your mouth hangs open brows gently creased at the sensation, your eyes following her out the room.

“You like that one?” Oberyn smirks as you draw your eyes back to him “one night with me and you’re a convert to my lifestyle,” he remarks shifting out of the bed naked as the day he was born walking over to the counter and decanting wine into a goblet.

“Do you wish to have this conversation fully clothed?” “I did not come here for a conversation,” you admit.

“Then why are you still dressed? Strip,” he demands, you narrow your eyes at him. He walks towards you, eyes darker “You would disobey a prince?” He asks, walking behind you, lips ghosting along your neck. “Strip. You will listen to me tonight especially after your performance in that meeting. You should know better than to speak out of turn,” he orders leading you towards his bed.

You're awake, watching the night pass until the first light begins to creep into the room. Oberyn's arms are wrapped around you, his warm breath hitting your neck. You had tried to leave earlier but his strong grasp had trapped you in place. If this was to be one of your last nights on this earth, you were glad to have spent it in his arms. You lie there until you feel him stir, mouth peppering kisses on your neck.

“I wish to go to the brothel, will you join me?” he mumbles into your neck and you shake your head.

“I can refrain and stay here for the morning,” he starts.

“No go on I am just too tired,” you whisper, kissing him lightly.

“Then rest I will return later,” he kisses your nose, then your forehead before rising and dressing

“Oberyn,” you say sitting up in the large bed pulling the silks up to cover your chest.

“Yes?” he says watching as your mouth opens. You’re trying to find words to express your feelings, but they never come.

“Nothing,” you say, offering a small smile. Oberyn makes it to the front door of the brothel but something in his stomach feels off. A feeling that had been growing since he left you, it was something in the way you had said his name in the cold light of day, almost as if you were saying goodbye. His steps get more rushed as he approaches the palace, swinging the doors to his chambers open. He looks to the handmaid who shakes her head in confusion. He swallows his rage, you wouldn’t have disobeyed him so blatantly, you wouldn't have left him without warning, without a goodbye. He walks quickly towards the garden until he finds Doran, his hand caressing a rose.

‘Where is she?” he demands, already knowing the answer

#prince oberyn x you #oberyn martell x y/n #oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn #prince oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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theisaacking · 3 years ago

Text

So this is it...

While some of you will undoubtedly know this, I hope those of you who do will forgive me as I reiterate: It has always been my intention that once the plot of Luxor Season 2 reached its conclusion, and the summer was finished, I would be officially retiring from group rping on tumblr. This means that all of you here were a part of the conclusion of what has been a 7+ year journey for me; and really, I don’t think I could have chosen a better place to end off.

I never really thought there would come a day when I could walk away from rp groups on tumblr and feel a sense of peace. I really did think for a long time that this was something I would never be able to let go of. I thought that I would always be chasing some sense of fulfillment that comes from doing this. There really isn’t anything else quite like it, and that honestly made me feel like it would be impossible to say goodbye. And truthfully, that was frustrating, because as much as I have loved this, it takes up so much of my time, and my energy, and as the years have wore on, I’ve wanted to be able to use that energy for different things. I guess all I really needed to find that peace though, was the perfect swan song, and that’s what this experience with all of you has been for me.

Certainly not everything went the way I planned when it comes to the ending itself. I’ve been insanely busy with prepping myself to move throughout the entirety of this summer, and I wasn’t around even 1/100th as much as I wanted to be. There are so many things that I had hoped to do with my characters before the end, and before I said my goodbyes to all of you and yours, that I simply wasn’t able to do. I’m sad that I wasn’t able to bring Christopher back before the end, and have all of the fun that would have come with that. I’m sad that I didn’t get to fully explore Isaac’s increasing delusion surrounding Alek and his hope that she would be coming back for him. But if there is one thing that I’ve learned in the 7 years that I’ve been doing this, it’s that things rarely pan out exactly how you think they will. Sometimes, like this time, that’s a byproduct of situations outside of our control, while other times, it’s the result of our characters being assholes who have minds of their own.

So yeah, maybe things didn’t end exactly how I wanted them to, but I am glad that they ended here. I’m glad that as I sit here on the second last day of August, that when September 1st comes, this chapter of my life will be closed, and it will have ended with the best group that I have ever had the privilege of being a part of. I’m glad that before all was said and done, I got to experience all of your wonderful characters, and see them grow and change as life happened to them. I’m glad that I made friends along the way, and I’m glad that people who were there at the very start of my journey 7 years ago were so instrumental in creating a perfect conclusion for me by making this group. There really is no shortage of things that I’m glad about, because this rp has been an amazing experience for me from start to finish.

To Christopher: my sweet Taurus son, I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to find the time to bring you back and give the send off that you truly deserved. Please know that it’s not because I didn’t want to, or that I don’t love you with all of my heart. Thank you for being the easiest character that I have ever had the joy of writing, and really, for being everything that I wish I myself was. Ultimately, I know that this isn’t a true goodbye, but Luxor is where you were born, and as we leave it behind and start the next chapter, I feel it pertinent to tell you how much you mean to me, and how glad I am that you came along before I reached the conclusion of this journey.

To Isaac: KING. It’s more than just your last name, it’s what you are, and while I’m sure telling you that is the last thing that your ego needs, I don’t care. I am so fucking glad that we’ve been together for as long as we have. Never in this 7 year journey did I write a character consistently for as long as I have written you. It has not always been easy my man; you’ve been known to be exhausting for me to write sometimes. But that doesn’t matter, because I wouldn’t change a thing about the way that you are. If Christopher is everything that I wish I myself was, then you are everything that I know I could never ever be, and I am so damn grateful that you allowed me to have the chance to see life through your eyes. Like I said to Christopher, this isn’t the end my man; this is just the start of something new.

To Nora: Holy cow, what a trip. If someone had told me 7 years ago that I would have joined a tumblr group, made a friend, and still been friends with that person 7 years later, I would have thought they were insane. Yet here we are. I don’t tell you this nearly often enough, but I’m very glad that when that group closed, that wasn’t the end of our time writing together. Who really could have envisioned that it would actually be only the beginning of it? Our writing partnership has officially outlasted my tenure in the tumblr rpc. Here’s to another 7 years of writing together!

To Mimi: Bro, what can I say that hasn’t already been said? You’re my best friend. You introduced me to the world of tumblr rping, and for basically every major milestone since then, you’ve been there; in both life and in rp. I could gush for hours about our friendship outside of this, but for the sake of keeping things topical, I’ll just focus on it within this. I never ever would have started this crazy journey without you, and I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that you gave me that first push. i also cannot express the joy that it brings me that you were not only here for the end, but along with Nora, created the space that gave me my perfect place to end on a high note. There is something distinctly poetic about the fact that I needed rp in my life at the time that you introduced me to it, and that I also needed this place in order to finally be able to close this chapter, and you created it. in essence, you gave me my beginning when I needed it, and you gave me my ending when I needed it. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.

To you: Yes YOU. The person who is still reading this. First off, if you’ve read this far, then thank you, and (maybe?) I’m sorry lol. It really doesn’t matter which of the countless members that Luxor has that you are, because I can say with certainty that no matter who you are, I love you, and I’m so glad that I got to be here with you. Every mun, and every character has touched me in one way or another, even if you might not necessarily know it. I see things in my regular, every day life, and these things remind me of these characters, and the people behind them, the same way that you might be reminded of a person you know in real life. I will carry you, and your wonderful muses with me in my heart as I take my steps into the next chapter. And just know, that if you ever find yourself wondering if good ol’ Peanut would want to hear from you, the answer is, and will always be, yes. Thank you for being a part of what has made the final pages of this great chapter the most riveting, thrilling, and satisfying that any person could ever hope for.

With all of my love,

Peanut/Dustin

#The End.#ooc

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smortbokuto · 4 years ago

Text

Guilt.

warnings: my shit writing, fluff?? angst to the fucking bones, major character death, mentions of death, implied cheating.

pairings: ushijima x oikawa, iwaizumi x oikawa.

a/n: enjoy my trash <3

summary: realizations always hits in the end yet hits hard. Oikawa regrets his actions and will keep regretting for his whole life..

word count: 3.6k

Sequel

❛19th January, 2023.❜

Key rattled in the keyhole as he turned them open, the voice a bit to loud for the mood. creaking the door open of his once shared apartment, with him. putting down the umbrella, which had frozen dews decorating its covers, he raided the area with tired eyes.

The windows, dusty and tainted, allowing slight light to bleed into the room, the dusty floor, marked with different stains, being illuminated. the couches covered with a pale cloth, preventing them from getting dirty. the shelf in the other corner were properly visible with spider webs all over. the rug, that was once sparkling clean now looked like had hardened mud and slit all over.

taking off his overcoat and hooking it over the rusty hooks embedded over the wall with torn off wallpapers just adjacent to the entry. nostalgia had hit him like a boulder falling over something much smaller and frail, completely crushing him as he saw all the unevenly hanging frames with them. smiling. happy.

why, why? why. why?! why??

padding into the room he scrunched his nose in frustration at the creaking sound of the wooden flooring. god, he was so used to the marble ones now. this was so annoying. so weird.

why was he even here? ah, in a week new residents will being coming here to start a new life. just like how they both had started 6 years ago...

'hope they don't end up like me' he made a mental note to wish the new family his best wishes for their journey they were going to go on.

sighing he strode towards the shelf. the lights flickered for a tad bit longer than they were supposed to. smoothly he started to pick up all the frames, empty, with photos (memories), or broken, and tossed them into the box he had brought along. what of he left them here? will the new family know about his sins of the past? he doesn't know.

moving further inside he kept picking up all the small items of misery (memories) and tossing them into the box. he wished them to burn to ashes. Oikawa just couldn't stand the pictures, the letters, the small items, gifts, souvenirs he had received by Iwaizumi in the past. with a white face he kept collecting all the stuff from room to room in a way to wipe away the remnants of the life they both had created.

cursing mentally as he stood in front of the last room, bedroom. a place where they shared everything, emotions, bodies, love, everything. entering the room he took a deep breath, eyes tight shut as he felt a suffocating gust hit his face. his breath hitched in his throat as he saw an all too familiar room. he could see his 'wasted' years in this room, doing everything and anything.

he worked upon collecting all the stuff he wanted to get rid of. he wanted to get rid of his existence. he was so close to it. he could start a new life. a free one. just a bit of fuel and a spark of flame.

after what felt like ages he felt content with the filled boxes with all the soon to be burned memories.

free? free. free!

a satisfied breath left his lungs, turning into a hazy white puff as it mixed into the chilly atmosphere of the room. the sun had already gone down with the rise of a crescent moon hanging in the sky with gloomy grey clouds. an indication to a snowy day that comes along.

snow?

his heart pang in the traps of his ribs at the thought.

┊a smiled crept on the shorter male's face, face flushed in soft hues of pink as he scrambled out from the warmth of the bed, dragging his feet towards the glass window that were draped with soft white silk curtains.

"Toru, wake up." he had called out to the sleeping male, curled up in the bed who just groaned at the call of his name.

"what is it?" voice raspy, he drawled out.

"it snowed! its so pretty outside." he chided, his morning voice heavy yet a hint of excitement laced with it. ┊

snow. his favorite time of the season. Iwaizumi's happy season.

clicking his tongue, that had the room echo with the voice he tried to forget the small memory he reminisced just now. distracting himself he looked around the room for the last time.

'nothing should be left behind..'

nodding to himself he stood up from the bed edge he had been sitting, leaving the room. once and for all.

free.

free?

his leg hit the nightside stand, the dusty lamp disbalancing and falling down. ignoring he broken pieces he picked up the head of the lamp to keep it back only for his eyes to get stuck at the small opening of the drawer.

nope.

opening the drawer slowly his eyes widened at the slightly stained hardcover diary comfortably lying caged in there.

he knows. he knows too well to not reach for it. to not open it. to not trace the pages with the tips of his fingers. to not read the date entry.

yet, he did it.

❝7th December, 2018.

today it snowed. it looked so ethereal outside. today is special for me. its the first time it snowed while my living with Toru. I wish to see more days like these with him.

-Hajime.❞

The first entry of the page.

"tsk, what's the point to write it down?" the brunette vocalized his thoughts. the thought of writing something so trivial sounded so stupid. why would he even to take the pain to write it all?

and so he flipped to the next page.

smoothing out the page he hummed as he felt Iwaizumi's clear writing under the cold touch of his fingers. so selfish.

he read all the pages. all the dates. all the events.

their first slow dance together in the dim living room on a summer evening, their first time on a rainy night, their first fight on a mid autumn season and how Hajime wished to fix it as soon as possible. everything was there in it.

it was always about them. never him alone. oikawa was always a spotlight.

humming in satisfaction that maybe, just maybe, he will be free. glad at the fact that iwaizumi didn't hold a grudge against him in any of these small snippets of life jotted down neatly in a captive of pale pages and hard covers.

pages fluttered as he flipped to another page. his brows furrowing as he found the page blank.

flip. then another and another and another. all of them were blank. pale and empty. his heart clenched and stung at the empty pages. it felt like a void of emotions. not his emotions but his long ago lovers'.

he flipped again, pupils dilating slightly as he saw a new date entry. but his stomach churned as he read the date.

❛11th September, 2020.❜

A whole year? from writing everyday, why was there a pause of a whole year? he flipped back to the previous empty pages. the pages weren't torn then why a year gap?

'unusual..'

but he shook away the feeling and flipped back to the new entry that he was yet to read.

❝I miss him... he has been working so much. i am happy that he is doing something he loves but its been long since we had done anything like we used to do...❞

a rush of guilt travelled through the span of his veins. he had fell out of love weeks before this new entry. but- did Iwaizumi knew about this fact?

┊8th July, 2020,

"will you tell him about us?" a gruff voice spoke, lying on the same comfort of bed that oikawa shared with iwaizumi. the respective owner of the voice stared up at the naked form of the brunette who was indulging himself in smoking and puffing out his lungs. a try to erase out the smell of sex? maybe.

"not yet..." oikawa slurred out as he puffed another heavy thick smoke into the traps of the four walled room "..he is too blind in love to even think about me doing such thing."

"you are not being fair with him." the voice spoke again after silence covered over the room.

"listen," he was pissed. oikawa was pissed at the accusation. he knew it was right, the accusation but he didn't want to accept that. the fact that he had fell out of love. "it's literally my life and my lover, i don't need your opinion about it, Ushijima."┊

guilt filled his system at the thought about how sick and vile his move was against someone who loved him unconditionally.

if only he had tried harder. harder to be a better person, a better partner and a better human. but he didn't. pathetic.

feeling the guilt pump up in him he flipped the page again. empty, blank, pale pages. again.

❝17th November, 2020.

Its still the same... he returns late home. we don't eat our meals together, our talks are short and have no emotions that it used to carry. i miss it. i miss it all. i will wait.❞

"why? what the fuck are you trying to do here. Hajime? are you trying to give me a guilt trip?" he voiced his deafening thoughts. how selfish of Iwaizumi to take such a step against him. his own lover.

"its working. so stop..." his voice wavered. was he really qualified enough to be labeled as a 'lover' for Hajime? after what all he had done to the other man he deserved it.

"stop. I don't deserve it." he does. he does deserve it. he knows it too well.

he flipped. then flipped. sobs raked his body as he read all the different dates all throughout the winter season of that dreaded years, 2020. he read Iwaizumi's thought, insecurities on maybe he was not good enough for Oikawa and how maybe he was done with him but staying with him out of pity.

He flipped to the page where an all too familiar date was jotted down. He remembers everything. every action he had taken that might have ruined iwaizumi bit by bit.

┊9th April, 2021.

the keys jingled as they clashed with the glass key holder in the porch area. the brunette ran his fingers through his hair and sighed out tiredly. 'work' was exhausting.

"hey." a low voice greeted him at the end of the hallway.

"hi, have you eaten?" oikawa replied back as fast as possible not wanting to hear any questions from the man standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.

"he shorted man shook his head. "i was waiting for you."

"i was out with my friend after practice, we have already eaten. you should eat too." he didn't know the heaviness of the words he had thrown on the other male.

"oh, that's fine." Iwaizumi smiled as he tried to take in and digest whatever was thrown over him by the taller male. "by the way, i got a present for you. it's kept in the bedroom."

"present for what? what's the occasion?" oikawa was quick to whip his head to the direction of the other male, who had his back turned at him as he fumbled around the kitchen.

there was a silence, an awkward and a heavy one.

Oikawa, now anxious, took a step forward "hey, ushijim- Hajime, what's the present for?" shit. shit for fuck sake he messed up.

"hm? what?" displaying an act of not catching he turned to face oikawa, the soft smile never faltering his features.

oikawa was quick to repeat the question. to which iwaizumi casually told him it was their anniversary.

"it's okay, you have been working a lot." he had stated.┊

maybe if Oikawa was true to the man. maybe if he had tried harder to love him more and in a correct manner he wouldn't be reading this. maybe if he had given iwaizumi what he had deserved.

❝9th April, 2021.

oh, i was right... it hurts to know i was not good enough but maybe i deserved it. i hope he is happy with this other guy he is with.❞

his heart dropped to his stomach. why was he accepting that? he knew when he had uttered out that other mans' name then why didn't he confront? why did he stay quiet? why didn't he ask him to leave?

why? why? why? why?!

and then no answer to these why's.

his body went numb at how blindly Iwaizumi stood there for him even knowing he was an option. second one.

flip.

he sobbed more as he kept tuning the pages. few pale blank empty and few with dates and entries were he was not good enough for oikawa and he could have been better.

"Its not your fault. its not. stop!" finally breaking down he sobbed into the diary, staining the pages with his tears.

❝19th July, 2021.

i was... diagnosed. glioblastoma (GBM). it was undiagnosed all this time and... how will i tell this to Toru?❞

"why?! why are you still thinking about me??? you were-" too much. thats the right word for what he was feeling at the moment. how could he still love him and think about him even though he was practically dying? just why?

all the memories flooded in. all the years of time they took to build a loving relationship only for oikawa to burn it down in one day, over a fucked up reason.

it could have been so easy if iwaizumi had confronted and cut ties then and there only. he was being selfish.

there was a strong urge to just burn the diary there only and act like it all never happened. it was so easy to do it.

but,

can he really do it?

no, he is ought to drown in all the pending guilt and regrets that had been filling up all his holes, draining into his system till it was overflowing. he has to suffer.

he flipped yet another page.

❝27th August, 2021.

i have regrets. i don't want to carry them with me to a new journey. I wanted to love oikawa the way he deserved. i wanted to be him only. its selfish, i know. i was supposed to propose him on our anniversary. i was supposed to care for him and grow old and gray with him. it was all about him. it will always be about him. i love you Toru... i always will. i will be leaving soon. i want to watch you from the sidelines but i can't, not anymore. i will look at you and cheer for you still. be happy, okay?❞

was this really how it was supposed to end?

"why? why didn't you ever tell me about this?" his breath came out ragged and labored. it didn't matter right now.

❝16th September, 2021.

i still love you but i can't burden you with what i am going through not when you are finally happy. i happy that you can confine in someone now. i love you and i always will.❞

those were just mere words written over dead pages by someone that didn't exist. not anymore. then why was it affecting so much? why did it feel like all the words were the boulders that kept stacking on and on over Oikawa's lean body?

there were so many whys and no one to answer...

his last memory flashed before his red puffy eyes.

┊18th September, 2021.

the balls smashed hard against the gym floors. sneakers squeaking against the polished floors.

hair hanging over his forehead oikawa flopped down on the floor. leaning back on one arm as he sipped harshly through his bottle. he let out a satisfied hum as his thirst was satiated only to stop mid tracks as he heard a muffled vibration coming from his bag flopped beside him.

rummaging and fishing the phone out as easy as any other task but when he saw the familiar number flash he was hesitant. nonetheless he answered only for his throat to go parch at the not so familiar voice reporting something he could never imagine of.

"you were on Mr. Iwaizumi's contact. he is in emergency right now. he had collapsed during his regular visit here so please come here as soon as possible." the line was dead then.

hastily packing his stuff he ran out the doors and reached his car. his mind running miles per hour. questions filling his head up to a level where it was hard to breathe.

reaching there he grimaced as the smell of countless death and sterile filled his senses.

"are you Mr. Oikawa?" the voice came up from behind as he was filling up his entry at the reception. whipping his head back he met a man, much older than him, in white coat who looked concerned and... sorry?

"yes. yes i am. what happened?!" he trailed behind the doctor like any lost puppy would do with a stranger who was friendly enough to pet it only to get kicked in the guts.

the doctor stopped after few rooms passed. sighing he removed his glasses and hung them over his chest pockets giving it a company with two pens that were sitting comfortably in it. "he is, uh, critical. he used to come here for treatment due to his frequent headaches. today was different. he collapsed while we were going through some tests. looking into it, there are multiple organ failure right now. not much is left for him." it felt like the world has come to an end. the floor beneath hem felt like it had moved, eating him alive.

pushing past the doctor he entered the room. eyes blowing up at the view he was welcomed to. a man, so strong and healthy, tied to all sorts of machines, a tube, a mere fucking tube, helping him breathe.

"Ha- Hajime...." he could only whisper out softly. but only to response.

he looked so pale, so lifeless, his heart barely even doing its only job. it was cold to touch him, the normal warmth was not there anymore. even after trying to warm up his hand he couldn't bring the missing warmth back again. not anymore.

"please- please tell me what happened.."

there was a heavy silent. a deafening one. nothing was audible other than the faint beeps and slowed breathing of the man on the cold bed of the hospital.

he was not going to leave like this. he is not that pathetic and weak to just die on his lover. not before he could tell him he loved him and he always will. no matter what.

but?

he can't speak.

now what? love is something that doesn't need to be conveyed through words.

his cold thumb brushed over the warm knuckles of the man standing beside him. he looked like he was falling apart. oikawa's brown warm gaze widened as he looked down at iwaizumi. he looked like he was taking his last breath. he looked like he was ready to start a new journey. he looked happy. his eyes showed nothing but love. it kept showing love as his eyes dilated and stilled. the touch still reflected love even if it went limp and cold.┊

another sob. then another and another and another. he sobbed there. curling into himself. all the tears tasted like guilt and regret. none of them were salty.

"why did you tell the doc to not tell me about the disease???" he cried out. his lungs burned. they begged him to breathe but he couldn't.

regrets were there. guilt was there.

"i am sorry i was so selfish."

he thought he could be free of them. he was tied down. forever. no matter what.

maybe if he loved him properly. maybe if he loved him the way he deserved.

maybe if he loved the man named Iwaizumi Hajime.

too late.

#oikawa haikyuu #oikawa toru #oikawa x iwaizumi #oikawa angst #iwaizumi angst #oikawa x ushijima #angst #fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #iwaoi angst #iwaoi fluff

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Text

The Sun Is Coming Up (I Think It’s Time)

Fandom: The Irregulars Pairing: Spike/Jessie Rating: T Word Count: 2047

Summary: Telling Jessie he loved her in the heat of the moment was one thing. Repeating it when they weren't in mortal peril was something else.

Spike glanced back over his shoulder as he hefted the sack filled with his belongings. If that was what it was like living large in a big fucking manor, he didn’t want it. Rituals and horns and murdering all your mates. Billy’d kill him if Spike ever suggested they mess around with a deck of cards to see whether it would bring out anybody’s underlying murder-y feelings. No thanks. The cellar—and all of his friends being this side of the grave—was good enough for him.

“What are you thinking about?” Bea asked.

She nudged him with her elbow while they walked side-by-side, grinding the gravel road underfoot as they left Mycroft Holmes’s place behind.

“How much I love sleeping in a literal hole in the wall,” he told her.

Bea laughed.

“No, I’m serious,” Spike insisted. He counted off the cellar’s best points on his fingers, beginning by flicking out his thumb. “It’s warm. Sometimes. And it’s dry! Mostly… And nothing supernatural ever happens there. Other than Jessie’s bad dreams.”

He could feel that the case he was trying to make about how great their home was wasn’t exactly stacking up the way he’d wanted it to, but Bea was still smiling. It was gentler now than when she’d laughed.

“Yeah,” she said, “Jessie’s dreams.”

“Are you worried about those?”

“’Course. I’m always worried about her.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed heavily before darting a cautious look at Bea from the corner of his eye.

They crunched along for a few minutes without speaking; the damn stretch of road leading up to the house was so long that Spike started to get nervous, glancing forward and back to make sure the property wasn’t trying to trap them again. But no, the manor was always in its proper place: behind them. Fuck off and good riddance.

It was a clear day after all that night and, as much as he’d rather have never come here, Spike could admit that the fresh air was an improvement on the smoke and the stench they normally breathed. Easier to take a deep breath without coughing and easier to see Jessie walking just ahead. She was on the left, with Billy in the middle and Leo on the right, and though that silky dress she’d been wearing the last couple days (or however long it’d really been) was back at Mycroft’s, Spike thought she looked like just as much of a lady in her own clothes. Something about the swish of her skirt and how her chin lifted when she turned to speak to Billy. Laughing, she was. Possibly at Billy’s expense, going by the scowl on his face. Spike grinned as he watched them.

“She told me what happened on the tower,” Bea said.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin.

“She did?”

“While we were packing.”

“Uh… all of it?”

“As much as she can remember.”

“I’m sorry she remembers,” Spike said, looking straight ahead, but not at anything really. “She had her mind manipulated by that woman. Might’ve been better to forget and just have a blank.”

“Jessie doesn’t feel that way.”

“She doesn’t?”

Bea shook her head. Even looking at her too long made Spike confused. Felt like promenading with a princess, what with how clean Bea’s face was. She’d probably been washing it in liquified diamonds or something while Spike was almost slicing his fingers off every five minutes as he chopped vegetables with one of Mrs. B.’s terrifyingly sharp kitchen knives.

“It meant a lot to Jessie,” Bea said. She looked like she was studying his face, rifling through whatever she saw there for clues, his eyes like a book of loose pages or a drawer that rattled with odds and ends. Spike snapped his gaze forward again.

“What did?”

“What you said to make her let go of that pole.”

He sniffed and kicked a large rock in his path.

“Can’t remember.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Bea complained. “I know you remember. You saved her life.”

“We all did. Some of us a little more actively than others, if Billy’s been telling the truth about what happened down below while me and Jessie were at the top of the tower.”

His friend released a growl of annoyance and he turned his head in time to see her roll her eyes hard.

“Has he told you that Leo didn’t help? Is that what he’s said? Is that why Billy’s keeping himself between Leo and Jessie, because he’s convinced himself that Leo’s not fit to be near her because he didn’t pound on the door as soon as we did? For god’s sake.”

“More or less,” Spike said with a smile.

“I’m gonna have a talk with him. Jessie doesn’t need him to go all protective like that.”

“He’s only doing it because you do.”

“What do you mean?” Bea frowned.

“For you, the most important thing is protecting Jessie and if Billy protects Jessie he’s doing the thing you think is most important, which will make you happy with him.” Spike noticed Bea’s expression sour into aggravation and threw his hands up in defense. “I don’t think that, he thinks that. I think. Just… think of it as Billy trying to be more sensitive.”

Bea snorted.

“That’s not sensitive,” she complained, gesturing to the way Billy was squaring his shoulders as Leo tried to speak to Jessie around him. “That’s… I don’t know. Brutish. He can’t decide whether or not Jessie and Leo are friends. Jessie can choose that for herself.”

“Just like you choose whether you and Leo are friends,” Spike piped up. “Or more.”

He spotted the red flare of Bea’s cheeks before, smiling, she ducked her head and murmured, “Shut up.”

“Can’t help it. Unlike dear Billy, I’m very sensitive. Got it coming out my ears. Unbelievably attuned to other people’s feelings. What?” he asked, because Bea was staring at him with this knowing look on her face.

“You told Jessie you love her.”

Fuck, she just said it straight out. Spike’s gaze danced around as it sought a place to land.

“We all love her,” he said.

“True, but…” Bea gripped Spike’s arm and hopped in front of him, walking backwards so she could look him right in the eye. “…that’s not what you told her at the time. You could’ve said, ‘We all love you’ or ‘Bea loves you,’ but you didn’t.”

“Well, now you’re just trying to make me feel stupid.” He smacked his forehead jokingly. “Christ, obviously I should’ve started with mentioning you. Jessie would’ve let go immediately. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Bea agreed. “That situation was insane. You didn’t have time to consider every option, you just went on instinct. But all of that,” she emphasized, circling her palm in front of him, “just shows that you knew you had to say the most important thing. Not the most logical thing, but the thing that was truest to you. So you told Jessie how you feel.”

Spike tried to laugh her words away, but Bea just lifted her eyebrows like it was too late, she’d found all the clues and solved the mystery. That was great for her. When she spun away and jogged up to Leo to rescue him from Billy’s dickheadedness, Spike still had those clues flapping and tumbling around inside him like a sack full of junk. He didn’t know how to reach into that sack and pull out an I love you.

He looked longingly at Jessie’s hair, tied back in a slightly changed way to how it usually was. He looked at her hands swinging along at her sides and wanted to hold one.

—

“I meant it,” he told her in front of the fire.

They were home, legs aching from the walk, but not so badly that Spike regretted rejecting Mycroft’s offer of a carriage to bring them back. A carriage would’ve made the journey faster, sure, but what was the cost? It could be that there was some tarot card related to carriages flying over the edges of cliffs or being set on by man-eating bears and, without a guarantee that Patricia Coleman-Jones hadn’t performed a magic spell over such a card, Spike felt safer on his own two trusty feet.

Jessie’s feet were a pair of lumps under the blanket he’d drawn up close for her, so she could be near the heat while she rested her tired body. He should’ve been resting too, but he was pacing. Those three words were the first he’d gotten out since he’d informed Jessie that he had something to tell her.

“I know,” she said, staring steadily up at him.

Her face was aglow in the light and one of her eyes shone—the other was in the shadow he was casting. When Spike realized, he quickly moved to sit next to Jessie instead.

“Yeah, but, I meant it,” he repeated.

“Spike.”

His name was a whine of frustration from her lips, which wasn’t ideal feedback for a love confession.

“I love you,” Spike stated baldly, watching her face with care. “Not like your sister. I mean, I don’t mean that I love your sister. Well, no, I love Bea, ’course I do, but I love her in one way and I love you in another, different way to how she loves you.” He clamped his lips together for a moment to smother the rambling. “How are you feeling about this?”

“Really irritated to be honest. Just…” Jessie reached out and pressed her fingers over his mouth. “…let me speak.”

Behind her hand, Spike nodded, eyes wide and earnest. They touched all the time. They couldn’t not, sharing this den. Always tugging each other up from the cold floor, a pat of thanks on the shoulder or back when one of them cooked the breakfast. The time Jessie tripped up the cellar stairs and didn’t want Bea to know she’d hurt herself so it was Spike who pulled the slivers from her palm and cleaned the blood from the graze on her shin.

When he thought about it, seemed like he’d loved her differently from the others for a while.

“I heard you on the tower,” Jessie said, dropping her hand. “Your voice broke through. It was the only thing that did! It was more powerful than the weather or how Patricia was compelling me. I… I couldn’t understand, not fully, that’s why I tried to do what she said again, even though you’d convinced me once, but I knew more when it was over.”

“What did you know?” Spike asked, and she laid her hand over his on the blanket.

“I don’t love you like I love my sister either.”

“I thought…” His voice trailed off as his gaze slid sideways. “I thought it would’ve been better if it’d been Bea up there with you. She could’ve brought you out of it faster, kept you from trying to obey Patricia a second time.”

“Maybe,” Jessie allowed, “but that doesn’t matter because you did those things.”

“Any of them would’ve…”

Spike didn’t know why the fuck he was trying to be modest now, but his mouth was just set on being self-sacrificing. Thank Christ Jessie didn’t have time for his nonsense.

“Yes,” she said. “But it was you. I’m glad it was you.” Her voice climbed, then lost its footing with a thick, hiccupping cry. “Spike, I could’ve died.”

In an instant, he had his arms thrown around her waist, holding her tight against him with their knees bumping—his outside the blanket and hers beneath it. She curled into him. He felt the flutter of her eyelashes against his neck, then the cold trickle of a tear finding its way under his collar. One of Spike’s hands went up to cradle the back of Jessie’s head.

“Not in a million years,” he said. “Not in two.”

She shook with a laugh and raised her wet face; he wiped her tears.

Spike was glad Bea and the lads weren’t there when Jessie planted a kiss on his cheek. He cupped her face when she pulled back, led with his mouth as he leaned in, and willed their friends to stay away just a couple minutes longer.

#my writing #The Irregulars #The Irregulars fanfic #Spike x Jessie #The Irregulars spoilers

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writingithink · 3 years ago

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Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did.

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t.

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

“It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting).

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas.

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier.

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment.

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her.

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’.

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry).

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.”

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word.

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked.

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

#TenToo x Rose #doctor x rose #pairing: rose x doctor #timepetals #fic: improbable multiversal transcending spacetime event #fandom: doctor who #my fic

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backtothestart02 · 3 years ago

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The Football Star and the New Girl - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: I suck at titles lately...oh well. Enjoy this first chap! The story itself is based loosely on a dream I had. :)

...

Synopsis: HS!AU - They were like ships passing in the night. Would they ever meet on the same page?

...

Chapter 1 -

Francine West walked down the hall and peeked into the open doorway of her daughter’s bedroom. She found her sitting on her bed, her things packed in multiple suitcases at her feet, but she herself – Iris West, 14 ¾ years old – did not look very excited to be leaving her home without her family. She was looking at a photo album. Tears were staining her cheeks.

Francine rested her head against the door frame as she watched her, her heart aching to heal the wounds she knew would only grow more with time.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.”

Iris’ head whipped toward the sound, and she hastily shut the photo album and tossed it onto her bed, wiping her cheeks quickly after.

“Mom!”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t interrupting, was I?”

She walked into the room, and Iris scooted over a little so she could sit next to her on the bed.

“No, not at all. I’m glad you’re here.”

They shared a sweet look, then Iris leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. Francine held out her hand, and Iris intertwined her fingers in her mother’s grip.

“I still want to go,” she assured her.

“Yeah?”

She nodded against her shoulder.

“I need stability, mom. I can’t be moving around going from school to school every six months. I’m proud of dad, of course, and I love being with you all. I’ll miss you a lot, but…I want friends and the same school and a life.”

“A boyfriend?” Francine nudged her gently.

Iris rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Maybe…eventually. I’m only 14, Mom.”

Francine nudged her again.

“14 ¾.”

Iris laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. A boyfriend would be nice, once I get to know the guy for more than a couple months. But first, friends.”

“Friends are important too.”

Iris nestled into her mother’s embrace and sat in silence for a while.

“What about Wally? Is he going to be going to new schools every-”

“I’ve decided to attempt homeschooling.”

Iris lifted her head.

“You have?”

She nodded.

“He’s only 10, so the curriculum is simpler, and he’s pretty introverted, even around us, so Ruffly can suffice for his friend. At least for now.”

Francine pursed her lips. She did want real, live human friends for her son, as well as for her daughter. But for now their golden retriever seemed to be what got the most laughs out of young Wally West. She would hope that lasted at least through another school year.

“I’d take him with me if I could,” Iris said.

“You’d take both my children from me?” Francine asked, only half joking. “What am I supposed to do all day long without your brother to drive me crazy?”

Iris looked into her mother’s eyes and saw that they were watering.

“Oh, Mom, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, honey.”

She sighed and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s temple.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you, losing your friends so often because we have to move. It’s the life of a military family, I’m afraid. I signed up for it when I agreed to marry the man, but you, my baby, were just born into it.”

She pulled back to look into her eyes.

“I want you to know though that if at any time the school isn’t working out for you, we’ll come get you in a heartbeat.”

Iris winced. She knew it wasn’t that simple. They were moving overseas to a new post. Iris would be staying here in the U.S. Even if the school was a bit of a move for her too. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to.

Still, she obliged her.

“Yeah, okay, mom.”

She smiled, but Francine knew better.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and interrupting their little moment came Joe West with little Wally West on his back. Joe was dressed in all camouflage wear, and Wally was giggling from bouncing up and down on his “horsie”. Ruffly was close at Joe’s heels.

“What is this here?” Joe asked, witnessing the tear streaks on his two ladies’ faces.

“Dad!” Iris sprung up.

She ran to him, and he slowly released Wally off his back, who promptly complained when his shoeless feet hit the floor.

Joe hugged his daughter tight, lifting her off her feet briefly and kissing the side of her face.

“Oh, baby girl, are you sure you want to go?”

Iris laughed when she was back on her feet again. She wiped away fresh tears.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just gonna miss you guys, but I need this. For me. Okay?”

He sighed and nodded, then looked across the room at his wife.

“She’s so grown-up.”

“I know.” Francine sniffled.

“Why is everyone crying in here?” Wally asked. “Aren’t we gonna see her for Christmas?”

Everyone laughed.

“Aren’t you gonna miss me at all, you little punk?” Iris asked, ruffling his curly hair.

“Eh, maybe a little.” He shrugged, uncaringly.

Iris rolled her eyes.

“Well, it’s time to get going then, yeah?” She looked at her parents who nodded.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “That seven-hour drive is no joke.”

“Seven hours! That’s a lifetime!” Wally whined.

Ruffly barked.

“Just wait till your plane ride,” Iris egged him on. “That might be even longer.”

Wally groaned. “I hate traveling!”

“Better make sure you have something to keep you occupied with then, Walls,” Joe said, and with that Wally zipped out of Iris’ room to make sure his many bags included plenty of toys to play with on his very long journey.

“I’ll go help him,” Francine said. “We’ll meet you at the door with his things.”

“Sounds good.”

Joe smiled, but it was pained. Once Francine had left, all the toughness had melted away again, as it often did with his baby girl.

“Boy, am I gonna miss you,” he said.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Dad.” Another tear streamed down her cheek, and he was quick to wipe it away. “You look so handsome in your uniform, Dad.”

He chuckled.

“Alright, enough sadness for now. We can do this again in seven hours.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“You wanna help me get all a million and one suitcases out to the car?”

She took a step back and looked around her room.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“You can apologize by helping me.”

“Deal.”

She smiled, and slowly they made their way to the front door and then the driveway with all seven of her suitcases. It took a few trips, but then she knew she would need every bit of her belongings for the long school years that lay ahead.

Her family would visit as often as they could, of course, but it would be difficult with them living overseas. She probably wouldn’t see them again until her dad was forced to move again like they were doing now.

But she’d thought long and hard this. She longed for friendships that lasted, for a life beyond what was available to a military family. She needed to connect and to be free for a while, even at the sacrifice of not seeing her family every day, especially her mom and baby brother. This new school – Huntington Farm and Boarding School – would be just the ticket.

Out in the middle of nowhere somewhere down south, the school was on a huge stretch of lush land that also served as a farm – no animals, just crops, which was a shame, Iris thought. She’d miss having even just her dog around too.

But the place was renowned for its academics and social scene there in the middle of the wilderness. A boarding school for those who needed it, traveling families mostly; and if the colorful flyer they’d sent in the mail was any indication, Iris would absolutely love it.

“Everybody ready?” Joe asked, when everyone had piled into the car sometime later.

“Ready!” the family cheered.

Joe chuckled and started the car.

“Huntington Farm and Boarding School, here we come. Watch out for your most dazzling student yet.”

He met Iris’ eyes in the rearview mirror, and they sparkled.

“You know it!” Iris said.

Joe grinned and backed out of the driveway.

They were all on their way to bigger adventures now.

…

One year later…

Iris sat on top of the fence on the edge of the football field, waiting for who she hoped she hadn’t misinterpreted wrong. After nearly a year of first claiming he didn’t like her and then months of mixed signals, Iris was convinced he actually did like her, as much as she liked him.

Sitting on the fence post waiting for the guy to come kiss her seemed like an odd tradition, but it was built into the social aspect of the school, and she figured it was the only guaranteed way she’d know if he was really crushing or not.

She’d dressed as cute as she could for a game, and soon she’d know if it would pay off or not.

Biting her bottom lip, she gasped quietly when she saw him coming around the corner heading right towards where she had herself perched.

Barry Allen was the star football player – star of every sport he could get himself into really – and they’d been making genuine eyes at each other for weeks. Now, as he approached her, it felt as if their whole future was hanging in the balance.

He stopped about 20 feet away. Bracing himself maybe for the decision he’d have to make? Presumably have gained the courage, he continued his walk, headed straight for her and stopped directly in front of her.

Iris waited, her heart hammering a mile a minute in her chest. He was tall enough to reach her – so tall, but she bent her head anyway, and sure enough their lips met in a soft, tender kiss.

She opened her eyes as he took a step back, but the smile on his face was undeniable. So was hers.

Just as he was about to say something truly romantic – she’d decided – one of his teammates burst behind them.

“Did you just kiss Iris West?”

Barry spun around, panic on his features.

“I-”

Another teammate appeared.

“Wait, what?”

“Barry just kissed Iris!”

“But I thought he hated her. He swore he did.”

Iris tensed on the top of the fence, waiting for Barry to smooth the whole thing over. It couldn’t be that big of a deal that he’d pretended to hate her all while flirting with her on the downlow for nearly a year…could it? It was annoying to her for sure, but his teammates couldn’t be that annoyed, could they?

Barry never smoothed it over.

His teammates left, looking disgusted, and Barry looked back at Iris for one more moment, not knowing what to do. Then he left, calling after them.

“Wait, guys, it’s not what it looks like!”

And Iris sat alone on top of the fence, the magical memory of her first kiss completely shattered.

How would they come back from this?

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #the football star and the new girl #chapter 1

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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No Light, No Light (Claire’s Anthem)

A/N To recap where we’re at in the Metric Universe, Jamie and Claire are living separately while their building gets repaired after a fire. Jamie has confessed to loving Claire, and she hesitantly agreed to give a romantic relationship between them a chance. The dates have gone well. Really well. Maybe a bit too well... Rated M, because they deserve it after all I’ve put them through.

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The amazing song by Florence + The Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title and features in a few lines can be heard here: https://youtu.be/HGH-4jQZRcc

August 24, 2018, Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Outside the train, the landscape slid by in an emerald smear. It had been raining earlier, but as the sun dipped westward it broke from beneath the clouds, setting the greens afire. The view was violently beautiful, but Claire stared instead at her face, pensive and wan, reflected in the smudgy window. There was an almost laughable lack of connection between herself and the taciturn man to her left.

It hadn’t started out that way. After a near-idyllic summer dedicated to their mutual enjoyment of each other’s company, this trip to Scotland was meant a culmination of sorts. A validation that they were moving towards something momentous. A delineation between their past as friends and their future as... something more.

Jamie had first mentioned the idea in passing while they waited in line for a gelato in the shadow of the Gherkin on a hot July day.

“T’would be braw tae introduce ye to Lallybroch before ye return tae yer studies, Sassenach,” had been his exact words. Claire had learned to appreciate Jamie’s deft navigation of the shoals of her caution. An invitation to meet his family would have garnered an immediate negative response, but an invitation to his family home received an ambiguous hum.

Several weeks later, they were searching Netflix for a movie they could agree on while cat-sitting for Joe and Gayle. Said cat was lounging on the sofa cushions between them when Jamie casually raised the ante.

“Tomorrow I’ll be buyin’ my ticket home for the August bank holiday. The trains north will be packed, so I was thinkin’ I’d grab a second seat. Just in case, ye ken. T'is refundable, sae there’s no harm.”

By the end of the evening, the cat had fled the room, Claire’s shirt was down to its last button, Jamie’s summer tan couldn’t mask the flush of blood that raced beneath his skin, and the idea of spending a weekend away together sat like an unopened present on the closet shelf of their minds.

Last Monday, between her day shift and his graveyard, they had met for coffee to discuss the details of moving back into their flat.

“Jamie, my name is on this lease.” Claire set down her cup rather abruptly on the table, spilling a few hot drops over her fingers.

“Aye, tis. I asked the landlord tae include us both. Considering all the delays an’ the nuisance, tis the least they could do.” Pausing to hand her a napkin, he balanced his fingertips over her scalded knuckles. It’s yer flat too, Sassenach. No matter what.”

The gravity of the moment hung heavy in the air. Neither spoke for a while, letting the hum of ambient conversation dull the edges of their nerves. Claire slid an unsigned copy of the lease into her satchel.

“I, uh, I ken this mayna be the best time tae be bringing this up, but I’ll be away home come Thursday, back on Monday. There’s still a ticket in yer name, should ye wish tae come wi’ me.”

She looked at him then, so earnest and open and hopeful, the sunlight from the street burnishing his hair coppery-gold. He’d crept in like a thief, disturbing the tidy boxes of her life and leaving traces of his passage on her heart. A thief who gave instead of took, and whose only crime was to love without recompense.

“What would it mean, if I went to Scotland with you?” she asked quietly.

“It would mean everything to me,” he admitted.

That hadn’t been what she was asking, but it was her answer all the same.

The day before they were due to depart, Claire had been eating a late afternoon snack in the hospital cafeteria when a familiar tall form in running gear caught her eye. She couldn’t suppress the frisson of delight she felt as he made his way towards her table, a whiplash of appreciative female gazes following in his wake.

His infectious smile of greeting faltered and then disappeared as he caught sight of what she was reading.

Oh.

The monthly rental property magazine had been left behind on her table, but she’d be lying to say she was browsing it purely out of idle curiosity. The weight of seeing her name next to Jamie’s on their new lease had been pressing down on her since Monday.

On the one hand, it was a tremendous relief - no longer could the outcome of their courtship render her homeless - not that she could imagine Jamie ever being as cruel as Frank. But it also implied a commitment, a state of permanence between them, that quite frankly scared the shit out of her. And so she had been perusing her options, not with any serious intent, but because it gave her comfort to know they existed. Jamie had dropped by unannounced at the worst possible time.

A crowded cafeteria wasn’t the place to start making excuses, so after a stilted exchange about meeting the next day at Euston Station, Jamie departed, a small storm cloud of ire floating above his head.

By the time they met the following morning, that cloud had darkened to a gale, blowing all hope of casual conversation before it. Jamie’s disposition was generally sanguine, but when he put his mind to it he could glower like the Viking gods he resembled. It made for a silent journey.

“Ye can just go ahead and say it, Claire.” When it came, his voice was diminished by resignation.

“I’m curious what it is you want me to say,” she replied.

“That ye willna be moving back inta the flat next month. If that means we willna be seeing each other at all, well, I’d rather ye tell me before I go introducing ye tae my family as my girlfriend like a fool.”

When she turned to face this accusation, the first thing she noticed was the absence of light behind his typically radiant blue eyes. It neutralized the acid on her tongue.

“Those are awfully dire conclusions to be drawing from some rental adverts, my lad,” she quipped. Then, almost begging. “You promised to be patient with me.”

“Aye, I did. But ye also promised tae try, Claire. I canna help but feel that ye’re just marking time, waiting for me to fuck up badly enough that ye can say, well, that’s that then, another disappointment, and retreat tae yer solitude.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, although she’d never have stated it so baldly. As with every emotional conversation she had with Jamie, his words left her feeling naked and exposed. He saw her so well. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his love for her, because what else kept a man coming back once all the ugliness was on display?

“I hear what you’re saying, Jamie. I think you know this isn’t easy for me. Just being here with you on this train, Christ. I almost called you twice this morning to say I wouldn’t be coming.”

“But ye didna. Why?”

“Because the only thing that scares me more than being with you,” her voice rose in pitch, “is being without you. I’m here, but it’s taking bloody everything I have. So please do not ask me for more,” she pleaded.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder and she came to nestle against him willingly.

“I would never ask ye for that, a ghraidh. I only want ye tae learn tae let go of yer fear, as it serves for nought. I learned that the hard way with my accident. T’wasn’t anything I earned nor deserved, but it happened nonetheless. We canna chose if we win or lose. We can only chose how we fight.”

She listened to his heart, steadily thumping beneath the muscles of his chest. To think, he could have been taken away before she came to know the dimensions of its strength. It sent a chill down her spine.

“I ne’er told ye, that first night we met a’ the pub, how ye reminded me of a fierce lioness. All golden eyed and imperious. An’ when I saw those same eyes, peering at me o’er a surgical mask the night of the blast, I understood I would live, because ye did. Ye’re a fighter, Sassenach. I kent it from the start.”

“God, Jamie, I was an utter shambles at the time,” she confessed. His faith in her was overwhelming.

“Aye. But ye were goin’ down swinging.”

***

Ian Murray, Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law, met them at the train station in Inverness. As they navigated the country roads, his conversation with Jamie had the ease and teasing short-hand of timeworn friendship. Claire was content to sit quietly and listen, the inconclusive discussion on the train looming large in her peripheral vision.

It was well past dark as they arrived at Lallybroch, giving the structure an air of timelessness as yellow light bathed the courtyard from windows high above. The battered wooden entrance swung open to the welcoming chaos of barking dogs, children’s laughter and lilting Gaelic voices spilling into the night.

Claire hung back, pretending to help Ian with their bags as Jamie jogged forward to embrace a dark-haired woman who barely reached his shoulders, lifting a giggling toddler from her hip and high into the air. The dogs spun around his legs, practically tripping him as he tried to climb the stairs and answer his sister’s rapid fire questions all at once. Halting before the door, he handed his nephew over before Jenny disappeared inside, the dogs at her heels.

Feeling absurdly nervous, Claire mounted the stairs and accepted his outstretched hand.

“So, this is it?” she asked inanely.

“Aye, this is it. Welcome to my home, Sassenach.”

***

They’d eaten on the train, so after a hasty introduction to the rest of the family and a promise to become better acquainted over breakfast, Jamie and Claire headed upstairs. It occurred to her on the second landing that she had no idea where he expected her to sleep. Their status as temporary lodgers in other people’s homes back in London had made the question moot.

Visceral memories of their increasingly heated goodnight kisses caused Claire to trip on braided rug. Jamie turned as she was righting herself.

“Aye, well, here we are. The lavatory is jest across the hall. If ye need anything, the laird’s room is up these stairs.”

“The laird’s room? Wait, who’s the laird in this story?” she was momentarily distracted from her agitation by this unforeseen detail.

“Well, me. But dinna get any grand illusions. Tis only a leftover title from when Clan Fraser ruled o’er these parts before the Rising.”

Her mouth was moving before she fully considered her next words.

“And does that make me your lady?”

Instead of laughing off her glib comment as she hoped he would, Jamie’s face grew somber.

“Nah. Tha’ position is presently unfilled. In this house, the laird sleeps next tae his lady, always. G’night tae ye, Sassenach.” And with a soft kiss that barely ghosted her lips, Jamie retired to bed. Alone.

***

The next two days were a glimpse into a way of living whose existence Claire had previously discredited. Communal mealtimes, where each family member had an assigned role, from buttering the bread (Jamie’s three-year old nephew and namesake) to clearing the table (Ian, and by their second meal, Claire). Morning and evening chores that left the adults drowsy and smelling slightly of the chicken coop. Siblings bickering, slamming doors and then laughing about it by suppertime. Outings to local landmarks in the rain, a cheerful row of matching Wellingtons and wax cotton jackets tramping along well-worn paths. Visits to neighbours, carrying a Pyrex dish of some culinary offering and returning four hours later, stuffed to the gills and carrying a different Pyrex dish loaded with leftovers.

Seeing Jamie take his place at the centre of this family dynamic was a shock. She’d only ever known him in an urban setting, where he was one man among millions; noteworthy for his decency, his peculiar fondness for blood pudding, and because he was hers. At Lallybroch, he grew before her eyes, taking on new dimensions that challenged and teased her understanding of him.

This was his concept of home.

This was his template for love.

***

On Sunday afternoon, the clouds had lifted to reveal a robin’s egg sky. Claire accompanied Ian on a circuit of the upper pasture. A border collie named Jem bounded down the hill ahead of them. Ian was an easy companion, and they were mid-conversation about the impact of the Scots in the history of medicine when Claire pulled up short, words evaporating in her throat.

There in the hay field just below stood Jamie. Long rows of golden sheaves that had been cut the past week were now drying in the late summer sun. Armed with nothing but a pitchfork, Jamie had obviously been working for some time. He wore boots and loose trousers, but his shirt was long abandoned. Sweat glistened in the fine russet curls that covered his breastbone and over the sun-kissed curves of his shoulders. He was so beautiful, it hurt to breathe.

“He’s himself again,” Ian remarked. “It lightens my heart tae see it.”

Claire tore her eyes away from Jamie. Ian was watching her with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Well, he obviously loves being here, with his family...” she dodged.

Ian shook his head.

“Nah, t’isn’t that. Since his accident, he’s been... altered. Jamie was always the golden one, ye ken? Smart, strong, funny, kind. He wore it well, but it gives ye a sense of... invincibility, maybe? Tha’ blast ripped apart more than his back. I think it made him doubt who he is on the inside. Ye’ve helped him find tha’ man again, Claire, and for that we are in yer debt.”

She couldn’t look at Ian then, for fear that he would see just how much she wanted what he was saying to be the truth. To be essential to someone who meant so much to her, to be enough purely by being herself, it was more than her feelings could contain.

It was what Jamie had been trying to tell her all along.

***

The third stair between the guest room and the laird’s bedroom creaked, and Claire froze, eyes darting guiltily down the corridor to where Ian, Jenny and their children slept. Nothing stirred beyond the drumming of her heartbeat, so she crept the rest of the way, tapping quietly on the solid wood door.

Jamie’s voice was alert as he beckoned, “Come in, Jenny.” She clutched a thin sheaf of papers to her chest and entered the room. The only illumination came from the hearth, where a low fire still blazed. It cast its light on a large, masculine room, with deep blue wallpaper, heavy damask drapes and an immense four poster bed. Jamie sat up against the headboard, the glow from his iPad echoing in his downcast eyes.

“It’s not Jenny. It’s me,” she whispered.

With a visible flinch, the iPad fell to his lap.

“Claire...”

He stretched her name out like honey from a jar, trickling sweetly from his mouth.

She wanted to run. From this plush room, this welcoming home, this uninvited sanctuary of tenderness. Her legs quivered with the impulse. Instead, she plunged forward into the room, right to the edge of the bed, and thrust her offering towards Jamie, who followed her movements as though she was defusing a bomb.

“Whas’ this then?” he asked, peering down at the document.

“It’s our lease. I signed it. And faxed a copy to the landlord.”

There, she had done it. The pebble that would start the landslide. There was no turning back now, and it was pure relief.

Jamie was silent for so long, staring down at her signature, that she began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy.

“Are ye sure, Sassenach?”

A drunken encounter in a pub. Agony radiating from his bright blue eyes on a hospital gurney. Her rain-soaked salvation. A roommate. A friend. His steady patience as they tentatively grew closer. And now something more, something bigger than she knew how to articulate, sneaking around the margins of her fear.

She wasn’t sure of much, but she was certain that Jamie’s love could never hurt. The rest, the panic that she could lose him or disappoint him, that was just the price of paradise.

Instead of answering the question directly, she walked around to the opposite side of the bed and gestured to the empty mattress beside Jamie’s long body.

“Is this place still vacant?”

His smile was radiant.

“For ye, Sassenach, always.”

***

It was like no other sex she’d ever experienced. Intimacy, up until then, had been a transaction, an exchange of debits. This was a cancellation of accounts, an obliteration of any mutual debt. They loved each other with the pure, mindless joy of a wave meeting the shore.

Which isn’t to say that it was perfect. It felt strange to touch Jamie in more than a friendly way. Not at all unpleasant, but strange. Like going to the theatre to see a well-loved play, and suddenly being thrust onto the stage. The hesitance behind Jamie’s touch told her he felt something similar.

In a particularly awkward moment, they were jostling and bumping to remove each other’s pajamas when her hair got caught in the buckle of his watch.

“Ouch!” she yelped. He pulled away, stammering apologies, which only made things worse. After a few failed attempts on Jamie’s part, she reached up and unclasped the watch band, giving him two hands to work with. By this point they were both giggling, the gravitas of the moment lost.

“Ye’ve a great deal of hair, mo nighean donn,” Jamie groused as he lay the offending watch on his nightstand.

“Complaining already, Fraser?”

“God, no. Ye’re... would it be sentimental tae say ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

She was lying naked, but for a pair of skimpy knickers, the firelight caressing her limbs where they were splayed against the dark sheets. Jamie’s visual perusal of her body held a potent combination of lust and reverence that warmed her blood.

“I suppose I can tolerate a bit of sentimentality,” she conceded, rolling towards the bulwark of his naked chest. Her fingers played down the corduroy ripples of his flank.

“You’re beautiful too, Jamie.”

The mood in the room shifted again. Soon they pitching across the mattress, trying to touch in as many ways possible. Their skin grew slippery with sweat. At some point, underwear must have been removed, because she could feel the coarse abrasion of his pubic hair against her thigh, alongside the tensile ridge of his erection.

“Claire,” he gasped as their hips ground together in frenzied pulses. “If ye dinna want me tae go any further, I need ye tae tell me now.”

She reached between them, taking the heft of him in her palm, feeling a spasm of need shudder through his frame.

“There’s nothing about you that I do not want, James Fraser.”

A cavernous groan, a frantic search for a condom in the bedside drawer, the tearing of a foil wrapper, and then a breathless hesitation. She opened her eyes to see Jamie looking down as though she was the morning sun. There was nothing left inside her but dazzling hunger, filling the spaces where her fear once resided.

Here was the start.

#my writing #outlander

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