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fanoftheimagines · 6 months ago

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My Breath through the Deep Water

Pairing: (pre-relationship) Edwin Payne/Charles Rowlan/Ghost!Reader

Reader Gender: AFAB Trans Masc / Non-Binary

CW: pre-canon, reader is dead, neglectful/abusive parents, chronic illness & anemia, implied periods, yearning (everyone is yearning, everyone is oblivious), discussion of spousal murder & abuse, supernatural activity, Death & Dream cameo, you can pry Y/N from my cold dead hands

Word Count: 3,098

Summary: Dying in your sleep was supposed to guarantee your spot in the Dreaming. But when you end up stuck as a ghost on the mortal plane, you go to the only ghosts who can help: the Dead Boy Detectives.

A/N: I have fallen for the dead sad bois. This show is perfect and I am attached to them now. Title from Deep Water by American Authors. The reader’s backstory is based off my chronically ill childhood. Reader is meant to be around the boys’ age. I think this probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, so cheers to that!

Shout out to lilacclorceta for beta reading this for me!

Masterlist | AO3 Link

--- 1992 ---

The wooden door with a windowpane stood right in front of you. You took in a deep breath – one you arguably didn’t need anymore – and walked through. There were two ghostly teenage boys inside, one sitting at the desk in the middle of the room and one fiddling with the clearly-marked cases board. A nervous ball wadded in your stomach. Asking for help was never your forte, but you were at your wits end.

“Um…” You mumbled, “Excuse me?” The two boys looked up. The one in a suit and bowtie raised an eyebrow while the one in red gave you a welcoming smile. “Are you the Dead Boy Detectives?”

“That we are!” The one in red said, before turning to look at the other. He nodded. “Come in. I’m Charles, this is Edwin. How can we help you?”

You stepped further in carefully. “I… um… I need your help figuring out why I’m here…”

Edwin – the one in the suit and bowtie – nodded and gestured to the spot in front of the desk. “Please, we’ll need to know everything.”

Charles walked around and sat on the edge of the desk, angled toward Edwin. Again, you took a breath you didn’t need. “Death never came for me and I… I have no idea why…” Charles’ face flooded with sympathy. Edwin’s remained blank. “Thing is,” you hesitated, looking over their heads as you spoke, “I know where I was supposed to go, technically speaking. But I just… didn’t.”

Edwin quirked a brow in intrigue. “And you do not have any unfinished business? You’re positive?”

“No, that’s the thing. If I do, I don’t know what it is.” You responded, looking to him.

“So, what happened?” Charles probed. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is, how’d you die?”

You sighed and looked at your hands. Death never came for you. Just another sad occurrence in your already depressing life. A sick, painful, lonely life. You’d died as you’d lived: alone. Neglectful parents combined with a severe bleeding disorder left you sickly and weak until the very end. No one rushed to help you, always taking their time to try anything. Months before any medication to help with your heavy bleeding, and months more until a single blood transfusion, losing more and more lifeblood every day. As you grew weaker, you spent more time sleeping. It’s there you discovered an escape: the Dreaming. You spent your short years stuck at home, visiting the Dreaming to help with the ache. Your friends – if you could call them that, given they were dreams – said you’d stay in the Dreaming were you to die there. It was a hopeful outlook, given your rotten luck in life.

And then you died in your sleep. You were in the Dreaming at the time. You blinked, felt a strange tug at your core, then opened your eyes to your bedroom, your pale corpse lifeless under the covers.

A lone tear rolled down your cheek as you told them your story. You quickly wiped it away with your thumb. “Sorry, still fresh.”

“Hey, don’t worry. Only natural, isn’t it? Dying alone sounds scary, I’m sorry you went through that.” Charles said.

Edwin’s face was twisted in fascination and curiosity. “Charles, a word?” He interrupted, facing Charles.

He dragged him into the closet before he could respond. Their voices were muffled through the door. You fiddled with your fingers, anxiety swelling in your throat. “I can pay!” You suddenly burst, voice just loud enough you hoped they could hear you.

Charles stepped out first and sat back on the desk. Edwin stood straight – his hands clasped all proper – next to him. “We’ll take your case.”

“Oh, thank you.” A relieved breath left you.

“Now, you said you could pay?” He continued inquisitively.

You nodded. “Right, well I inherited a collection of rare books on the supernatural from my grandmother. The books are still there. I don’t think my parents are ready to move on yet, honestly. They’re yours, if you help me.”

“Oh, brills! Edwin’s always looking to add more to his collection, right Edwin?” Charles smiled – almost smitten, if you didn’t know any better – at Edwin.

Edwin fought back a smile. “Yes, Charles, thank you.” He nodded his head toward you. “Now, let us get started.”

--- 1999 ---

“I come bearing gifts, my friends!” You smiled widely as you walked through the office mirror. A thick manila file was in your hand.

“You are aces, you are!” Charles laughed, taking the file from your hand. “Oh, look at this, old Mr. Brewer’s got some nasty skeletons, eh?” Edwin peered over his shoulder.

“Interesting. So, he caused the death of a young woman 48 years ago, and yet she didn’t seek revenge until now?” Edwin remarked before looking up at you. “Well done.”

Charles handed the file to him and swung an arm around your shoulder. “That’s a compliment in Edwin’s book, right there.” He squeezed you against him. The comforting pressure had you leaning in further.

“Thank you. I’m glad I could help.” You smiled, glancing at the pretty boy with his arm around you. “Gotta give you a reason to keep me around, right?” It was a half-joke – something frankly pitiful if you were honest with yourself.

“Nah, none of that,” he chuckled, squeezing you again, “we like you, don’t we? Besides, your case isn’t solved. Not a good look, if you ask me.”

“Yes, you’ve become a valuable member of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. We’d both be completely lost without you.” Edwin snarked, half sarcastically. “Now, did you happen to learn anything else from this source of yours?”

You smirked. “Apparently, Brewer’s nephew bought a typewriter from a seller of supernatural artifacts last year.”

“And, let me guess, she was the original owner? Oh, that’s brills.” Charles leaned over Edwin, practically resting his chin on his shoulder. His chocolate brown eyes scanned the page. “Haunted objects are practically our bread and butter.”

Your gaze rested on him for a moment before you tore it away. You dug out a scrap of paper out of your inner jacket pocket. “Yeah. My source, as you so called her, said this would help with sorting it out.” You handed it to Edwin.

He nodded and scanned it. “Wonderful, I’ll get to work on this. You two do some leg work, find out what you can about this scorned woman.”

--- SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET ---

Charles and you walked into the house. It had been abandoned after Thomas Brewer’s death. His only living family was his nephew, who didn’t want to live in the city. The only ones hanging around seemed to be Brewer himself and this unknown woman. It was dark. The windows were drawn to keep out street light. The furniture was covered with white tarps. Blood stains surrounded the single armchair in the living room. Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.

The two of you split up. You took to the main floor, Charles upstairs. You skirted around the red-stained floor. The bookcase left of the telly was practically overflowing with books. The old man had clearly collected. And there, sitting right in the middle of the fourth shelf, was the typewriter. It looked normal, just a regular typewriter. You really wouldn’t know it was haunted by an apparently malicious ghost. You didn’t touch it – you wouldn’t hear the end of it if you did. Instead, you went to the office off the living room.

The large wooden desk was covered in a thick layer of dust. The right drawer was locked. You opened all the others. Nothing of note on the woman, unfortunately. Behind the desk, a painting of a lakefront. You pulled it off the wall to reveal a wall safe. Typical.

“Found something!” You called, leaving the room to find Charles.

He was in the main bedroom. His back was to the door as he read a leather-bound book. He tilted his head to you as you walked in. “He definitely killed her.”

“Diary?” You asked, sitting next to him.

He hummed and shifted the book for you to read too. “Her name was Mary. She was his wife.” He paused and closed his eyes. “He pushed her down the stairs when she tried to leave him.”

“Oh,” you muttered, forcing your eyes away from the book. “Then, I suppose he deserved it.”

“Yeah…” His voice dropped slightly and you could sense his anger rising. Your hand slid easy into his and gave it a comforting squeeze. His shoulder slumped against yours. His past was coming back to him – you could tell in the way his shoulders drew in and his mask slipped slightly. A solacing silence settled over the two of you. The pressure and proximity were a comfort for both of you.

“We should go.” He eventually broke the silence.

“There’s a safe and a locked drawer we should deal with first.” You replied as you stood up. It was as if the moment hadn’t happened. And well, you were both professionals, after all.

“The client lied to us. He did know her.” Charles told Edwin. You’d returned to the office to find Edwin in a state of undress you rarely saw him – that is, without his suit jacket – knee deep in research. He was surrounded by piles of books mostly regarding object hauntings. A small smile formed at the sight. He was perfect in his own way, something that made butterflies flutter in your stomach in the same way Charles did sometimes.

You zoned out of the conversation. The two boys – your boys – were easy on the eyes. They were both so damn pretty. The kind of pretty that stalled your breath and made your heart skip a beat. And on top of that, they were the perfect duo. A verifiable old married couple if you’d ever seen one. And they made you feel more alive than you ever did before. Somehow, Death had granted you a gift. The realization was almost a shock to the system. They were your best friends, your family. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey!” Charles’ hand suddenly waved in front of your face. “You still in there, mate?”

It jerked you out of your stupor. “Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” You looked up to him. His brown eyes were full of concern. “What’d I miss?”

Edwin raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “Your friend was right. I have the spell I need to unbind Mary Brewer from the typewriter. Once she’s free, her and Thomas should be able to move on. Get ready. We leave in an hour.”

--- A WOMAN SCORNED ---

Why did nothing ever go to plan? A spectral claw dug further into your shoulder. No pain followed, but a heavy feeling of pressure followed. Mary’s elongated, horrific form screamed eerily into your face. You turned reflexively. Edwin’s voice came somewhere behind you. His Latin was just barely audible. Charles’ cricket bat thwacked the enraged spirit, but she only tightened her grip on you.

“Please hurry up!” You yelled; voice tinged with panic. “Charles!”

“I’ve got you!” He said. You could just barely hear him riffling through his bag. Mary drooled over you as she bared down on you. Then, she screamed loudly. Charles had swung on her with his knife. She reared back. Her claws released you. You dropped and scrambled. “Yeah, that’s right. Leave them alone.”

“Any time now, Edwin!”

With a final word, Mary’s ghostly form glowed blue then settled. There on the floor sat a sobbing woman dressed in sixties traveling ware. The three of you panted in relief. Edwin helped you to your feet and turned to Charles.

“You okay?”

Charles nodded, picked up his backpack, and tucked his iron knife away. “Aces, but we should get out of here. Now that she’s free, Death’ll come.”

--- CASE CLOSED ---

It hadn’t ended the way you expected, sure, but the case was still closed. The client had turned out to be a no-good murderer but you’d freed his late wife. Plus, you got paid before the case. Edwin spent the rest of the night reshelving his books. Charles smiled softly at him occasionally and busied himself with filing away the case.

You leaned against the wall, just watching them. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder what your afterlife would be like if you’d stayed in the Dreaming. But times like this made you want to hide away from Death forever.

That wonderful fluttering feeling returned. An easy smile fell on your lips. And after a moment of relishing in the saccharine feeling, you gently reached to take the stack of books from Edwin’s arms. “Let me help?”

He hummed pleasantly and shifted them into your arms. “Thank you.”

--- 2022 ---

Twenty-something years later, your case was on indefinite hiatus. The years passed pleasantly. The Dead Boy Detective Agency was a shining beacon in your postmortem life. Together, you closed probably hundreds of cases.

This one was simple, but with lots of detective work. A client came in, an older woman who just wanted to know who stole her mother’s engagement ring before she’d died. Her and her family lived on the other side of town – an hour away by the tube. Of course, that meant Edwin insisted on you practicing mirror travel on your way back. To get cases done faster, he claimed. Charles smirked at him knowingly when he’d said that and you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath too.

Which led you here, in the client’s bedroom, staring at the unreflective mirror. Edwin stood uncharacteristically close behind you. His proximity made your metaphorical heart race. He gently placed your hand on the mirror. It rippled under your touch.

“Focus on the office.” He whispered close to your ear. “You need to remain focused on where you want to go. Think of the mirror as a doorway.” You took a deep breath and did as he said. Desperately not focusing on his nearness and trust, on this need to just… touch him. You did your best to focus on the office. “Now, step through.”

You didn’t end up in the office. It was a back alley with a mirror leaning against a garbage bin. Whimpering came from a bit further in. Followed by a blue light. Dread grasped your throat. No…

“Well?” Edwin asked, poking his head out.

You quickly turned. Not him. “Death is here. Go!” You whispered, pushing him back through.

A voice stopped you from following. You couldn’t lead her back to them. Not them. Anyone but them. “Hello, Y/N.”

You turned around slowly this time. “Hello, Death. Are you finally here to take me?

She was beautiful and her face was kind. Her brown eyes sympathetic. “Do you want me to?”

You shook your head. No, that was the last thing you wanted. A man – his hair dark and wild, his eyes silver and galactic – dressed in all black walked up behind her. He felt familiar, in a similar way Death did. “Dream,” you whispered, almost reverently. He was here, somehow. Missing all those years you’d visited the Dreaming, watching as it decayed. “You’re here…”

“You know me?” His voice was smooth, reverberating deep in your chest even despite your lack of physical feeling.

“I spent years in your realm. It welcomed me when I had nowhere else.” You smiled wistfully.

Death glanced at Dream. “They can go back, if you’ll take them. They died there a long time ago.” She turned back to you. “Do you want that?”

This was it. The moment you’d wanted all those years ago. It was here. All you had to do was nod and take her hand and you could go back to the Dreaming with your friends and see its beauty like you were always meant to. But then you thought of Charles’ smile. His golden earring and Rude Boys jacket and red shirt. Edwin’s quiet concern and fancy suit. Your friends, the people you’d risked your existence for over and over again.

“No.”

Dream’s stare pierced your very being. “No? You dare deny your destiny? My realm?”

“I would have said yes, if you’d come 30 years ago. But then I made a home here, with a family of my own. And I’m happier than I ever was when I was alive or in the Dreaming.” You glanced at Death. Fear knotted in your gut. What if she took you anyway?

But she just nodded and smiled kindly. “Good, I’m glad you found your place. And when you’re ready, I will come.”

She turned to him. A moment later, he nodded. “You are always welcome in the Dreaming.”

A sigh left you involuntarily. “Thank you.”

The second you walked back through the mirror you were engulfed in their arms. Edwin – who didn’t like touch most days – held you tight in relief. Charles tugged you both close. If tears came, no one mentioned them. You sagged into their arms.

Then, Edwin slapped your arm. “Are you completely stupid?” He yelled, pulling away. His voice was high with residual anxiety.

“Easy, Edwin. They’re still here.” Charles smiled, squeezing you again before releasing you. “What happened, then? How’d you get away?”

A soft smile – saccharine and easy – graced your lips. “Death let me go.”

“What?” Edwin asked. Confusion all over his face. “That’s not possible.”

You grinned. Happiness swelled. “She said I found my place and when I was ready, she’d come for me.”

“Oh, that’s brills!” Charles laughed, picking you up in a crushing hug.

Edwin smiled – properly smiled, for possibly the first time since you’d met him. “Let’s go home then. This case can wait, what with Death around.”

Life hadn’t been kind to you. Neither had death. Then you’d met two incredible detectives. All your pain and suffering didn’t matter anymore, not really, when you had them to lean on. It still ached like a bruise on occasion. Yet you wouldn’t trade it for anything if it meant you ended up here. You’d gotten what you’d always wanted in the most unlikely of ways. You were tied to them forever now. Three souls bound together through pain and friendship. They were a safe place to rest your head when it all was too much. Just as you were for them. When Edwin had flashbacks of Hell or Charles got quiet and repressive. You don’t know what your future holds, but you knew that no matter what, you’d found where you belonged.

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literaryavenger · 11 months ago

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Broken - part 5

Summary: You and Bucky keep bonding.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language. Innocent and broken Bucky. Mentions of Bucky's past and nightmares. A lot of fluff. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.2K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: I decided on the ending for this story, and I have only one more chapter to go! Enjoy, the last one will probably come sometime tomorrow. Also, again, it's 4:30 am and I can't help myself lol.

Masterlist

Spending time with Cassie you couldn’t help but feel better.

The more you have fun and laugh with the little girl, the more you forget about your anger against the team.

It also helps that you spend most of the day away from them, eating lunch with Cassie and Scott, who you didn’t stay mad at for too long. To be fair to him you didn’t even know him when everything happened so you don't blame him too much.

As promised, Bucky comes looking for you as soon as he and Steve get back to the tower, finding you still on Scott's floor while you guys watch Despicable Me inside a huge blanket fort Cassie insisted on building in the middle of the floor of the living room.

Thankfully the other occupants of this floor, Bruce, Thor and Loki, are still in New Asgard. He’s just about to turn around and go back to his room when you notice him.

"Hey Bucky! Where are you going, how did it go?" he looks uncertainly at Scott and his daughter before answering.

"I was just gonna…" he trails off, pointing behind him towards the elevator.

"Nonsense, come here." you tell him, patting the seat next to you in the fort.

He’s a little hesitant, but slowly comes further into the room, sitting on the ground, leaving a little space between you.

You give him a smile that he shyly returns before you hear a little voice clearing her throat, which brings your attention to the little girl on your right. "Yes, Princess Cassie?"

"And who would this be, Queen Y/N?" Bucky’s a little confused by the interaction, but says nothing.

"This is Bucky. What title would you like to give him?" Cassie thinks about it for a second while staring very intently at Bucky, narrowing her eyes at him, and you can’t hide your amusement.

That is, until Cassie suddenly lands on a role for Bucky.

"He should be the King!" she says, looking from him to you a couple of times "You guys look good together." you’re about to say something, when Scott beats you to the punch.

"She’s right, I can see it." he says putting his hands up and looking through them to frame you and Bucky together, clearly much more amused than you are at the situation.

You sigh, knowing you can’t escape this. "Well, what Princess Cassie says goes. I’m sorry, King Bucky, you’re stuck with me now."

You turn to Bucky who's still very confused, and is now also starting to turn slightly pink, so you decide to explain.

"We’re playing make believe. Cassie is the Princess, Scott is the Jester and I’m the Queen. I’m sorry to inform you you’ve been crowned King of the castle." you gesture to the fort with your hands.

"And also Y/N’s husband!" Cassie feel the need to shout, making your head snap to her with wide eyes while Bucky turns even redder, your own face starting to change color now.

"He gets it, Princess." you try not to snap at her, she’s just a kid and doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s still pretty embarrassing.

You see Scott snickering behind Cassie and glare at him as much as you can trying to go unnoticed by her, but Cassie's attention is on the super soldier now.

"You're going to play with us, right?" she asks him in a sweet voice, making the biggest puppy eyes you've ever seen. She certainly knows what she's doing.

Bucky, who hasn't said anything until now, doesn't know what to do. He looks at you for help and you give him an encouraging smile.

He then looked at Scott, worried that the man might want Bucky anywhere near his daughter, but Scott simply nods his head with a smile.

Bucky relaxes a bit and turned his attention back to the little girl, trying to find the right thing to say.

"Of course I'll play with you. After all, the Princess’ word is law." Cassie starts giggling at the bow he gives her, and you're almost giddy at seeing this side of Bucky, more relaxed than he's been since he got here.

Granted, it was just a couple of days ago, but he seems to be making a lot of progress really fast, so far, just like Steve said after he hugged you yesterday morning.

You keep watching the movie, then the second one and you get halfway through the third when Maggie comes by to pick up Cassie.

So, with the promise not to finish the movie without her, you and Bucky say goodbye to all three and make your way to your shared floor.

"You were right, she really is adorable." Bucky says with a smile as you get into the elevator.

"I know, it’s pretty hard to stay mad at Scott when he lets me hang out with her." you smile back at him. "So, how did your meeting go?"

You see Bucky tense and feel a little bad. You really didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but you were genuinely curious and also wanted to support him. After all you know having a hearing isn’t certainly gonna be easy.

"I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to." You quickly reassure him and he seems to relax and gives you a nod.

When he doesn’t say anything else, you let it go. But Bucky had a question himself.

"Why are you ignoring everyone but me?" you sigh.

You don't blame him for being curious, you yourself are as nosy as they come. Always in a respectful manner, of course.

"I’m mad at them." You simply say. "They selfishly kept a pretty big thing from me. They made me feel bad, knowing they were lying to me. They’re my family, they should trust me more than this. I’ll get over it, eventually, but for now I’m happy avoiding everybody." you shrug. You know it’s kind of childish, but you also don’t care.

"Okay, I understand that… But why are you not avoiding me?" Now you’re confused.

"Why would I avoid you?" he bows his head in shame, not meeting your eyes as you exit the elevator and you already know you’re not going to like his answer.

"I’m the reason it all happened in the first place… it’s all my fault." You can feel the sadness in his voice, you can see he actually feels bad about causing this.

You, on the other hand, don't agree.

"Bucky," you start, stopping right in front of him, forcing him to stop too, looking up and quickly putting his hands on your arms to make sure you don't fall after almost colliding with you. "you can’t blame yourself for other people’s choices. Steve chose to help you, Tony chose to fight it, everybody else chose a side. None of it was on you. You didn’t ask anybody to do anything. So, please, stop feeling guilty."

Bucky looks at you silently for a few moments and you feel like he's searching your face for any hint that you might be lying, that you don't really believe what you were saying.

But he doesn't to find any so he nods and says "I’ll try." with his hands still on your arms and it's like you're suddenly registering just how close he is and how warm his touch is on your skin.

He’s about to say something else, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky drops his hands from you like they burned and you turn around, almost feeling like you got caught doing something wrong when you see Steve and Sam just standing there looking at you two.

Steve has that stupid grin on his face that he doesn’t seem to be able to wipe every time he sees you and Bucky together, but Sam looks more concerned than anything.

"Everything okay here?" he says and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his insinuation that something might be wrong just because you’re alone with Bucky.

You turn back to the brunette super soldier and smile at him "I’m gonna go to my room, I still have some reports to finish. See you later?"

You wait until he nods and then get on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek like this morning, smiling a little more when you back away and see a little pink hue coming back to his face, but with a smile nonetheless.

You turn around and pass the other two men without saying a word, hearing them sigh behind you as you walk away towards your room.

Maybe you’re being a little dramatic, but you don’t feel like forgiving anybody else just yet.

So that’s how you find yourself spending more and more time with Bucky.

It feels like you spent all your free time with each other, only being apart at night and when Bucky joins the team for dinner.

He tried to get out of it multiple times to join you when you would eat in the kitchen of your floor, but Steve insists that it would be better for him to be around the team, even if just for an hour a day, and you fully agree.

That, however, doesn’t stop him from joining you afterwards just so you won't have to eat alone, for which you're grateful.

Initially Bucky's pretty content just following you around like a lost puppy, a fact that Sam and Steve never fail to mention as it amuses them to no end.

But Bucky doesn't care, and neither do you as you enjoy each other’s presence, even in silence.

Bucky likes watching you go about your day, still amazed by everything you do and you like having him near you. It makes you feel safe.

Still, the more time you spent together, the more comfortable he feels around you.

The real turning point comes when one night you open your door to find a disheveled looking Bucky, and you know immediately that him knocking at your door at 3 am meant nothing good.

Which is confirmed when he sniffles and you realize he has tears streaming down his face.

Without saying anything you hold out your hand, which he instantly takes as he lets you guide him inside, shutting the door behind him.

You walk to the bed and sit down, hand still in his and, when he just stands there you tug on it, silently letting him know that it's okay for him to join you.

You expect him to sit next to you as he’s done countless times now while leaving a respectful space between you, always the gentleman.

What you didn’t expect is him crawling into your bed, taking you to lay down with him, and hugging you as tightly as he can without hurting you, his legs also wrapping around yours.

To say you're shocked right now is an understatement. You always made a point to keep physical touch to a minimum when it comes to Bucky, not wanting to do anything to make him uncomfortable.

But here he is, clinging to you like a scared little kid, crying his eyes out with his head buried in the crook your neck.

You wrap your arms around his shaking body, hugging him as tight as he is, rubbing his back to try and soothe him, whispering what you hope are words of encouragement in his ear.

You stay like that for a while until he finally calms down and stops crying.

You don’t rush him to let go or to talk about it, letting him decide if and when he's ready to talk at all.

After a few minutes of total silence you think the poor guy cried himself to sleep, but he proves you wrong by moving his head away from your neck and placing it on your chest.

You feel him play with your necklace as he starts talking with a quiet voice that reminds you of the first day you met him. "I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t want to bother you, but I didn’t want to be alone and had nowhere else to go." and your heart breaks for him.

"Don’t apologize, Buck. You can always come to me, it doesn’t matter what time it is."

He looks up, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars just for him, and seems like he's about to say something else but thinks better of it, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times.

He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze and moving his head back to lay on you, but you don't need words to know he's grateful for your understanding.

He's seemingly unashamed of the way he's still clinging to you and you’d be lying if you said you mind being so close to him either.

You start running your hand through his hair, which he seems to appreciate, and, after a few more minutes of silence, he starts speaking again.

He tells you about the nightmares he’s been having ever since he escaped Hydra, and that tonight, after a particularly gruesome one, he just couldn’t stand being alone.

He doesn't go into too much detail about the dream but tells you enough for you to want to take a few firearms and track down every single person connected to Hydra so you can put as many bullets in them as you can carry, then light them on fire for good measure.

But, Bucky being your first priority, you stay where you are and try your best to comfort him, eventually changing the subject to keep his mind off the nightmare.

You talk until the sun comes up, birds chirping, but neither of you make a move to get up at any point, eventually falling asleep for a couple of hours in each other’s arms.

Part 6

Taglist: @aesthetic0cherryblossom @buchi91 @sapphirebarnes @ordelixx

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x platonic reader #avengers x platonic!reader

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rielzero · 1 month ago

Text

Original by for-tymora's blog, altering this slightly and removing some bits to prevent overly spoiling my oc.

30 Questions for Your Tav! [ Ask Meme ]

Your Tav as a Companion

1. What would your Tav’s greetings be (at different levels of approval)?

Negative (<0):

He stares just at you, Clicking his tongue in an annoyed tone.

"Got nobody else?"

"I would prefer if you'd find a better source of entertainment."

Neutral (0 - 19):

"Seems like you've got something to say."

He stares at you, just raising a brow and cocking his head sideways.

“This better be important.”

Medium and up (20+):

"Hmm? Sorry, you caught me off guard."

"Feeling chatty? I don't mind."

"I'm all ears." Gestures to his ears.

When spoken to by someone other than the player character:

"I'd prefer to be in touch with someone better suited for important conversations. No small talk."

Flirting:

Pretends he wasn't intensely eyeballing your back earlier, winks.

"Something wrong, love?"

"Hey, caught you staring.''

"I was hoping you'd talk to me."

"You're looking dreamy today."

"Hello, love."

"..Hmm? Hmm.." He seems happy.

"I was wondering when you'd need me again."

Partnered:

"Hello, partner in crime." Mischief on his face.

"Say what you need, I'm here to listen."

Act 3 Vampire - Partnered:

"You look hungry, or maybe I'm... Heh."

"Ask me anything, anything, anything.."

"I'd kill if it'd make you happy."

"My love, we are so close to victory, I can almost touch it." (To Astarion Origin)

''You're looking splendid and magical today.'' (To Gale Origin)

"Yes, my sun?" (To Astarion Origin)

''Yes, my love?''

Broken up:

He Just looks at you emptily, and disappointed. Dead eyed.

2. Describe their tent setup! What’s on the outside? The inside?

It's the most put-together you've even seen. Stitched to the brim, looks like it can collapse and barely covers the bedroll. Has a bunch of bags surrounding it and crates to support the rest, kind of like a pillow-fort situation.

3. What would their character quest be titled? Why?

I personally haven't decided on this yet. Rat-themed perhaps, or something to do with him looking sickly.

4. What would your Tav’s romance scenes look like? How many would they have?

Probably depends on the Origin character, I can't picture him being romanced by anyone other than Gale or Astarion at this time. There would be romance and bonding scenes.

5. Describe their idle animations!

Cracking neck, cracking bones, stretching uncomfortably.

Pondering, tapping his foot on the ground with arms folded.

Wiping his face and looking at his hand for a moment before wiping it off his pants.

Tightening his arm wraps (would look like he's rubbing his lower arms.)

Casting Shocking Grasp, just to look at the sparks in his hands, then waves it off.

Pulling out his journal and browsing through it or jotting something down.

Sitting down and drawing (Stops upon approach.)

Act 3 idle Animations would be conditional adittions.

Poking his teeth, then stare at his finger..

Observe his wrist scars, turning it around and stroking it.

Scratch his neck scars, stretch.

Looks like he's smelling something, clearly bothered by it.

Pull out a bottle of blood and sip from it excessively.

Sitting down and drawing (doesn't stop when approached.)

6. How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

I've done a post on this before I think, but it would be in the location near the intellect devourers, hunched over and trying to keep himself from hurling.

8. After Act 3, What are they talking about at the reunion party?

Probably about the change of appearance and hairstyle, and how he's doing better than he was after the defeat of the netherbrain. He's still settling down and getting used to things, 6 months wasn't enough.

Back to Basics

9. What’s the significance behind your Tav’s name?

Locke misspells his name, because he came up with it when he was sixteen. In his mind, Loki is written Locke at first because it sounds like ''Lock-i'' to him, he was the lockpicker in a gang of orphans.

10. Does your Tav have a last name? Is there a meaning behind it?

He comes up with it on the spot, it means ''Trick'' and its very much meant to be a trick.

12. Does your Tav have any tattoos or scars? Why?

Locke's facial tattoo is magic ink, its a protective ward of sorts. Won't elaborate. His scars are all from abuse, different people.

13. What is your Tav’s main color palette? Why do they choose those colors?

Has a strong attachment to purple because of his dead childhood friend, who was a purple tiefling.

14. Where are they from? What was home like?

Baldurian sewers. Not much of a home, more like a nightmare.

15. Is your Tav more likely to fight/flight/freeze/fawn?

He fights in most cases.

17. Do they have any enemies outside of the main plot? Any friends?

He has acquaintances, his closest being a fatherly figure, The Undertaker, Jermaine.

Deep Dives

20. What is their relationship to touch? Do they shy away from it? Do they need it to feel present?

Very much touch-starved, but dislikes casual friendly touch because he's afraid of affection at first.

21. Describe a defining moment from their past, which makes them who they are today!

He has CPTSD, it wouldn't be a singularity, though I'd say the moment he became a warlock is pretty big.

22. How is your Tav’s relationship with their family? Their parents?

The woman who raised him thoroughly abused him, so did the other orphans he was raised with. As adults, their relationship is strained and reduced to just being familiar with one another. He doesn't view them as family. He simply can't.

24. What does your Tav consider to be their own biggest character flaw?

He desires to have something of his own, but fails to give it a place. He feels like everything that he does have will never be completely his own, at times. (I'm being vague on purpose.)

25. What is something they would die on a hill over?

Wizards being prone to explosiveness. He will not accept the reality that some wizards never blow themselves up in any capacity. They're all one wrong step away from exploding themselves.

27. What is the worst thing they think they’ve ever done/said to someone they loved?

Say no to his ex-boyfriend.

28. Describe a smell that reminds your Tav of childhood.

..Cooked Dwarf roast.

29. What fears keep them up at night?

Sleeping in the dark.

30. What does your Tav want more than anything?

Power, or to feel like he's worth something.

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visualtaehyun · 4 months ago

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My running commentary for ep. 6 of Love Sea spans six (!) entire pages in my notes compared to my usual 2-4 so imma toss em all up on here for a change, gonna get back to specific language things in a new post later but i'm too lazy rn to explain any thai in my comments lol (i'll just link y'all previous explanations if applicable 👍 here's to 'teaching' thai by straight-up pushing you into the water and hoping you'll start flapping your arms enough to qualify as swimming lmao)

Rak อ้อน's, smiles sweetly, asks to eat at home to honor mut's cooking

'or bc the feelings have changed already?' MUT'S IN LOVE 😭

Title: ตอนที่ หึงคืออาการของคนมีความรัก

why does rak อ้อน so much omg 😭

bro. when mut stops vi from telling him about prin, saying he'd prefer hearing it from rak once he opens up to him, and vi says: 'Don't let this end as just a transaction.' 🥹 พี่วีเอ็นดูหมุดไปแล้ว she loves her best friend and clearly thinks mut is so good for rak 🥺

soft tone, plink-plank music and a sweet smile but the line- "คุณเพิ่งด่าไอ้เด็กเหี้ยนั่นว่า เอาเวลาว่างไปหาอะไรใส่หัว ดีกว่าเสือกเรื่องของคนอื่น ผมไม่อยากเป็นคนเหี้ยครับ" ("You just told that bitch to invest her time in educating herself instead of being nosy. I don't want to be like her.") lmaooo

'usually everyone hears about me from someone else' :<

the word subbed as gigolo that rak uses to describe his father is แมงดา - can mean pimp or male prostitute or gigolo but certainly comes from how male horseshoe crabs will cling onto a female's back during mating season, taking advantage of its mate, and is thus used to disparage men who benefit off of women financially

that lil kiss on the top of rak's head? surely fort adding on haha

Vi all alone, looking kinda blue, while mook งอน's, keeps rejecting her calls, and tries to distract herself by going out with friends (one of which is clearly Som Supatsorn from Cosmos <3)

Mut's allowed in rak's room!!!

the way rak manhandles mut into exactly the position he wants to cuddle in 🥹

he really is so cat-like <3

oho. i can already see the commentary coming about how mut started touching rak without consent/while he's sleeping 🌚 don't listen to the haters, p'may, that entire scene was piping hot and this is fiction anyway

love that mut calls them คุณมุก and พี่วี :) really goes to show the difference in familiarity levels

fucking love how shocked both kom and mut are to see each other here 😂 and how dumb-struck and speechless mut is bc he doesn't know how to explain lmao

Mut: "อย่างที่มึงคิดนั้นแหละ กูโดนซื้อมา" - Kom: 🤦‍♂️

lmao rak looks so pouty-jealous AND TATTLES ON KOM TO CONNOR 🤣

so interesting to me that connor and rak use ฉัน/นาย with each other

Kom uses ผม/คอนเนอร์

I can't believe mut just found out that rak and connor used to sleep with each other and didn't connect the dots before djsjshdhw not true actually, I read too much into the dialogue and know now from reading even just the prologue of Love Sea that they're really just best friends

this fight is so funny55555

Ugh i love this. seeing the besties bitching to each other, how comfortable they feel in each other's homes, just everything about their behavior makes it so clear how close they are! (same for kom and mut too)

Vi: "1-10?" - Rak: "หงุดหงิดระดับ 8 อยากง้อแต่กลัวเสียฟอร์ม พอใ��มึงยัง" I LOVE THIS

Vi is such a schemester 🤣

love that mut sits by the water as he's stressing about rak while on the phone with kom

I've only had meena for a minute and i already love the girl 🥺 loves mint-choc icecream, calls herself เค้า with ing-ing (and she does so too), the cutest haircut, walking holding hands with her friend, and she really is a clever girl

this actress is so talented for her age wow

Mut honey 🥺 the fact that he starts to ง้อ by disparaging himself like nooo rak would never think of you that way, he doesn't care about the money or contract at all!

nooo the way rak talks to his niece 😭❤️

Meena 😂 i love her

love how น้ารัก sounds so close to น่ารัก :)

she's 13, gotcha

Meena: "งั้น ให้พี่มุกมารับมีนาก็ได้ไง" Rak, smiling: "ไม่ได้ มุกมันตัวแค่นั้นนะ" :>

Meena's reactions are everything 🤣

immediately calls mut พี่

Mut: "ไม่สิ พี่จะทำให้เขา ต้องรัก พี่" ("No. I'm going to make him 'must love' me.") -> throwback to the scene where he said he couldn't possibly ask someone like khun tongrak to ต้องรักคนอย่างผม (or sth like that)

this kid55555 love that she just declares I'm gonna call you น้าหมุด and you've no choice in this lmao, also switching from หนู to มีนา

Mut: "วันนี้คุณว่าง่ายกว่าปกตินะ" ("You're surprisingly docile today.") ว่าง่าย = docile, obedient, submissive, compliant, to listen well!

me, this entire episode: peat's eyes are so gorgeous

"Go ahead and do it." 🙅‍♀️ "อยากทำก็ทำ" = wanna do it then do it/if you wanna do it then go ahead

omg 🥺 "ผมเป็นของคุณอยู่แล้ว" ("I'm all yours.")

🫢 the implication here that mut is fucking rak's mouth HOLY diddly dOO

not only do we get to see that of fucking course was vi fibbing up a storm about her grandma but we also get to hear chanya speak french 🥰

I. Love. This. Show!

#love sea the series #love sea spoilers #ql musings #local woman harps on about linguistics #(barely. lol)#local woman harps on about love sea

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murfpersonalblog · 6 months ago

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IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Cezare Romulo: History through Visual Context in Ploiești, Romania (Pt2)

I am on the hunt for any and all information on AMC's OCs, The Vampire Daciana, and the Vampire Cezare Romulo.

In Part 1, I pointed out that Daciana was likely AMC's nod paying homage to the Dacians (aka Geto-Dacians or Daci, as the Greco-Romans knew them), the ancient Romanians of c. 10th century BC - 7th century AD, in the Transylvanian/Wallachian regions of the Carpathian Mountains.

In AR's TVC, vampires tend to reflect the era they lived/died in, preferring to wear their traditional clothes & surround themselves with antiques from their time period--like grave goods for the dead. However, from what I've found, there was nothing about Daciana's clothes/home indicating that she was an ancient Dacian (X).

(Granted, if she IS that old, then that definitely increases her odds of being an "Old God" that got caught in the Great Burning.... 👀)

Regardless, I wanna turn my attention to Cezare Romulo, cuz while I'm tentatively ruling out Daciana as being Dacian, I haven't dug into The Vampire Cezare yet. So here goes nothing!

Nomenclature

First thing that stood out to me is his name. Cezare's obvs Caesar, but I wonder if that's his name, or his title (like how the Latin caesar became kaiser in German & tsar in Russian).

In Oltenia (Wallachia) there are archaeological remains of a Roman-Dacian fort called Romula, dated to the 2nd century AD. I couldn't find much about it, so we'll just put a pin in that. Something way cooler is that according to Google Translate, Romulo means Romulus, in both Romanian & Italian. That's hella interesting, cuz Romulus was the founder of Rome (8th century BC), twin brother of Remus, whom he killed Cain vs Abel style to be the ruler. In some versions, Romulus "died" under VERY mysterious circumstances:

So for AMC's OC vampire to be named after two Romans (Caesar & Romulus) who were both incredibly violent & bloodthirsty rulers says a lot. Especially considering with how Daciana described him:

The Castle: Bears & Wolves (Totems & Crests)

Cezare killed a whole circus troupe traveling through Transylvania (Sibiu), and only spared their bear. I wondered why this was so noteworthy--vampires will kill anyone for food (or sport), esp. if they don't follow the creed about only killing Evil Doers (as Cezare obvs. didn't--unless he knew something about that troupe we don't...! 👀 Clowns ARE evil, after all 💀). Vamps don't tend to kill animals, unless they need to defend themselves--but aren't circus bears kept in cages or something? So why would it matter?

So I reckon that Daciana's point was actually that Cezare LIKED the bear, and probably KEPT it, as his pet.

Cuz look at his castle: the joint's filled with taxidermy.

I think some of these animals are bears and/or wolves (Romulus & Remus were raised by wolves in the woods....). And that tracks with what is known about the main Dacian animal, the wolf (or "Draco"/dragon), (X X X).

Sava, Cipriana. "Cultural heritage tourism--Dacian fortresses in the Orăştie area, Romania." MEFkon 2020 INNOVATION AS AN INITIATOR OF THE DEVELOPMENT. (2020): 290-311.

Strechie, Mădălina. "The Dacians, the Wolf Warriors." In International Conference Knowledge-Based Organization, vol. 23, no. 2, pp. 367-373. 2017.

(ISTG when is AMC bringing AR's Wolf Gift books into the Immortals Universe--I need my werewolves already, gosh darnit!)

Cezare clearly felt a strong affinity for animals, especially bears.

Which isn't surprising, considering the life-death-rebirth symbolism of the bear in Romanian traditions like the Ursului (bear dances).

Trandafoiu, Ruxandra. "A Tale of Two (or# EverMore) Festivals: Electronic Music in a Transylvanian Town." Eastern European Popular Music in a Transnational Context: Beyond the Borders (2019): 213-237.

The Castle: Architecture

As for Cezare's castle ruins, I have no idea what's going on.

The most interesting thing was Cezare's final resting place in this catacomb-like structure, lying in a stone sarcophagus.

Like, there are Roman-era burials found across Romania, but Cezare having a STONE sarcophagus is interesting, cuz apparently Transylvania's Daco-Roman inhumations are more often brick:

As stone sarcophagi only became more popular around the 3rd-4th century AD

Cocis, Horatiu. "Some remarks on the Roman necropolises of Potaissa." Journal of Ancient History and Archaeology 2, no. 2 (2015).

Before largely falling out of favor/use by the 5th-6th century AD, except for clergy & royalty:

Maggio, Ariane. "Burial Practices in Europe." Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology (2018): 1-6.

So, does this possibly give us a date for him, approx 2nd-6th century AD? But how long was it until he died? (HOW did he even die?)

What about the rest of his castle? Like, the place is an utter ruin, and there's barely anything left of that dark AF exterior that I can use.

Is this a studio set, or was it filmed on location somewhere? IDFK. There's hundreds of Romanian archaeological sites--let alone Daco-Roman ones--it kinda reminds me of davas (fortresses/strongholds), (X X), if not for the masonry being different.

So yeah, I have no frikkin clue, y'all; this is all I've got, LOL. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Results? Inconclusive! Again! 😂😭

I don't know if AMC was deliberately implying that Cezare Romulo (or Daciana) had anything to do with the ancient Daco-Romans...but it's interesting to think about!

#interview with the vampire #the vampire daciana #iwtv tvc metas #werewolves #ancient rome #medieval europe #read a dang history book

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everlastingdreams · 10 months ago

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 28

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Burning Hearts

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter: 28/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A joining?

A joining?!?

Matthew had always been someone you were enamored with. Yet, seeing the honey-eyed man now did not cause the same response in you that it used to. Especially not after what you had just learned.

Helio was blind to the shock on your face, and continued to sing Matthew’s praises, “He is a decent man. And I believe his affection for you has grown to match yours.”

It had you lost for words for a while.

He mistook it for being too overjoyed to respond. “I always hoped you would find a love as true as the one I and your mother share.”

It came out louder than you intended to, “No.”

Helio paused, “No?”

“No.” You said again, taking a step back. “There will be no joining.”

He clearly did not expected the response. “I thought you would be happy.”

The betrayal from Matthew was still fresh and this could not have come at a worse time.

“I am sorry, father.” You meant it, he was trying to make you happy and now you had to disappoint him.

You gave him no reason for the change in your feelings towards Matthew, and walked away alone towards the fort.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After all that had happened, Matthew sharing your private matters with others was the final straw of your patience.

A joining? With him? You were so upset that you didn’t even want to speak to him again. But you wanted to get this off of your chest first and not let him think that what he did was proper. You found Matthew speaking to a few of the knights in the entrance hall and marched right over to him. They were chuckling among each other amicably, but quieted down when they saw the storm in your eyes.

“How is your nose?” You didn’t actually care in that moment.

“It doesn’t hurt any-” Matthew’s answer was cut short by the slap he received across the face from you. His cheek turned red from the impact.

He was absolutely baffled by the slap that had made the pain in his nose return with a vengeance. “What… why-”

Some of the knights had flinched.

You wasted no time bringing the matter up to him, your voice was loud in the large hall, “Are you telling them about my personal matters too?”

Matthew was quick to understand where your anger was coming from, he got visibly uncomfortable and asked the others, “Gentlemen, will you gave us a moment?”

They didn’t need to be told twice and left the hall before the storm could crash down on them as well.

“Y/n… I-” He stammered.

“Shut it!” You didn’t want to hear it, you didn’t care that you were shouting at him either, “How could you?! You promised never to tell, and now I learn that you have broken your promise! It was not your secret to share!”

Matthew’s expression filled with remorse. “I am so sorry. It was just talk among men, nothing else.”

It was infuriating how he tried to make it sound like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing, not to you. Trust was hard for the Dawn Folk, especially for yourself, and to be treated like this… “For you it was just ‘talk among men’, for me it is my personal affairs, that I trusted you with!”

He remained quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “I did not know it would hurt you.”

Was he so inconsiderate?

Bitterly you told him of what your father had said, “My father thought it would be a good idea to have you as a knight, not just for your competence, but because he wanted to make me happy by having you live in our home.”

Matthew was pleasantly surprised, “Really?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “But ever since I’ve arrived here, you have been different to me. I am not one of your conquests, Matthew. We were never more than friends, even when I wanted to be more.”

He tried to touch your arm but you recoiled from him. “We can be more, y/n. I want us to be more.”

“I DON’T! I can barely look at you now!” It was unbelievable that he could act like he had not betrayed your trust severely. “You didn’t see me. I was so infatuated with you and you never looked in my direction with the same interest. I do not think you even really care for me, I cannot even trust you anymore. Where did my friend go? The one who respected me as I was, because I was me.”

The memories of childhood, when you played together by the creek, were painful now.

Matthew went down to his knees, sensing that this conversation was going the bad route. “I do respect you. I do care for you. Please, forgive me. I am a fool.”

“That, you are.”

A voice came from behind you. Matthew looked past you to see the Ash Man watch him be down on his knees for forgiveness. If that not dented his pride…

You gestured with your hand for Lancelot to leave. He reluctantly walked passed you and Matthew, and left the hall.

Matthew was not happy with the interference but kept it to himself. “I respect you, you must believe me.”

Slowly you shook your head. “No, you don’t. And I… I don’t think I want to be friends with someone who saw me as just another conquest. I thought I was more than that to you, I was wrong. I can feel how you are trying to see me as someone I am not.”

You stepped back and heard the door of the fort open again, this time your father walked in and saw the knight on his knees.

Neither of you looked happy now, you had known Matthew for years, but maybe you never truly knew him at all. Or maybe you were not the only one who had changed.

You walked away before your father could ask questions that would only make it worse. If he needed answers, Matthew was free to give them.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Ciro had taken Squirrel to the place he said he often had ‘great adventures’.

The library.

Poor Squirrel was counting on a real adventure but had to settle for the written ones.

While Ciro sat on the floor to read, Squirrel searched the books for something that wouldn’t bore him too much. Your cousin was the first you saw when entering the library, Squirrel was trying to climb a shelf to reach one of the old books at the top.

Of course it had to be those…

“Here, let me help.” You hurried over, before he could break his neck, and plucked the book he was aiming for off of the shelf.

After looking at it for no more than three counts, he handed it back to you. “Mirena is teaching me how to read. But I don’t find it very interesting.”

You couldn’t believe that you were not aware that he could not read yet, “I never knew you couldn’t read.”

Squirrel shrugged his shoulders and walked along the shelves again. “It’s boring.”

Ah, yes. He was the sort of child that needed extra motivation for certain things.

You gave him some encouragement, “You’ll find something to read that you will enjoy. Or maybe you will even write something yourself.”

He didn’t have much faith on the matter, “There’s nothing here for me to read.”

There had to be something there that he might like. “What do you want to read about?”

The boy thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “Moon Wings!”

You recalled a book that had some stories about them. “We have something about them here. Let me look for it.”

“What does it look like?” He asked.

You began to search for it. “It’s a big, heavy book, leather bound. Brown, with golden details on the front.”

Squirrel began his search for this book as well. Minutes passed before you found it at the top of a shelf, what idiot had put it up so high?…

The boy helped you stack some books on top of each other and by standing on the stack you were able to collect the book. A thick layer of dust was covering it and you tried to get it off as best as you could, then knelt down on the floor to look through the pages with him. The small sketch of a Moon Wing decorated a page about a hundred pages in, there was some information on them that you helped him to read. It got Squirrel interested in the rest of the book, so you sat with him for quite some time, in the meantime Ciro was consumed by the book he was reading off in the corner. There were so many pages, it wasn’t until your eyes began to burn that you looked to a window and saw that the sun had gone down.

“I think I should be taking the two of you to get dinner.” You began to close the book.

Squirrel prevented it, now having grown interested in the literature, “Can I take the book with me?”

You saw no issue. “Of course you can, just be careful with it. We do not have as many books anymore since the war.”

He closed the book, picked it up, and when he tried to stand the book slipped out of his hands. It landed on the floor, one or two pages fell out.

Squirrel looked so genuinely concerned for your reaction and gave a sheepish small smile. “Sorry…”

You bend down to put the pages back into the book, then saw the pages the book had fallen open on. A page that held a drawing of something familiar, even the boy saw.

A sketch of an unknown face, with tear-like markings beneath the eyes…

“Those marks, they look like Lancelot’s.” Squirrel pointed it out.

This sketch was of a woman, who’s markings were eerily similar to those of the Ash Man. You picked it up and read some of the text that accompanied the drawing, it spoke of the Ash Folk, of their lineage and the little information that was known of them. There were some names, it mentioned the king of the Ash Folk and his descendant. The book almost fell out of your hands too when Lancelot’s name was written under King Ban’s.

The door of the library was opened, Mirena stepped inside. “There you are, I’ve been looking forever, dinner is getting cold!”

Ciro was on his feet and beside Squirrel not a second later. “Sorry, Aunt Mirena.”

You quickly closed the book and used one of the loose pages as a bookmark for it, you told Squirrel, “I’ll go and put the book in your room. Go on, don’t let dinner get cold.”

With an apologetic look in the direction of your mother, you ushered the children to go with her. Once they were out of the library, you reluctantly ripped the page from the book before Squirrel or anyone else could learn of this and spread the news around. You stuffed the page into the pocket of your vest, then did as promised and brought the book to the room Ciro and Squirrel shared.

Was Lancelot aware of his lineage? Did he even know who his family were?

It dawned on you that he never spoke of them, maybe he did not remember who they were. You decide to get some fresh air after being in the dusty library for hours, the evening wind offered it to you freely outside the fort’s curtain walls. One of the knights stood with his back leaning against the wall, drinking a tankard of last night’s ale, he greeted you.

You returned to the fallen trunk of the tree you had sat on last night. The page in your pocket felt heavy, you would need to give it to Lancelot, he deserved to know. The rapid sound of hooves hitting the ground neared you, and you turned to see a woman ride up the hill on horseback. Her horse galloped into your direction and you knew there was trouble. Your eyes fell on the village next, in the darkness you could see flames light up the night.

The woman halted close to you, panicking as she called out, “Dawn Woman, we need your aid! One of our homes is caught by fire, we fear there will be injured!

“Warn the others!” You shouted to the knight who was coming closer, “Make them bring all the buckets we have and anything that can be used as such!”

You approached her, and she gave you a hand to help you sit behind her on the horse.

She spurred the horse into a gallop immediately, and darted down the hill towards the village down below.

The smell of smoke reached your nostrils long before you arrived at it’s origin. It was one of the larger buildings that was on fire, you knew that it housed quite a few people. Chaos had overtaken the night and villagers tried to help those who had fled the flames. You were helping the first wounded the second your feet touched the ground again. A young woman was crying in agony, the burns on her face were severe. It was a relief to see them disappear when you touched her hand to sooth and heal. She had no time to thank you for it, you were already tending to the next wounded.

The situation was overwhelming, you did not want to run out of energy too quickly, but you couldn’t just let the worst injuries wait. If their situation got worse, it would only take more energy to heal them. You prayed quietly to the Hidden, pleading with them to give you the strength to help your people.

Some stood by and watched the fire consume the building and spread to the one beside it, others cared for the wounded. It was a constant running back and forth of people trying to put the fire out with buckets, with water from the well or of the wagons that hurriedly filled and brought them back from the lake nearby. They needed help, you needed help…

There was too much going on all at once and the panic was overtaking the people around you. An approaching horse darted through the village in your direction like a shadow passing through the chaos.

You knew that horse…

It came to a sharp sudden halt and the boots of it’s rider hit the ground only a few steps away from you. Even with the veil around his face you had recognized him right away, and saw that a part of his cloak was missing, he had used it to make the veil he wore now.

“Lancelot, no! You cannot be here!” You ran up to him, knowing the rules your father had given him. He was not supposed to leave the hill, and broke the rules with his presence in the village.

He had been in the stables tending to Goliath when he heard the woman arrive on horseback to ask for your aid. The call of the Hidden to follow had made him break the rule your father had given him.

Lancelot stubbornly moved past you towards the burning house. “There are still people inside.” He spoke only loud enough for you to hear, “I can smell them.”

Oh gods, no.

Your first instinct was to go towards the flames to save them.

He did not even let you take another step near the burning building. “Don’t! I will go.”

“No, you-” You weren’t willing to let him risk his life.

He saw the fear in your eyes, his hand quickly cupped your cheek, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “Fire cannot burn me.” He let go. “Stay here!”

You feared that the last time you would see the Ash Man, was him entering a burning building. Some had even tried to stop him from doing so to save him from the flames, he fought them off without truly hurting them, then stepped into the fire.

The Hidden made their strong presence known to the village through the burning ashes, they began to collect together and circle the burning building. If it was not so destructive, it would have been considered beautiful, magic hanged in the air. It silenced most of the chaos as people stared at it.

“Please, protect him…” You softly begged the Hidden.

The people around you needed your aid, their shouts for help forced you to spring into action. Finally, the knights of the fort arrived to help, even your parents were present. With tunnel vision you healed one person after another together with them, your eyes never fully left the flames or the presence of the Hidden.

The exhaustion was beginning to take hold on you, but you could not fail them now. Healers from the fort arrived and helped those who could survive waiting for the help of the Dawn Folk.

Mirena healed one next to you and spoke to you loudly, so you would hear her over the noise, “The Hidden is here!”

You saw the people try and fail to get close enough to the fire to put out the flames, the magic of the Hidden was circling it like a barrier.

“Mother, Lancelot is inside!” You cried out in despair.

She couldn’t believe what she had just heard and looked towards the building again. That look in her eyes… you would never forget it. Especially because she looked at you next and you could see the sorrow in her eyes, the pity.

No…

NO.

It was taking too long.

Now that you were a summoner, would the old gods not protect you from harm too? Did it even matter, when you feared that he was burning? It did not.

Mirena must have seen something in your eyes, because she tried to grab your arm when you jumped up to your feet, she failed to do so and called out to your father. “HELIO! STOP HER!”

You ran to the building, to the scorching flames, the heat of it struck your skin once you got close. And then you were on the ground, Helio held you down as you tried to fight your way back to your feet again.

“LET GO!” You did not even hear what he was saying, you screamed it so many times that your throat went sore.

Helio’s attention left you all of a sudden, a woman emerged from the flames with a crying babe that had not seen a blue moon yet. Matthew came to her aid immediately, as those around witnessed how the flames around her never touched her or the child, instead they turned to ashes once they got too close. He led her away from the danger.

The woman refused to go much further than a few feet from the fire and cried out to the flames, “My child!”

You pushed yourself free and got to your feet, Helio caught you by the sleeve. The flames folded open and away from the entrance of the building.

The Ash Man emerged, took some steps away from the fire, then dropped down to his knees. In his arms he held a babe, the other half from the set of twins belonging to the distressed mother.

Exhaustion struck him now that the power of the Hidden was released by him. He did not let it go fully just yet, the flames that perished turned to ashes much faster than it could naturally happen. The ashes were born from within the flames themselves.

The lack of crying made him fear for the infant’s life. When he looked down, he saw that the infant was staring up at the red glowing marks beneath his eyes, and reaching their tiny hands up to touch.

The moment of innocent joy slipped away when he realized. The veil…

There were whispers shared, and looks of shock. They knew who he was, his markings had betrayed him. And yet… no one attacked him. They had seen a man run into fire to save another. The man who had sought to kill them, was now risking his life to save them. He looked to Matthew, to come and take the babe from his hand, which the knight did and the child was returned to it’s mother.

They saw that he was one of them.

He removed the swords from at his side, and while kneeling in submission, laid them out in front of him.

A surrender. His life in the hands of his people, as it always should have been.

You ripped yourself free from Helio’s hold and hurried over to Lancelot. He lifted his head and shook it, signaling for you to stay back, fearing the reaction the people would have to your action.

Fearing you would be seen as a traitor.

A fear struck woman shouted, “It’s the Weeping Monk!”

“He is Fey!” A man called out loud.

Oh no…

You were standing between him and the crowd that grew louder by the revelation. There were weapons being drawn, you could hear and see it.

You reasoned with the shocked villagers, “Killing him will not bring your loved ones back!”

A woman wished for vengeance, “It will bring them justice!”

The war had made many of them colder, it was understandable yet saddening to see. There had to be a way to make them less apprehensive to give him a chance.

If they wanted this to be a trial, then you would give them the true facts, “Justice? He is Ash Folk! If you kill him, you take the last of them away from the Fey! This is exactly what the Church wants, for the Fey to turn against one another! This is why they stole him, as a Fey child, to torment his mind into believing he and any Fey is evil!”

Mirena kept an eye on all of those around, fearing for an escalation to come.

You continued with your pleads, “His death would mean a gift to the Church and a great loss to our people. If the Green Knight saw the good in him, if the Hidden chose him as a summoner, how can we not give him a chance?”

Some of them were willing to listen to you, some were not.

“He did not give us a chance!” A woman shouted and the roaring of the crowd began again.

“He spared the children.” You countered, “And our future by doing so.”

Lancelot did not move from where he knelt on the ground, letting his fate be decide by his people. Often you looked back at him and saw the shame and guilt he always tried to hide from you. There was murmuring among the villagers, they must have heard the stories from children who survived the cleansings the Weeping Monk had attended. Your father surprised all when he came to stand at your side in this, and risked his reputation as protector of the Fey to help Lancelot.

Helio spoke to the people he had protected for decades, “Is this the message we wish to bring our children?! For when they are taken, they are not to return to us?” He gestured to Lancelot. “This could have been any of us!”

He walked over to a Faun Man nearby. “It could have been your boy, Thomas. The Faun Folk’s gift for archery would have served the Church well.”

The man looked to the people beside him and then to the ground.

Your father walked to a Snake Folk woman and spoke to her, “Or your little ones, Hildegard. The Snake Folk’s talent for making poisons would be very desired by our enemies.”

She put her arms around her children and brought them closer.

Helio looked at the submitting Ash Man. “He was just a boy. Someone’s child, stolen from their arms and thrown into war. Break the child, build the monster.” He turned to the crowd once more and gestured to you, “It could have been any of us, it could have been my child.”

Mirena stepped to Helio’s side while speaking to the crowd, “The Hidden has returned the Ash Folk to us. Who are we to question their decision? We are not paladins, we are not Trinity Guards, we are FEY.” She looked at Lancelot. “If you believe he deserves to die, that he cannot be forgiven, I fear for what we have become.”

The mother of the children he had saved came forward from the crowd and slowly approached the kneeling Ash Man. You let her walk past you, seeing how the villagers watched her with silent awe. The Sky Folk woman stopped a step away from him, and for a moment she only looked at him in silence. The Ash Man lifted his eyes to her face when she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I forgive you.” Her words placed the next brick on his road to forgiveness.

This woman could not have thanked him in a more meaningful way than to give him what he so searched for. It was as if he could not believe she had truly spoken the words out loud. She returned to her children, the forgiveness within her was an inspiration to others.

Helio saw the change in the crowd’s attitude towards the Ash Man and approached him quickly. He grabbed the leather of Lancelot’s jerkin at the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Get up!” The poor Ash Man was startled by it. “Walk with me before they change their minds on sparing your life.”

“Father.” You didn’t expect him to help Lancelot at all.

Your father gave you the order as he led Lancelot back to Goliath, “Stay with your mother!”

Helio called out to two of the knights, “See to it that he is back at the fort.”

“Yes, Ser.” They responded and mounted their horses.

There was a strange silence creeping into the villagers as they watched the unburnt Ash Man mount the steed that no longer bore the symbols of the Church.

Helio gave him a low warning, “Leave the hill again without my permission and I will let you rot in the dungeon!”

All he could do was respectfully nod.

When Helio had turned his back and returned to see who else needed healing, Lancelot looked at you.

‘Go’ You mouthed to him.

The knights who were to accompany him urged him to follow, and after seeing your reaction he followed them back to the fort.

You were left somewhat shaken, and you were grateful for the help around you now. Mirena wasn’t too happy after having seen you run towards the fire, and managed to successfully give you a scolding whilst she healed people with you.

The fire had perished with the collective efforts of the village and the knights. And maybe the Ash Man had a hand in getting the fire under control as well, even if he was not aware of it. It was only a few hours before dawn when you returned to the fort, with the help of villagers who so kindly afford to bring you and your family back by wagon. Fortunately so, because this night had taken a toll on the Dawn Folk.

By the time you arrived back at the fort, you headed to your room without detours. You opened the door and by the time it fell shut behind you, you were already lying down on the bed, not even bothering to put the sheets over you even if it was a bit cold.

Faint knocking prevented you from slipping into the world of dreams. You called out quietly for them to enter, it even sounded incoherent to your own ears. The door creaked open, and clicked shut again.

There was no need to look, by now you could identify him based on the sounds and pace of his walk. Lancelot knelt beside the bed and touched your shoulder, “Is there anything you need?”

“Sleep.” You mumbled into your pillow.

A warm quiet chuckle passed his lips, then he was silent for a moment. Almost did you doze off to sleep when he remained quiet.

“Thank you.” He almost whispered, “For what you did for me tonight. I could not have faced them alone.”

You forced an eye open to look at him. “I’m with you, even if it is against an angry crowd.”

A yawn escaped and you closed your eye again. From your pocket, you retrieved the folded page of the book and waved it at him a bit.

Tentatively, he plucked it from your fingers, “What is this?”

“Ash Folk.” It was more mumbling.

He was silent again, probably reading what the page contained.

“Does anyone else know of this?” He sounded rather concerned.

Your eyes opened again. “I do not know for certain. I don’t think anyone has bothered to read the book it came from in years, it was covered in a layer of dust.”

The admission came from him, “What is written here. Is true.”

“About your family?” You risked asking.

He gave a slow nod, “Can we keep this between us? I am not who I once was, here and now is what matters most to me.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.” You vowed.

Your eyes grew heavy, all the healing had exhausted your body and it demanded rest. You let your eyes fall shut, feeling how hard it was to keep them open. “I’m so proud… of you… for saving that family. You were incredible.”

Another silence fell, this one lasted for a while. The warmth of his hand landed on your upper arm, it passed on to your skin when he rubbed in soft circles. It was terribly relaxing to experience. The last thing you registered before sleep took you, was the sheets being placed over your form.

Taglist:

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#the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #cursed #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader

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smaller-comfort · 3 months ago

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It is WIP Wednesday, my dudes!

I need to work on necron stuff, but instead I've been kicking away at actually fluffy SoS things. Palate cleansers, now that Save Scumming is done.

A little bit of Outshine the Sun, Etudes, and Modern AU.

Untitled Aephorul/Resh'an, the extremely silly, porny sequel to Save Scumming.

“Let me look at you,” Resh'an said at last.

“Hmph.” He didn't want to. It didn't matter what Resh'an said; there was always that moment when he could see the pity in Resh'an's eyes. And then the disgust. Resh'an was good at hiding it- but he'd always been an open book to Aephorul.

Still. They were trying something new. He let go of Resh'an. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

For a moment Resh'an just stared at him with narrowed eyes, but then he shrugged. “On three?” Resh'an tucked his fingers under the edge of his mask.

“One.” Aephorul rearranged the flesh beneath his hood into something vaguely face-like.

“Two.” Resh'an's eyes glowed a little brighter.

“Three.” In unison, Aephorul pulled back his hood and Resh'an pulled down his mask, and they both dispelled the illusions that hid their faces.

He hissed again, this time in sympathy; when they'd last met, Resh'an hadn't looked good, but he'd at least been relatively whole. Now, half his face was missing, the skin torn away to reveal the skull beneath. The lower mandibular angle was crazed with hairline fractures.

----

Etudes: Beginnings (B'st/Resh'an). I'm still going to finish Glass Harp first, but now this series has over 15k words and at least five separate stories in it and I've clearly lost control of my life. Resh'an is such an unmitigated disaster in this series, but he's trying so hard.

----

He rarely used his bedroom in the tower; on the rare occasions that he actually slept, he usually just put his head down at his desk. The actual bedroom and living quarters had become a secondary storage space for his research notes. The first time B'st had found an entrance to the Archives, Resh'an had thrown him into a time loop in a mild state of panic, and then hucked everything in the bedroom into an extradimensional storage closet.

He'd gotten so used to solitude- but that was no excuse for poor hospitality. When he released B'st from the time loop (hopefully none the wiser, but he wasn't going to ask) the bedroom was sparsely furnished, but clean. In the end, it didn't matter; they hadn't spent any time there that first visit. He gave B'st the tour of the tower, such as it was- the library and the reading room at the heart of the Archives, the laboratory, the living quarters- and then they'd spent the rest of their time on the observation deck.

It took considerable effort to unmoor his tower from its physical anchorage, but he did it anyway. It let him relocate the observation deck anywhere he liked, so they could look at the stars from new vantages. Resh'an had, quite frankly, been showing off.

And it had been worth it, to see B'st's eyes- already so bright- light up when Resh'an transported them into the center of a meteor shower.

----

Alternative Sleeping Arrangements (working title), Aephorul/Resh'an, college students au. Aephorul goes home with Resh'an over spring break; he meets Resh'an's aunt; a pillow fort gets built. I'm not sure if this one will ever really get finished, but I like fleshing out some of the background for this AU.

This is a non-magical AU; it literally takes place in New Jersey. But Anais and her partner Estelle are still also Guardian Gods, despite that.

He was surprised by how much she looked like Resh'an; she was nearly as tall as Aephorul, with the same long-limbed, willowy silhouette. But on her it looked graceful, where Resh'an always looked like he was surprised he had elbows. Her hair was a frizzy cloud of strawberry blonde to Resh'an's dead straight auburn, but they had the same eyes and the same smile.

She drifted in on a cloud of sandalwood, peasant skirts swirling above her bare feet and silver bracelets jangling down her arms. “Darling boy!”

Resh'an looked slightly pained at his aunt's endearment. “Hi auntie. This is Aephorul.”

She kissed Resh'an on both cheeks despite the way he rolled his eyes, and then she turned to Aephorul.

He understood what Resh'an had meant when he said his aunt was a lot, now. Anais looked at him like he was a bug caught under a glass. For a moment, her face was as still and cold as a marble statue, unsmiling and distant. Then she smiled at him, the same radiantly beautiful smile that Resh'an used when he was genuinely happy.

It took considerable effort not to flinch when she offered her hand to shake. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “It's nice to finally meet you,” she said warmly. “Resh'an can show you around the place- Essie's out getting groceries, but when she gets back we'll start on dinner.”

Resh'an rescued Aephorul from his aunt's handshake and tugged him away, down the hallway. “Come on, my room's this way.”

#sea of stars #my fic #wip wednesday #literacy was a mistake #philosopher's bone(r)#musical theorems

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rolandkaros · 30 days ago

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The thing with Sincaraz is even tho Jannik has seemed cold to Carlos on occasion, I don’t think they disliked each other( unlike how some make it seem) with igaryna I do think Aryna was genuinely tripping balls with how Iga became a multi slam champion so quickly in comparison to her. Idk if it ever got to the point of disliking each other, but you could tell the relationship took a hit after Iga’s success. Which makes them so much more interesting to analyze.

ok i do have to pull away slightly from my own projections...i actually want to talk about this more objectively because it is really really interesting to me

tbh yeah i don't think jannik or carlos have ever disliked each other. jannik maybe has been more indifferent or distant at points but it was always very clear (to me at least) that they had a good relationship on and off the court, even if it seemed one-sided at points. i mean the whole thing started with jannik being the one to say "i hope we play some more," so that sort of dispels any uncertainty that they're both actively participating in this rivalry/relationship.

the complicated(?) thing with igaryna is i think in part that yes, iga experienced so much success (including being a multi-slam champion) early on, but also specifically that this happened when aryna was experiencing literally the worst year of her career.

i honestly don't think prior to 2022 that aryna even cared that much about iga. 2021 was a good year for her, and you could clearly track the progress she was making from season to season. she was 22, turning 23, #2 in the world at the end of the 2021, with ash barty at #1 and iga down at #9. she even said that at the beginning of 2022, her goal was to end the year as #1 and to win a grand slam. so sure, iga had success, iga had a grand slam, but i don't think aryna had any reason to actually be primarily focused on iga over anyone else on tour.

and then 2022 happened and iga świątek happened and yeah. i do think it kinda drove aryna a bit crazy to see someone younger be that much better when, at the same time, she was completely devolving. it wasn't just the fact that she was losing but the way she was losing, and the way that iga was winning. she went 1-4 that year against iga (only win was at the finals), including the devastating uso semi loss. and yeah, if someone beat me four times in a row while i'm also going through the yips and have completely lost the ability to execute my most important shot...i would also be pissed!

quick interlude for some direct quotes from break point (which covered the 2022 season):

"this year, iga, she won everything. it was so annoying."

"yeah iga is the target for me. this season, she beat me like four times. i was really pissed off...so i really need this revenge for myself. i have to be physically, mentally ready for her."

"i have to be stronger than her. i have to be better than her. and with iga, if you lose your mind, then there is like, really zero chance to win."

won the semi against iga in fort worth and then lost against garcia in the final. so after thinking at the beginning of the year that she might have a chance at a grand slam and YE#1, instead she ends 2022 without a single title and at #5. meanwhile iga is #1 and broke like a gazillion records and had a crazy match winning streak and won two grand slams and also beat aryna four times in a row. so yeah, i think aryna's, as you said, "tripping balls."

in 2023 i think she's was still riding this wave, even after winning AO. you can definitely it see in their match-ups at stuttgart and madrid. ultimately i think the thing that changed their relationship most was aryna reaching #1, because a) i think for her that was a really important achievement and helped to ease the "performance gap" between her and iga and b) iga said that she felt like others were "chasing" her for #1 and that losing actually kinda helped to take the pressure off. so i think both of them "mellowed out" a bit. and additionally that their next match-up was cancún where the weather took precedent over everything else lmfao.

fast-forward to now, and they're at the point where iga is still ahead in terms of achievement but, as aryna herself said, they're keeping it interesting with the match-ups, and aryna is catching up (particularly in terms of consistency). 3 grand slams to 5 is wayyy different from 1 grand slam to 4.

but i think aryna still sees iga as this target in her head for what she's chasing, which is why you hear her talk about iga in such a way, like she's surprised when iga doesn't win and that she's always putting pressure on herself to make the match-up interesting/to make sure they get the chance to play or make sure the matches they play are good. conversely iga is very matter-of-fact about the rivalry and her respect for aryna, and i think talks about them more as equals. "thank you, aryna, for sharing the court with me...thanks for forcing me to be a better player" in madrid and "i think we're both players that deserve to be in semifinals and finals...she's a great tennis player, what can i say?" in cincinnati.

i dont even know how to wrap this up. i think i know too much. sorry. but my point is i get you. i think sincaraz was founded on this general respect and admiration, which then developed into a rivalry, whereas igaryna was so one-sided/unbalanced in terms of rivalries from the start that there had to be some proverbial bloodshed before they could start liking each other.

#anon. i am so sorry.#this go so out of hand #and the worst part is THERE'S MORE.#but i dont have the time and i don't think anyone cares that much lol #if anyone reads all of this bullshit much respect because i feel crazy writing it #like this was supposed to be maybe two paragraphs tops and i just started writing and it release the floodgates #of apparent igaryna lore that i didnt even know i had in my brain #what am i doing with my life. much to question here

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zahri-melitor · 14 days ago

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Newish Comics

Batman: The Brave and the Bold #17: oh, we are recanonising Officer Down immediately before going into All Along the Watchtower? That's...a choice. Not necessarily a bad one, but hmmm it very much positions Harvey Bullock (though while recanonising it we've now made the hit go awry, so hmmmmm).

The Leap Day story was fine, it felt like a Batman fill. I don't care for the Constantine team up with Streaky but that's normal for me. Billy seemed sort of young in the diner story, but it was a cute team up (though Basil Karlo, you know there's a perfectly fine team name for Clayfaces, it's the Mud Pack, why were you reaching for 'The Clay Team').

The Man-Bat story made me emotional, especially in that Kirk says he's still very separated from Francine.

Action Comics #1069: These were...fine. I did have to laugh that Rowell's conclusion to 'is it unethical to report on yourself' was 'we're both somewhat unethical and are going to do it anyway'.

The Flash #13: This remains a very good Wally West comic. I did squint at Linda saying she went through labour three times, but I think this is meant in terms of the nonsense surrounding the twins' pregnancy involved her to first miscarry and then give birth to the twins. That or she's counting active labour/delivery for the twins separately.

I'm excited for Skartaris. I presume we're also time travelling somewhat given Travis appeared alive in the dream scene, but also I'm fully aware that nobody actually remembers Travis did actually die and Joshua's now the Warlord. Unless there's further developments beyond that that I haven't sussed out yet.

Green Arrow #16: I love your confidence in Connor, Ollie, but's he's still like...top 10 living fighters, not the 'greatest fighter the world has ever seen'. (I did enjoy the little smirk on Connor's face from his very first panels that was very 'you are underestimating me').

Also still so very bored with this extremely obvious triple cross. I presume we will finally get around to the payoff in Absolute Power #4. (Let Cissie and Sienna go home)

Outsiders #11: This has been an interesting comic. I'm still not sure how much of a difference it would have made to label this 'Planetary'. What I enjoyed was Kate and Luke getting some page time. I'm unconvinced that what we need is an Authority reboot centred around the Bats (I cringed at the "Lucius Fox to be the Doctor! Luke Fox to be the Engineer!" stuff) but I don't hate the idea of an Authority reboot, especially if they give it teeth. If you're doing the Authority can I have Jack Hawksmoor mentoring Cameron Kim instead thanks.

Zatanna: Bring Down the House #4: the art on this title remains super pretty. It's really an interesting rewrite of Zee's history

The Warlord #69: This week in the lost land of Skartaris, everyone is finally heading back to the present from Wizard World.

Of course, it goes wrong.

...

bahahahhahahahahaha oh Dan Jurgens you clearly didn't have any decent reference images

The best bit, beyond the incredibly tall buildings in the middle of the water of Circular Quay, or the surprise mountains coming out of the water around Kirribilli, or the fact that Blues Point Tower is apparently 3x taller than it actually is (while still being an eyesore) is that Travis and Shakira have ended up in a future where, to my eye, Fort Denison was never constructed on Pinchgut Island.

This means nothing to anyone not heavily steeped in history of the settlement of Sydney but just trust me that it is very VERY funny in terms of what it means that Travis is just lying there on the rocks.

That's because even in this weird badly photoreferenced Sydney, Shakira, you are currently on what's essentially one of the most desolate rock islands in the centre of the harbour and from that sun it looks like if the fort was actually still there it would be closed for the day.

You might get to see Benny the seal though.

They then proceed to walk on water to get to the city, because even if this WAS on the north shore of the harbour they clearly aren't walking to Chatswood.

Travis finds the city to be incredibly empty and wonders if the Cold War suddenly got hot in his absence. But then! Travis gets jumped by some of Abe Saffron's boys and girls in a deeply amusing conglomeration of 80s fashion and space age dressing. So glad to see recognition of Sydney's underworld in an American comic. (They don't specify they're working for old Abe but you know. I can read into these things)

So they proceed to walk south in Australia heading for Melbourne so they can fly or sail to Antarctica and the hole to enter the centre of the earth. It's racist in places and has a farm that's raising wombats and I cannot take any of it seriously, but I am so amused.

#z canon read throughs #newish comics

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bizarrebazaar13 · 5 months ago

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short little thing about cat Vela in Parabola meeting @thedeafprophet’s OC Penny! (Penny isn’t named here, but it’s her.)

Vela feels zirself shrink as ze moves through the mirror, and when ze is on the other side, ze knows the transformation is complete this time. Parabolan selves are unruly, unpredictable things. Since being made an honorary cat, Vela’s mirror-self has shifted to reflect zir title, but never the same way twice in a row. Sometimes the only change is that zir eyes glow apocyan, or sometimes ze is still mostly human, except for the claws and ears. And sometimes ze is fully changed.

Proper cats become big cats in Parabola, tigers or leopards or panthers. Vela isn’t a proper cat, but ze is close enough to change into a small cat on the other side of the glass. A serval.

Vela had only intended to pass quickly through the mirror to Station VIII, but it seems a shame to waste this form on so brief an errand. Vela arches zir spine in a long, luxurious stretch, the kind that ze always longs for in zir human body. Perhaps ze can do a little hunting before moving on. The Fingerkings can always use reminding not to get too close.

It isn’t long before Vela finds something much more interesting in the forest than a snake. A child hangs upside down from a tree, a child that glows. Her freckles glitter in brilliant cosmogone, and her hair and eyes shine like the sun. Are those scales on her skin?

“Hello!” the child says. “Can you talk? Most cats can talk, I think. But I haven’t talked to very many of them. Papa says not to talk to strangers, but he likes cats, so he probably won’t mind.”

Vela blinks. The child’s voice is almost an unwelcome sound in the ominous quiet of the forest. Overheard, a warbler soars. “Hello,” Vela says at last. It seems the most obvious choice.

“You can talk!” The child flips herself over and lands clumsily on the ground. “I haven’t seen you before, I don’t think. What are you? You’ve got spots like a jaguar, but you’re smaller. And you’ve got bigger ears.”

“I’m a serval,” Vela says with a laugh. The child is clearly, absurdly, unafraid. The forests beyond Vela’s base camp still give zir pause even after all this time, but this strange little girl couldn’t be more at home.

“Why are you small? Are you a kid like me? How old are you?”

The flood of questions startles Vela for moment. Ze would never have dared to be so bold, so loud, at her age. “I’m not a real cat,” Vela answers. “I’m a person outside of here, so I don’t turn into a big cat, like the others you see. But the cats and I are close.”

“Oh.” The child looks momentarily disappointed. “So you’re not a kid?”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“I’m six!” the child says proudly, her disappointment forgotten. “Do you want to come see my fort? I built it all by myself.”

Vela hesitates. Ze has no reason to think the child would mean zir any harm, but something is clearly not right here. Why is a child all alone in the forest? She mentioned a “Papa”, so she must have family somewhere. But where?

“You could meet Papa, if you wanted.” It’s as though the child has read zir mind- can she do that? She is of this place, of that Vela is sure. Like the hybrid, she is an impossibility, more at home in dreams than in the waking world.

Vela almost says yes, but then stops. Something tells zir that meeting this child’s father would not go well. He and Vela should not exist in the same space, even here. Where this certainty comes from, Vela has no idea, but ze doesn’t want to test it. “I don’t think I should,” Vela says at last.

“We could still play,” the child offers.

“All right.” Something about her makes it hard to say no.

The child grins, then reaches out and touches Vela’s leg. “Tag! You’re it!” She runs off into the trees, Vela following close behind.

Vela doesn’t know how much time ze spends with the girl, the two of them chasing each other around the forest. Ze loses count of how many times ze’s tagged, or how many times ze tags the child by pouncing (always with zir claws retracted). At last, though, Vela tags her and she runs away, not towards Vela. There is no fear or malice in it. It is simply time for her to go.

Vela watches her, then turns and heads back to zir own camp. Ze finds zir way there easily, somehow. Vela has no doubt that ze would have gotten thoroughly lost if ze went this far into the forest on any other day. But the trees part easily for zir today, and Vela wonders if it’s the child’s doing. How she would have done that, Vela can’t imagine. But ze is grateful all the same.

Vela wonders, as ze slips through the mirror into Station VIII, if ze will ever see her again. Ze hopes so.

note: Vela and Alex are both light fingers players, which is why Vela feels like they shouldn’t exist in the same place. they shouldn’t. but Parabola is weird, so they can still sort of meet via Penny. also I have no idea what the timeline for this even would be. but it’s still a fun au-adjacent concept!

#aelan speaks #fallen london #vela kepler #other ocs #my writing

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sweaterkittensahoy · 3 months ago

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Titles are for official AO3 posting

Here's 8800 words of JackCurt from Jack's POV where Curt survives the Algeria mission but is also real beat up.

Watching Buck glide in to land in Algeria, Jack feels a lump grow in his throat. He looks over Buck's fort and stares hard at the sky. It's empty. Curt's last words on the radio was that Dickie was hurt, and they were down two engines.

Jack watches Bucky jog over to meet Buck as he stumbles out of his fort, and the lump gets larger. He clears his throat and swallows, but it doesn't go away. He watches Bucky cup Buck's face and has to turn his back, eyes burning with unshed tears.

They hadn't told anyone yet. Jack had only just realized Curt was courting him a couple of weeks ago. After several weeks of hurried fucks and hot kisses, Curt had stopped Jack before he could slip out of the hayloft they'd climbed into for a little alone time and handed him a small box.

"What's this?" Jack asks.

"Just a little something for my fella," Curt replies.

Jack stares at him for a moment. "Your fella?"

"Yeah." Curt taps the box. "Come on. Open it up."

Jack opens it. Inside is a cream-colored scarf with brown wheels of various sizes. He takes it out and runs it between his hands. It's silk. A flying scarf. "Where'd you find this?"

"Ma's a seamstress sometimes. I wrote her a little while ago, asked her to pick something nice. Told her you weren't the flashy type, but you probably wouldn't mind a little pattern."

Jack turns the scarf over, His initials are monogrammed in the bottom corner. "I…" He looks at Curt who's meeting him with a clear-eyed curiosity, clearly waiting for Jack's reaction. "I didn't realize we were…seeing each other?" He says.

Curt squints at him. "What?"

"I thought we were–" Jack shrugs. "You know I don't have a lot of experience."

"Too busy being all brains," Curt says. He taps Jack's temple, and Jack smiles at him. "Hey, it's okay you didn't know. I wasn't real sure, either. But I figured a gift would make it clear."

"It does," Jack replies. He folds the scarf and tucks it back into the box. He reaches out and takes Curt's hand. "We should probably try to have a proper date soon," he says. "If you wouldn't mind."

"You kidding? I'd love it," Curt says, and his smile is extra-wide as he leans in and kisses Jack. "You got any free time before the next sortie?"

Jack snorts. "I barely had time to jerk you off right now," he says. Curt laughs and tucks Jack's tie snugly between his buttons.

"We'll find a time," Curt says. "Count on it."

And now here Jack is, Curt's gift around his neck, and Curt's fort nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Jack," Buck says, voice low as he approaches. He holds out his hand. Jack shakes it on reflex. "Good to see you in one piece."

"You, too," Jack says. He thinks of Curt's story of no engines Cleven, and he feels something ache deep in his chest. "All your boys all right?"

"Good as they can be," Buck says. His mouth quirks. "We made sure to let the kid out before we dropped the bubble in the channel."

Jack finds a small laugh. "Nice of you," he says.

"Come on," Bucky says to Buck, tucking a hand at his elbow. "Let's get you settled in."

Jack watches them walk away, shoulder-to-shoulder, Bucky's hand slipping from Buck's elbow to his shoulder, and then his entire arm slung around Buck's neck. Jack thinks of how Curt drapes himself all over him when they're together. Compact and muscular, warm like an oven.

He might be cold now. Icy cold in the Channel or his dead body cooling in some German field.

Jack rubs the back of his hand hard across his eyes and repeats the mission details over and over in his head until he feels a little more in control. When he walks back to the boys, Blakely comes over and cocks his head.

"You okay?" he asks in an undertone.

Jack considers saying nothing. Saying he's fine. But he and Blakely know each other too well. They've been in each other's back pockets since flight school. "I was seeing Curt," he says. "Couple of months."

Blakely's eyes go wide. "Oh, fuck," he says. "How serious was it?"

Jack feels the brush of the scarf against his neck. Thinks of Curt showing up in his office and grinning at the sight of Jack wearing it. Of pushing it down on one side and pressing a kiss to the side of Jack's neck.

"Keep that warm for me," he'd said, face full of mischief.

Jack had pulled him in close by the back of his neck and shared air for a few moments. "Get in your fort, Biddickk. We've got a long drive today."

"It was getting serious," Jack says.

Blakely takes a long, hard drag of his cigarette. "He might be okay," he says.

Jack snorts. "Don't say that shit to me, Ev. You heard him on the radio same as me."

Blakely's brow furrows. "Anyone else know?" he asks.

"No." Jack looks down and feels a weight settle in his spine. "I thought–I didn't know exactly what we were until a couple of days ago."

"Jesus." Blakely grabs Jack's shoulder and squeezes hard. "Fuck, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Can you play distraction for a few minutes?" Jack asks. "I just need…" He isn't sure what he needs.

"Yeah, I've got you covered," Blakely says. "Take ten."

Jack nods and walks away. He climbs into the belly of Just-A-Snappin' and grunts at the heat of it. He takes off his flying scarf and stares at it in the shadowy light. He folds it into a neat square, then tucks it into the chest pocket of his flight suit, making sure to button it closed.

He cries silently for a few minutes, palms pressed against his eyes. When he comes out of his fort, he strips off his flight suit and throws it back in the hatch. He can't think about Curt right now. There's a mission to finish, and he's Air Exec, whether he wants to be or not.

Blakely keeps an eye on him, and Bucky gives him a squinty look that means he can tell something's off. Buck's the only one to actually approach him. It's the day before they fly back, and they're all trying not to show nerves for having to make such a long flight back.

"You're not great, Jack," Buck greets. He leans on the wall next to Jack and takes out a toothpick. Jack's smoking a cigarette as slow as he can. Trying to get himself ready for a flight that's already making his stomach drop out.

"It's too fucking hot," Jack replies.

Buck hums in agreement and looks out at the vast desert they're in. The rest of the boys are scattered elsewhere, roughhousing or talking or writing letters. "Bucky send you?" Jack asks, because it'd be like him. He cares so much, but he's not always great with the actual conversation part. Buck's not better, exactly, but he and Jack have a similar wavelength. A conservation of words rather than Bucky's effusive concern.

"No," Buck says. "He's busy herding the other boys." He rolls his toothpick in his mouth. "Curt's clever and stubborn," he says like it's not odd to bring him up. "He may be waiting for you."

Jack shakes from head to toe. "How…"

"He came to me about your scarf. Wanted to know if I thought it was an appropriate gift to make his intentions clear. I said it was. Asked me to keep it between us since he wasn't sure how it'd be taken. He showed it to me when his mother sent it."

"Fuck," Jack breathes out. He takes his cigarette from his mouth with unsteady fingers. "He didn't mention he told anyone about us."

"Like I said, he wasn't sure how you'd take it. But I saw you wearing it when we loaded up, so I figured you took it fine."

Jack nods. He flicks ash from his cigarette. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. It was…he gave his mom some instructions on what sort of style I might like."

"Big heart on Curt," Buck says.

Jack can only nod again. He finishes his cigarette, Buck quiet and relaxed beside him. "We haven't been together all that long," Jack says. "Only since we got to England."

"Any particular reason for that?" Buck asks.

"I've never dated much," Jack admits. "And Curt's a tomcat when he wants to be. I figured I wouldn't be his type."

"But?"

Jack smiles at the memory. "But one day he decided to go for it. Just grabbed me and kissed me and told me we could have some fun. It was after our first sortie. I figured it was just us helping each other out, you know? Finding a way to relax and forget a little."

"Curt's tricky like that," Buck says. "The way he has fun and the way he loves, it all blurs together."

Jack wants to tell Buck to stop using present tense, but it soothes something inside him that Buck of all people is using it. Keeping Curt alive until they know. Until they really know. "Bucky's the same way," he says.

"They're two peas in a pod," Buck agrees. "When he showed up, I thought it might be about the time Bucky got bored of me, but he didn't."

Jack looks at him. In the desert light, he almost blends in with his sandy hair, but his eyes are so blue, he stands out sharply. "You really thought Bucky would get bored of you? Fuck, he named you."

Buck laughs and ducks his head. "That's true. And I never doubted him, but when Curt showed up full of fire and energy, I worried for a few days."

"What happened?"

"Bucky caught me out and made it clear there was nothing to worry about. That fun's fun and love's love, and if I didn't know which way he looked at me, he'd make sure I knew."

Jack looks at the desert again. The quiet pleasure and contentment on Buck's face makes him feel hollow. "He's probably dead, Buck," he says. "And all I'll have of him is a scarf."

"You had his heart, Jack. He didn't get the chance to say it to you, but trust me."

Jack nods and reaches for another cigarette. They stand side-by-side in silence as he smokes that one slowly down just like the one before.

They're doing a small bombing run on their way back, aiming for an airfield in Bordeaux. But they're having to double up in the forts to get everyone back. Jack has to assign the men to forts, and he hates every second he spends writing out who goes where. He wishes Bucky's fort had taken less damage so he could just pile Buck's boys in with him. But neither of their forts are in flying condition, so he has to split them up.

Bucky listens to the assignments when Jack reads them off and stands when a few of the boys grumble. "Hey, we don't back talk the Air Exec," he says.

"Egan, you fucking liar," Jack says without thinking, and everyone laughs, Bucky the one to start them off.

"Jack, I'll never thank you enough for taking this job," Bucky says quietly when it's just the two of them left in the room.

Jack wonders how much it hurts him to not have Curt there with them. He doesn't ask. They need to be wheels up in an hour. He pats Bucky's back and lets Bucky pull him into one of his casual hugs.

When Jack sits in the co-pilot's seat, Blakely gives him a questioning look. "Yeah, I'm okay," Jack says. He reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out his scarf. He tucks it under his flight suit collar and watches Blakely smile at it.

Jack does what he needs to do to keep his fort in the air as they bomb Bordeaux. He calls out fighters and runs checks. He stays cool and easy on the mic hoping it'll keep the extra fellas who can't do anything but wait at least a little more at ease.

"Direct hit," Douglass says, and Jack sees Blakely grin. Proud of his bombardier. Proud of his fella.

He'd never gotten that chance with Curt, to brag with just a look on his face. He grips tight on the controls and checks their corners, determined to make it back to England all in one piece. It's the least he can do for the ten boys crowded in every open space, wishing so hard they could be in their own forts that Jack can practically hear their inner monologues.

Jack doesn't say anything when they land. He lets everyone else clamber out first and climbs into the truck, proud that the rest of the Just-A-Snappin' crew stay quiet. Even Harry, who takes a moment to touch foreheads with Bubbles but doesn't so much as murmur. Jack wonders how he and Curt would have greeted each other if they'd had the chance to be serious for awhile. He remembers Curt blowing kisses to Bucky. He thinks he'd have gotten those, too, if he'd asked.

He crowds at a table with his boys and reports. Blakely sits next to him and knocks their knees together every now and again when Jack drifts a little. He doesn't usually need help staying focused, but now that he's back in England, he's bone tired and just wants to be left alone to sleep away some of his grief.

"Major Kidd," Harding says just after the interrogator dismisses him and his boys. "A word."

Jack walks over, ready to answer any of Harding's questions. He's Air Exec. This is part of the job. "Sir," he says.

Harding holds up a pass. "All the boys are getting three days. You included. You'll want to stay at the hotel next to the military hospital."

Jack glances at the pass, then back at Harding's face. "Sir?"

"Biddick made it back two days ago. His memory of how is vague, but he had a raging infection from a bad cut on his torso. Smokey got him stabilized, then sent him to London to keep him as clean as possible."

Jack blinks, unable to believe what he's hearing. "I don't–"

"Your fella's mouthy all by himself. On morphine, he sings like a sparrow. He asked for you a lot. We told him you were flying, but he was running a high fever, so who knows what he remembers. We put your name down at the hospital. Should be able to go right in and see him whenever you get there."

Jack takes the pass and shivers from head to toe. "Thank you, Sir," he says.

"Just piling up some goodwill before I make you do more Air Exec work," Harding says.

Jack manages a chuckle. "Noted," he says. Before he can step away, Harding touches his elbow.

"None of the rest of his crew made it back," Harding says. "And he had Snyder's tags in one hand. We don't know how much he knows about any of that."

Jack's heart twists hard, and he nods. "Appreciate the information, SIr," he says. He feels guilty at how light he feels at such bad news. It's terrible, nine men gone. But Curt's alive. Curt's alive.

He showers and shaves and puts on a clean uniform. He packs a rucksack and joins the other boys for the ride to the train station. Bucky runs up to him, eyes bright with hope.

"Curt?" he asks.

Jack feels himself smile. "Alive," he says.

Bucky whoops and claps Jack on the shoulder. "Can we see him?" he asks.

"I'll be checking with his doctors when I arrive," Jack says, and just over Bucky's shoulder, he sees Buck grin and tuck his chin to hide it. "I'll send word."

"You're the best," Bucky says and pulls Jack into a quick, hard hug. He runs off to spread the word, and Jack hears small bursts of cheer as Buck approaches and offers his hand.

"Happy for you, Jack," he says.

"Thanks, Buck," Jack replies.

Blakely runs up and nearly tackles Jack to the ground. "JACK!"

Douglass is a few steps behind him, confusion all over his face. "Not sure why he's accosting you," he says.

Jack huffs a laugh a shoves Blakely off of him. "Get him out of my hair, and I'll pretend he didn't attack a superior officer," he says.

Blakely laughs and squeezes Jack's bicep. As Douglass pulls him away, Jack hears him questioning Blakely for the sudden physical affection.

"I'm just happy!" Blakely says. "It's great news!"

"He knows, huh?" Buck asks.

Jack nods. "Can't keep anything from a co-pilot like him. He's too damn nice."

Buck chuckles and gives Jack a warm look before slipping back into the crowd.

The boys behave on the ride to London. Jack's proud to watch them talk amongst themselves, minding their manners even as they pass around a few different flasks. When they arrive, he leads the way off the train, then steps to one side to watch them gather in loose clusters before breaking off in different directions. Once he's alone, he takes a slow, deep breath and walks towards the hospital.

He gives his name at the front desk and gets direction to a nurse's desk. When he arrives and gives his name again, the nurse pulls out a folder and reads for a moment.

"Yes, here you are," she says, tapping a telegram that's been clipped inside the folder. "Jack Kidd, Major." She lifts the telegram and looks at a page under it. "And the letter from Colonel Harding requesting you have constant access. I've got the approval signature here." She closes the folder and stands, gesturing Jack to follow. She leads him forward, then left, and then stops at room 214.

"He's mostly been sleeping. We expect he'll wake up in the next day or so. He wakes up a little, but nothing you can rely on. Between the infection and fever, the injuries, the exhaustion, and the morphine, this is all expected."

"Okay," Jack says, though his stomach rolls in fear. "He's stable, though?"

"Very much so," the nurse says. "His fever broke last night and hasn't come back. That's a very good sign."

"Does he say anything when he's awake?" Jack asks.

"He mumbles, but we can't understand it," the nurse says. "That's very common."

"Thank you," Jack says.

"A nurse will be in every few hours to check his vitals. If you notice any changes in him, please push the call button."

"I will, thank you."

"Major," the nurse says and walks away.

Jack stands outside of the door for a moment, centering himself. He's never seen Curt sleep or even be still for any point of time. He jiggles his knee or taps his fingers or bobs his head. Jack's had the urge at times to reach out and stop him. Put a hand on his knee, or hold his hand, or lean in and kiss his cheek. He never has. He promises himself he will the next time they're side by side.

He opens the door.

The lights are off, but the curtains are open. The sun is going down, but there's still sunlight coming in and brightening the room. There's a chair by the bed, and in the bed, Curt himself. He looks waxy and wan, and it's only that Jack can see his chest moving up and down that keeps him from panicking.

He walks over to the chair and sets his rucksack on the floor. He places his hands on the railing and looks at Curt from head to toe. His hair's been shaved close. There are stitches in two places on his scalp. He has plasters scattered over his arms and face and neck. Glass cuts, Jack bets. The sheet is folded down to his waist, and his chest is covered in a large, thick bandage. There are small spots of blood all the way along the bandage, starting just under Curt's left pec and trailing down in a curve, ending a few inches to the right of his navel.

There's an IV in either arm, and Jack can't help but reach out and touches his fingertips to Curt's slightly curled hand.

Curt's fingers twitch, and he makes a quiet sound. It doesn't sound painful, so Jack tucks his fingers against Curt's palm and squeezes lightly.

"Just me," he says. "It's Jack, Curt. Made it back. Came to see you."

Curt makes another sound, and his hand tightens on Jack for a moment. He doesn't wake up. Doesn't even move besides the squeeze, but that's fine by Jack. The touch is enough. Curt's breath moving the sheet is enough. The sunlight brightening the room is enough.

Jack's breath shakes as he breathes out. He feels shaky-legged suddenly and has to let go of Curt's hand so he can take the two steps to the chair. He drops down hard, then shifts, pulls the chair closer to the bed so he can slide his hand between the railing slats and touch Curt's bicep. He watches him as the sunlight fades, then turns on the bedside lamp so he can keep looking.

A nurse comes in and nods as she walks around the bed. She has a tray with fresh bandages on it, and Jack watches in silence as she checks his pulse, and then listens to him breathe and then unsticks the tape to remove the bandage.

Jack swears under his breath. "Sorry," he says immediately.

"It's a shock, I'm sure," the nurse says as she opens a bottle of alcohol. The sharp smell of it helps clear Jack's head, lets him actually take in the extent of the injury Curt had apparently walked back to base with.

It's not a cut. That undersells it. It's an enormous, jagged gash, stitched together but red and ugly still. He's also bruised all over his torso, dark purple and puffed up in places.

"It's bad," the nurse says as she carefully cleans the stitched skin. "But believe it or not, he's doing very well."

"Is he?" Jack asks, unable to look away from her hands as she keeps working.

"No broken ribs. No issues with his organs. It'll take several weeks for him to move comfortably again, but once the blisters on his feet heal, he'll be able to walk out of here without a problem."

Jack glances at Curt's feet. He's wearing socks and slippers. "Blisters?"

"From the walking," the nurse says. "The doctor says it was likely thirty or forty miles in wet boots and socks."

Jack turns and stares at Curt's face. Thirty or forty miles with his chest gaped open and blisters building on his feet and glass cuts and two different head wounds. "Were the head wounds bad?" he asks.

"We'll know more when he wakes up, but being able to walk all that way is a good sign."

A good sign. Thirty or forty miles. While wet. And bleeding. With Dickie's dogtags with him.

"Thank you," Jack says, not sure what else to say. He rubs his thumb on Curt's bicep and pulls his hand back, then stands up. "I need to check into my hotel," he says. "Do I need to do anything special to come back in?"

"Just check in at the nurse's desk on this floor," the nurse replies, glancing up to give Jack a polite smile. "I understand you have 24-hour access."

"Yes," Jack says.

"Well, see you soon, then," she says.

Jack watches her rub some sort of salve onto the puffy spots on Curt's chest, then he turns sharply and leaves. His blood is rushing in his ears, and he feels like he can't breathe, though he knows he can. He focuses on that–breathing evenly–as he walks to a hotel just down the road from the hospital.

"Visiting a friend?" the desk clerk asks as Jack signs the register.

"My fella," Jack says because he needs to do something to deal with the feeling of a vise around his chest. The tightness loosens a little.

"Oh, we've got a few others staying for the same," the clerk says. "How's he doing?"

"As fine as he can be," Jack says. He meets the clerk's gaze and there's sympathy there. Concern. It loosens his chest more. "Thank you for asking."

"You Yanks seem to need it," the clerk replies. "If you were one of our boys, I'd not have even made eye contact."

Jack feels himself smile at the clerk's pleased grin. "Well, I appreciate the cultural adjustment." He takes the key the clerk holds out and goes to his room. It's a small, clean room with a pitcher and basin and an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. Jack sits on the bed and sighs deeply. He needs to send a message to Bucky and the others. He'd promised he would. But it's getting dark, and he doesn't want to send someone out into the dark streets.

There's a phone in the hall, so he calls from there. He's told no one is answering in Major Egan's room, so John leaves a message. Curt's fine. Mostly sleeping. Will update.

He goes back to his room and gets a book and a flashlight from his rucksack, then leaves the hotel from the back door. Every window is covered, and the lamps are barely lit. People are moving about with flashlights with only slits of lights showing through covers. Jack's flashlight has a similar cover, and he uses his narrow beam of light to find a restaurant.

He sits and reads his book and makes sure to clean his plate. When he finishes, he walks back to the hospital and goes to Curt's floor. He gives his name to the nurse at the desk, and she checks the folder like the first one did. She nods and waves him by.

Curt's curtains are closed and the bedside lamp is still on. Curt hasn't moved, but Jack hadn't expected him too. He sits in the chair and opens his book. He scoots the chair close to the bed again and touches Curt's bicep while he reads, turning pages with his thumb. A nurse comes in and checks Curt's vitals. She gives Jack a small smile as she leaves. He returns it and goes back to his book.

At some point, he falls asleep, book open in his lap, Curt breathing but otherwise not moving on the bed. He wakes up in the wee hours as bombs drop, and he stands up and walks to the window, peeking through the side of the curtain. Each time a bomb drops, he can see the silhouette of London. He turns from the window after a few seconds, unable to keep watching, to keep wondering how many people are hurt or dead.

When he looks at Curt again, his eyes are open, shining and bright in the low light of the lamp.

Jack doesn't speak, not certain if Curt's actually awake or just awake in that way the nurses have mentioned. He walks over slowly, not wanting to spook Curt. When he gets to the bedside, he curls his hands on the railing and meets Curt gaze. He looks properly awake, eyes clear.

"Your hand," Curt says, voice a rasp. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Jack reaches above him to press the button for the nurse, then he places his hand on Curt's shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

Curt smiles and closes his eyes. When the nurse walks in two minutes later, he's asleep again.

"He remembered I was holding his shoulder," he says when the nurse asks him if Curt had said anything.

"Did he know who you were?"

"I think so," Jack says. "He wasn't scared."

"That's good," the nurse says. She pauses and turns. "Bombing's stopped," she says. "They'll be back before long, if you need to leave."

Jack shakes his head and sits back in his chair. "No, I'm fine here if that's okay."

"I can bring you some water," the nurse offers. "You can give him some if he wakes up again, but only small sips."

"I can do that," Jack says.

The nurse leaves and returns with a pitcher and two glasses on a tray. She has a small pillow and a blanket tucked under one arm. Jack feels embarrassed when she hands him the pillow and blanket. It feels too personal, like she can read him through and through.

"Thank you," he murmurs as he shakes out the blanket.

He falls asleep again, hand back on Curt's shoulder, and when he wakes up the next time, the curtains are open and the sun is coming up. He yawns and shifts, the blanket falling into his lap. He looks at Curt. He's sleeping, but his head is turned towards Jack, like maybe he woke up again and fell asleep looking at him.

Jack stands and stretches, wincing as his back pops. He pours himself a glass of water and drinks it slowly, watching Curt until he's finished. Curt doesn't wake up. He doesn't move. Jack folds the blanket and sets it and the pillow on the chair. He picks up his book from the floor but leaves the flashlight. He knows he'll be back before he needs it.

The nurse at the desk greets him with the slightly bleary eyes of someone who is not a morning person. Jack can't relate, but he knows that look in his boys. "I'm going to leave for the morning," he says. "Would it be okay to leave a note in case Lieutenant Biddick wakes up?" The title feels odd in his mouth, but it comes out automatically. He always falls back into formality when he isn't quite sure how he feels.

She passes him a pad of paper and a pencil without a word. Jack writes his notes and tears it from the pad, then folds it in half and writes Curt name on the front. He walks back to Curt's room and sets the note on the table under the lamp. He looks at Curt's face one more time, then leans down and kisses his forehead between two plasters.

"I'll be back after lunch," he murmurs against Curt's skin. "Maybe you'll wake up again."

He walks back to the hotel, and the clerk–different from the one the night before–hands him a message.

Thanks for the update. Let me know if I can do anything. Thanks for checking on him. - Bucky

Jack tucks the note into his book. He walks to his room and lays his book on his rucksack, then strips out of his clothes. He drops onto the bed and turns to the clock, setting the alarm for two hours. He falls asleep almost instantly, waking up at the first buzz of the alarm. He feels a little more rested, and the hot shower he takes makes him feel like he's actually getting some real leave.

He grimaces at that thought. It is real leave. He'd rather be in Curt's hospital room for the few days he has than have a month alone with him gone. No question.

He comes his hair and puts on a fresh uniform, then dials the hotel the boys are at and asks for Cleven.

"Hello?" Bucky answers, sounding like he was just chewing gravel. Jack doesn't even want to guess how late he was out.

"Pass the phone," Jack says.

There's rustling and a murmur, and then Buck's on the line. "Jack?" he greets.

"I'm surprised he could tell," Jack replies. "How hard did he tie one on last night?"

"Easier than usual," Buck answers. There's a scuffle, and Buck chuckles, mouth clearly away from the phone. "He's just tired."

"YOU KNOW WHY JACK," Bucky yells into the phone.

Jack sighs and can't help his laugh. "Buck, you had so many other choices."

"Well, I've made it," Buck says, sounding resigned but also very fond. Jack closes his eyes at the tone, imagining himself and Curt using a tone like that. It's a nice thought. "Just wanted to give you a fresh update. Curt woke up a little last night. He seemed to know who I was."

"Of course he did," Buck says like it's nothing. "How's he look?"

"Rough," Jack replies, and for a moment, he can't speak. He can only feel the fear he felt when the bandages came off the night before. "The doctors say he's as good as he can be," he gets out, glad his voice sounds even.

"Rumor mill says he's the only one to make it," Buck says, and Jack knows that information comes from Bucky. Jack wonders, as he always does, how Bucky knows everything all at once.

"He brought back Dickie's tags," he says, and he hears a small, sharp exhale. "That's all I know."

"Glad he has you, Jack," Buck says. "He needs someone who can help him with that."

There's no exclamation on Buck's end. "You told Bucky, huh?"

"He guessed, actually," Buck says. "Or, close enough I couldn't deny it."

Jack huffs. That sounds about right. "I have his blessing?" There's a muffled conversation, and Jack hears a squawk, then Buck's back on the line.

"He's insulted you even have to ask," Buck says, the laugh clear in his voice.

Jack feels warmed, comfortable in the easy way Buck and Bucky can talk to him. "Thank you both," he says. "I'll keep you updated."

"Appreciate it, Jack. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Jack says and hangs up.

He hopes he gets to invite them to see Curt before they all leave London. Because Curt will be awake and need company to keep him occupied.

He retrieves his book and has breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then he takes himself for a meandering walk over several blocks to see a little of the city. If he was just here for a regular leave, he'd find a bookstore and maybe a movie theater. See what's still hanging in the National Gallery and maybe even take a run in the park. He wonders if Curt would go to a bookstore with him. He's never asked.

Jack sits on a bench and watches people go by. He thinks of all the things he nearly didn't have with Curt. Moments and conversations. How no one really even knows about them. How he has a lovely gift from Curt but hasn't had the chance to reciprocate. He thinks about that the longest, his flying scarf tucked in his rucksack. An outward sign of Curt's affections. A sign of the courage he carries, to not just get Jack a gift, but to ask Buck if it'd be right, to ask his mother for help in getting it.

Jack's always kept his own counsel, and he keeps it now, thinking about Curt and his scarf and what sort of gift he could find to show Curt he cares just as much. He has an idea, so he stands and goes to look for a pawn shop. He'd buy new, but he doubts he could find what he's looking for new. Not in war time. But it's something he'd seen in a lot of pawn shops growing up, something useful but not as useful as money for food or a place to sleep.

He visits three shops, and he finds exactly the right one at the third. He buys it without haggling, and when the shop clerk offers to polish it for him for an extra ten pence, Jack agrees. The clerk does an excellent job, digging into the small rivets that dot the outside casing. The brass shines dully when the clerk hands it to him, and Jack gives him a satisfied nod and slips it into his pocket.

He walks back to the hospital and finds the same nurse from when he left still on duty. She smiles at him, a genuine smile, and leans forward as he approaches.

"Your fella woke up again," she says in an excited whisper. "Fell back asleep almost right away, but he asked Lindy if a very tall fellow had been in. She said yes, and she says he looked very pleased."

Jack ducks his head. "Well, it's not an inaccurate description," he says, though he feels the same sense of embarrassment as when the nurse brought him the pillow and blanket. Like this nurse can see through him, too. He's not used to it. Being so observed.

"Doctor checked him over as well," the nurse says and reaches for Curt's folder. She flips through a few pages. "Vitals are stronger. Wounds look good. We changed the bandages on his feet just after you left. The blisters are clearing up just like we want. No seeping through the bandage on his chest. That's very good."

Jack nods along, unsure if he's supposed to say anything. When she finishes reciting Curt's vitals and assuring Jack they're what they want, she looks at him, and her whole face softens. "Go on in," she says. "Sure he'll be happy to know you're there even if he doesn't wake up for awhile."

Jack makes his exit, trying not to hurry down the hall but unable not to walk a little faster than usual. Just knowing that Curt woke up and remembered him being there. It makes his heart stutter, and he feels bright as the sun.

Curt's asleep, the bright, mid-morning light putting some color on his skin. Jack walks to the bed and sits in the chair. Someone's moved the pillow and blanket to the bottom shelf of the table that holds the lamp. His note is gone from the table, but then he spots it in Curt's hand, held between two fingers, like Curt wanted to keep it close but didn't want to crumple it.

"I'm back," Jack says. "Took a nap and called the Buckys. They're glad to hear you woke up. I didn't tell them how bad you look. I don't think I could describe it, honestly. Buck told me you talked to him about my scarf, and he told Bucky about us last night because Bucky apparently guessed close enough he couldn't keep it secret. I told Everett when we were in Africa."

Jack reaches through the bed railing and curls his hand over Curt's forearm. He leans and lays his free hand and forearm on the top level of the railing, then rests his chin on his wrist. "I wish we'd had the chance to figure out how we wanted to tell people before all this happened. I'm guessing you don't care who knows, and neither do I. Not now. Not…"

Jack breathes in slowly and watches Curt breathe in and out. "When you didn't show up in Africa, I felt like I was emptied out." He presses his mouth to his sleeve, trying to stay calm. "And then a week of wanting to hope but being afraid to, and now here you are." He clears his throat, but it doesn't remove the lump that's lodged there. "And here I am." He rests his cheek against his arm. "I'm here, Curt."

He watches Curt's face. He's relaxed, mouth partly open, no creases or furrows lining his face. He thinks of the first time he really noticed Curt, way back when Curt showed up for flight school. Jack and Buck and Bucky had already worked their way up to assistant instructors, and Jack hadn't thought a thing about Curt the first time he'd seen him. Stocky, he'd thought. With an energy that he knew instantly would delight Bucky.

But then he'd seen him in class, scribbling notes and squinting at the board equations. He'd wondered if Curt had somehow lied during his vision test, but then a week in, as everyone was starting to get used to working equations on the fly, Curt's gaze had relaxed. He'd been concentrating, Jack had realized, staring down the equations to memorize them.

It'd been easy to make friends with him outside of class. They both boxed. Curt wasn't intimidated by Jack's reach, and Jack was nothing but impressed with Curt's tactics. Some nights, when he and Buck and Bucky and Curt were all out together, Jack would sit quietly with Buck and watch Curt and Bucky hold court. But some nights, Bucky's attention would be wholly on Buck, and Curt would turn his attention to Jack, asking him what he'd been up to and even getting him to dance a few times.

Looking back at it all now while sitting here with his hand on Curt's still arm, Jack knows he's been gone on Curt for a long time. Not in love, not exactly. But enamored and beguiled. The bright, bright spark of Curt making him warm all over.

And then Curt had kissed him finally, after their first sortie, and they'd tumbled into bed together. But it'd never felt casual. Not to Jack, at least. It had felt like something important and needed, a spark to keep him feeling alive even as he shook with fear.

Curt's sense of fun and Curt's heart, both overlarge, Jack thinks. He's been devoted to the set for a very long time.

"I'm in love with you," Jack says. For a moment, he can't breathe. He hadn't meant to say it aloud. He's not even sure he meant to think it. But it's out now, and Jack isn't the type to take such things back. "I hope you don't mind."

He chuckles at himself. What a ridiculous thing to say. He watches Curt sleep for another few moments, then leans back from the railing, leaving his hand on Curt's arm. He stares out the window, watching the clouds cut around buildings. Curt sleeps, and Jack sits, and he's so content to simply be there even as an hour ticks away that he doesn't even startle when the nurse comes in to check Curt's vital signs.

She stops short at Curt's bedside, and Jack stares at her. She looks surprised, but then she smiles. "Lieutenant Biddick," she says, "are you with us?"

Jack's gaze snaps to Curt, and his eyes are open. He's looking at Jack, and as Jack watches, a smile spreads across his face.

"Yes, ma'am," Curt says, voice as raspy as last night. He turns his head to look at the nurse at the same time as he twitches his fingers, then lifts his hand. "This is my fella," he says.

The nurse smiles. "Yes, we know," she says. She slips her fingers under Curt's wrist to check his pulse. "Could you pour him a glass of water?" she asks Jack.

Jack moves like it's an order, pouring a few inches of water from the pitcher. He leans over the railing and offers the glass to Curt. When Curt lifts his head to sip, the nurse tucks an extra pillow behind his head. Curt sips and swallows, and the nurse holds up her hand to keep Jack from giving him more.

"How does it feel?" she asks Curt.

"Fine," Curt says, his voice more his own.

"Let's try to sit you up," she says. She leans a little sideways, and there's a small set of clanking sounds before the head of the bed starts to move upward. When it's at forty-five degrees, she stops. "Relax into it, and you can have another sip of water," she says.

Curt makes a show of sinking into the pillows, and Jack can't help his smile. He waits for the nurse's nod, then tips the glass for Curt again. This time, Curt reaches up and presses his fingers to Jack's wrist.

"Good," the nurse says. "I'll page the doctor. No more water until he sees you."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack says, pulling the glass out of Curt's reach.

She leaves, and Jack puts the glass on the table. When he looks at Curt again, Curt's watching him with bright eyes, though his shoulders slump with tiredness.

"I just woke up," Curt says, more a groan than a sentence.

"You have no idea how beat up you are," Jack says.

"Tell me," Curt says.

Jack recites all the injuries he knows about and watches the way Curt looks at the ones he can see. When he puts his hands on his chest bandage, Jack reaches out and stops him from pulling on it. "They change it regularly," he says. "You'll see it eventually."

"Okay," Curt says, and Jack can't believe Curt's not fighting to see more, but then Curt closes his eyes, and Jack is certain he dozes off for a couple of minutes before the doctor shows up.

The doctor repeats Curt's injuries, then completes an exam. When he takes off Curt's slippers and socks, Jack sees how bandaged his feet are, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

"Hey," Curt murmurs, and it takes Jack a moment to meet his gaze. "Hey, I'm here."

Jack nods and tries to step closer. He hits the bed railing, and the loud rattle makes his ears ring.

"Oh, here," the doctor says and points to a button on the side. "There's one at the top, too. Press it, would you?"

Jack presses it, and the doctor presses the other, and the railing drops down. Curt beams like he wants to say something daring, but he only holds out his hand, Jack's note still tucked between his fingers.

The doctor keeps talking, and Curt answers questions, but Jack is focused on setting the note on the table and taking Curt's hand in both of his.

"Can I get off this damned bedpan?" Curt asks when the doctor says he's happy to answer questions.

"No," the doctor replies, and Jack likes the way the flat answer makes Curt snort in amusement. "You don't want to be on your feet yet, trust me."

"I'll stay put," Curt says.

"You can have more water," the doctor says. "We'll see about solid food in a few hours."

Curt nods, and the doctor leaves, and Jack turns to get the water glass. When he turns back, Curt's sagged hard against the pillows, eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he murmurs, then yawns.

"Quiet," Jack says and puts the glass down. He rubs his thumb over Curt's knuckles. "Go back to sleep. You need it."

"Jack," Curt says, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. "Jack, I don't mind that you love me. Love you, too."

Jack can only stare as Curt falls asleep, fighting it the whole way. He hadn't thought Curt could hear him. He sits in the chair and pulls it right up against the bed. He lays his head on the bed and stares at his hand holding Curt's. He should call Bucky and Buck and let them know Curt has woken up and knows where he is, that everything looks as good as it can given the situation.

But then Jack closes his eyes, and the next time he opens them, he has a crick in his neck, and Curt's laid his hand on Jack's head. When Jack sits up, Curt's fingers tighten for a moment.

Jack checks the time. It's been an hour. Curt's clearly only half-awake. He gives Jack a sweet smile, then closes his eyes again.

Jack has a glass of water and a good stretch. He goes to the hall and uses the payphone, leaves a message for Bucky and Buck, then goes back to Curt's room. He reads his book for an hour, then goes to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. When he gets back, Curt's still asleep, so Jack reads more.

Jack's finishes his book and leaves the hospital to find another. He has dinner and goes by the hotel to check his messages. Bucky and Buck have sent best wishes, and there's a telegram from Red, asking him to send any news he hears. Curt hasn't said a word about the crash, so Jack just sends back a period and goes back to the hospital. It's just after midnight when Curt's hand shifts in his, and when Jack looks up from his book, Curt's watching him.

"Dickie's gone," Curt says.

Jack drops his book and stands so he can lean over the bed and be as close to Curt as possible. "You remember?" he asks.

Curt blinks away tears, but one falls anyway. Jack presses his thumb to it. "Told him to stay with me. He tried."

"He did," Jack agrees without hesitation. He has no doubt Dickie did everything to stay with Curt. They were joined at the hip since before they'd flown together, some understanding of one another coming out from the moment they'd met.

"I had his tags," Curt continues. "I took them off after I crashed. I was in the water. The channel. Almost to shore."

"You carried them back to base," Jack says. "You brought him home."

Curt sniffles and more tears fall. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he shakes from head to toe. "I don't remember anything else," he says.

"You walked back to base, somehow," Jack says. "Thirty or forty miles. You walked it while you were bleeding all over, and you showed up to base with Dickie's tags, and then Smokey got some morphine in you, and you told everyone who'd listen I'm your fella." Jack smiles at that last part, hoping to coax a smile from Curt. "You might be chattier than Bucky," he says.

Curt gives him a shaky smile that doesn't last, but it's there for a moment. "Dickie knew," he says. "Told him I was gonna kiss you before I did it. Told him everything about you. He was the one who made me see how I felt for you."

"What'd he say?" Jack asks, intrigued.

"He said I talked about you like I thought about you all the time. He was right." Curt stares at Jack for a long moment. "Jack, I love you. I really do."

Jack touches the side of Curt's face and barely touches a plaster on his cheek. "I had a week without you," he says. "I hated it."

Curt chuckles wetly, then tries to raise his arm to wipe his nose. He winces and glares at the IV in his arm.

"Hold on," Jack says. He grabs a tissue from the box by the bed and holds it to Curt's face. "Blow," he says.

Curt does, then falls back against the pillow and sighs heavily. "Not very romantic to have to blow my fucking nose for me after declarations," he says.

Jack tosses the tissue in the wastebasket and pulls another from the box. He folds it over and wipes the tears from the corners of Curt's eyes. "I don't need romance right now," Jack says.

Curt closes his eyes, and for a moment, Jack thinks he's going to fall back asleep, but then he opens them again, and he's still clearly awake. "Gonna romance the hell out of you when I'm back at base," Curt says. "Bring you flowers and take you dancing. Brag to everyone that I got my hands on the Air Exec."

Jack smiles and leans in. He kisses Curt's cheek, between two spots of plaster. "I'll let you," he says. "I'll enjoy it."

Curt turns his head so his lips touch Jack's chin. Jack meets him for a kiss, soft and careful, but it makes something light up in Jack that he realizes had tamped down hard when he'd thought Curt was dead.

Jack pulls back and looks at Curt, still so bruised and banged up, but giving Jack a bright smile that lights up his whole face. He doesn't know what to say. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the gift he'd found. He holds it out to Curt.

"A compass?" Curt asks. He lifts his arm very slowly, very aware of his IV, and he manages to pluck the compass from Jack's hand and open it. It's a miniature one, and Jack wonders if Curt will see the heart stamped onto the inside of the cover, but then he smiles and looks at Jack, and Jack knows he has.

"In case you need a back up to get back to me again," Jack says, feeling a little silly saying something so flowery, but watching Curt close the compass and tuck it under the blanket to keep it safe, he's glad he's said it.

"Jack..." Curt says, and he shakes his head. Clearly lost for words.

Jack is too. He reaches for the note he wrote that Curt held in his hand, and he presses it into Curt's palm.

"Yeah," Curt says. "Me, too."

Jack sits again and lays his head on the bed. Curt strokes his cheek, and Jack closes his eyes, and he thinks it's not entirely fair he gets a second chance out of everyone, but he's going to fucking grab it and refuse to let go.

He hears a crinkle of paper and opens his eyes. Curt's reading the note again. He's smiling.

Dear Curt:

I'm so glad you're alive. I have other things I want to say to you, but I want to say them to you, not just write them down. I'm just so damn glad you're alive.

Yours entirely,

Jack

#jackcurt #jack kidd #curt biddick #masters of the air #curt lives #light angst #jack pov #description of injuries

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smoothoperador · 3 months ago

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K NO BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT IT.

cause yeah ttpd is SO boring. like i know most of the songs are 3+ min but tbh most of them don’t sound like songs! gun to my head i couldn’t tell you the difference between the prophecy the manuscript chloe or sophia or marcus or whateverthefuck that song is called.

i miss when she put actual effort into her albums, like red. like the tv of red is so amazing, but with 1989 tv it just feels SO lacking especially in the production, and the vault songs don’t even sound like songs! like with red and fearless and even speak now we got fully produced songs that felt special, but with 1989 tv and 80% of ttpd it sounds like scraps she picked up from the floor and glued them together to make a semblance of a song and it’s so disheartening from someone who has genuinely loved her music for years and the different eras but now it all sounds the same

yeah i've been vocal about how much I dislike her new stuff dating back to midnights. i really DON'T LIKE this stripped down, minimalistic synthpop where everything is the same note and there is not a single drum or guitar and i found midnights quite frankly very underwhelming upon its release, but i figured to each their own; besides, taylor's sound famously always evolves in between eras. but she never departed from that direction, which i honestly don't know who to fault for... is it because she genuinely likes it and thinks it's her forte? (it's not. her forte is dramatic storytelling and epic guitars. her forte is speak now and folklore!!) is it because jack and aaron pull her in that direction? is it because she comes to them with half-assed ideas and they're too reluctant to go against their wishes? is it simply mass production of songs? idk, but what she knows is that she could release out a voice memo of her singing the abcs and it would go platinum.

the 1989 vault tracks were the ones i was looking forward to the most, and they were truly disappointing... 1989 had a clear line of production that i loved, but all of the vault tracks were CLEARLY produced after (or during) midnights. now it all feels like midnights rejects that didn't make the cut, and to be honest the last release that felt like it really belonged on its original album is all of the girls you loved before (and sntv vault tracks i guess, i didn't like them tho)

but even THEN midnights was bearable because it had highs (songs that were different, like snow on the beach; or songs that were poignant, like yoyok) but ttpd ... ttpd is unforgivably BLAND. all the songs mesh into one another, even without the sour aftertaste of matty healy the lyrics are abysmal in comparison to what she's come up with before. theres a few good songs hiding in there (so long london and who's afraid are my faves (but once again im gonna hunt down the coward who couldn't make it an actual ROCK song as it shouldve been), i hate it here could also be cute were it not for the corny gen-z title and horrible horrible 1830s lyric), but theyre all undermined by this boring ass coating that envelops the whole album and also drowned out by the sound of 31 SONGS (!!!!) 31 songs is like thrice the size of some albums and it's TOO. MUCH. doesn't give room for the good songs to shine and also pollutes the air with tracks that clearly should've never left taylor's diary. (ttpd song, bdilh, guilty as sin etc are all SO BAD AND ICKY theyre unforgivable)

i've said this before but taylor is truly the mcu of the music industry: she has an incredibly strong and devoted fanbase, she's easily accessible (as in she makes fun pop and pop rock with easy lyrics and hooks which is something MOST of the general public enjoys), she comes out with several new installments a year (of varying quality...), and the longer it goes the more enjoying her and her music requires an encyclopedic knowledge of her previous works (with all the references, easter eggs, etc). and im really sad to think we'll never see the daring taylor that released red when everyone was highly skeptical of the mixed pop/country sound, or the taylor that has the range to make both better than revenge and ivy.

#ask.#.lindsay #taylor swift #putting this in her main tag idfc #if you wish to know the song that prompted that original post i made about ttpd was the alchemy lol #it's so boring omgggg... listening to it i was like wow i really cant defend this one against lame straight males...

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defensivelee · 1 month ago

Text

Alien Alien: Day 3 of Whumptober

The prompts I've chosen today are 'set up for failure' and 'wrongfully arrested.' What could I do with these prompts but write for Marlborough? I think you can tell that I was very inspired by TFC to write this scene...

CW: public humiliation, objectification.

“Visions only show you the surface, my lords. They are never clear.”

That was Sunderland speaking now. If it were not his voice that Marlborough could recognize, the spikes of his tail were easy enough to spot, for they moved one by one, so quickly that they sounded like the descending keys on a harpsichord.

“Why look only to the future?” There was that Dutch android, Bentinck. There was a voice Marlborough could never forget. “Will you rely on it to solve everything that is put in front of you? Look at the truth in the present.”

“They’ve served us well in the past,” Carmarthen’s voice hissed back. “This is the way of the Bocca della Verita, my lords.”

“There is some sense in what Lord Portland says,” Sunderland said. “It doesn’t mean that we shed our old ways. New truths in the present may lead to better predictions of the future.”

You would say that, wouldn’t you, my lord? Marlborough had to stifle a laugh. He stood above them all, glittering under the red sun’s light, his head bowed and his arms crossed over his chest. It tired him so, for he had to hold up the golden cuffs on his wrist as well, but he was so perfectly still that the chains in between them did not even rattle.

For a moment he opened one eye to gaze upon the scene before him through the veil he wore. There was Sunderland, of course, lounging on the table with a lashing tail before the Privy Council like a pleased, fed cat. Even with his mane and tendrils obscuring his mouth he looked like he was smiling, staring right at the agitated Stephen Blackhead through his glowing pink eyes. He was huge, too, nearly the size of the late King James, Marlborough noted with a slight shudder.

Below him, under the table, lay Godolphin with his head resting on his tail. On occasion he would glance up at Marlborough, but he looked as unassuming as any tendril-tooth could, with his dull eyes and slanted horns. Beside him was the accused Bishop of Rochester, his ears flicked down warily.

Bentinck was the only one who sat plainly on a chair, and it was he who looked up at Marlborough with that empty, plastic gaze of his. Marlborough closed his eyes again, but it was too late.

“Lord...Marlborough is listening,” he said, the illustrious title on a human clearly paining him to speak. “Did we really need him here?”

“Nonsense, he’s a good view while we work,” Godolphin said at last. “Besides, he’s a mere human. There has never been anything that forbids them from being here. Look at him, Blackhead, isn’t he beautiful?”

At this Marlborough’s face flushed. The lashing of a tail stopped; it must have been Blackhead, for he answered, “Why, yes, but—”

“It was a yes or no question,” Sunderland said pleasantly.

“No, then.”

“Liar.”

“I, for one, am inclined to agree,” Bentinck said. “But what does that matter?”

“What does the word of an android matter?” Godolphin muttered.

“Very well, then, does anyone want to look?” Sunderland asked, cutting them both off. “Are any visions tugging at the edges of your minds?”

“Of course not,” Bentinck scoffed.

“Nothing new.”

“Same as yesterday for me.”

“Queen Mary might have given us something...”

“You are the strongest seer after the Queen, my lord,” Godolphin said. “What have you seen?”

“I told you it would not be clear,” Sunderland said.

Damnit, just look! Marlborough took a deep breath. It was hot up here; he could feel the hair resting upon his shoulders clinging to him with sweat. The gold was no help, either. He knew the moment that he moved again he would feel it burning more acutely on his skin, and slipping it off every night was an agony.

He cursed his home planet of Forte Solaria now— fools if they thought they were any match for these creatures, if they thought they had any right to call themselves the alien-slayers. And worse, fool himself, for believing in all of it.

But if he could not kill a single one that would have been pleased to make him their dinner, then he could join them, make them know power like they never had before. His reward? This disgrace! If only the King knew of how his own species were treated on Forte Solaria; how Marlborough would have liked to see his face upon hearing it.

He heard talons tapping against the floor, getting closer to him, but he did not dare open his eyes. Not until he felt the warm breath of a tendril-tooth upon him did he look up.

It was Sunderland. He leaned in, lifting himself up on his hind legs to examine Marlborough.

“Are we hungry, my lords?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” Godolphin said. “Will you just look? Will they turn out to be forgeries?” He flicked his tail dismissively. “And don’t touch the King’s art.”

“I’ll gain nothing from my own future,” Sunderland said. “I must look into his.” He lifted a single claw up to Marlborough’s throat. “Have you ever wondered where you would be tomorrow?”

Marlborough nodded once, swallowing.

“Ah. Well, for better or for worse, you’re still here.”

#i am not tagging everyone who appeared here or i will shoot myself #duke of marlborough (alien alien)#alien alien au #whump tag #whumptober #whumptober 2024

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torreshalstead · 1 year ago

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It Seemed Like a Good Idea - Chapter 21

Summary - Hailey’s US visa was due to expire, which normally wouldn’t be an issue as the CPD would get it renewed but due to a backlog of paperwork, this wasn’t possible. This meant Hailey was faced with the real possibility of having to leave the country, her job and everything she held dear. That was until Jay offered up a solution which would allow her to stay in Chicago, in Intelligence, with him - they could get married. Getting married was a good idea, right?

Chapters - 21/21

Chapter Title - The Honeymoon

Notes - I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of this story. All of your love and support has meant the world and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Thanks so much for reading ❤️ AO3 Link

‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’ Hailey asked after they had been on the road for a little over an hour. Jay just turned and threw one of his signature smirks her way before returning his gaze to the road.

‘Not a fan of surprises?’ He asked, already knowing the answer. His wife, he couldn’t believe he could actually call her that now without any additional pressures being attached to the word, was a planner. She liked to know what was happening and when, and relinquishing control was not something she succumbed to easily. But he also knew; she would love this surprise.

‘Jay,’ she sighed, shaking her head a little but when Jay looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was smiling. He reached across and took her hand, linking their fingers together and letting them rest on the centre console.

‘We’ve got about two hours left to go,’ he admitted, watching as the cogs started to spin in Hailey’s head as she put together the direction of travel, the familiarity of the route and the arrival time. She was an elite detective after all, putting clues together and coming out with the right answer was her forte.

‘Wait,’ she said, curling up her legs as she spun in her seat to look at him, her eyes wide in excitement. ‘Are we going to your cabin?’

‘We’re going to our cabin,’ he said with a grin. He let out a small chuckle as he heard Hailey’s intake of breath.

‘Our cabin?’ She asked, clearly confused by his choice of words.

‘Well, we are married now, what’s mine is yours and all that,’ he said with a shrug. He had spoken to Will about it already, about adding Hailey’s name to the title and deed of the cabin and he was completely on board. That way, should anything happen to him and/or Will, it would still stay in the family. Because that’s what she was, his family.

‘Jay, you don’t need to-’ she started but Jay cut her off with a gentle squeeze to her hand.

‘The cabin belongs to the Halstead’s,’ he said calmly, ‘and you’re a Halstead now, maybe not in name but you are Hailey. The cabin belongs to you too.’ He chanced another look at her although the traffic on the highway was starting to pick up. ‘It’s the family cabin Hails,’ he added, ‘you’re my family.’

‘Jay,’ she said and Jay didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes would be brimming with tears - he could hear it in the shake of her voice. ‘I love you,’ she whispered quietly after a moment of silence.

‘I love you too, Hailey,’ Jay said, giving her hand another squeeze and turning his full focus back to the road. ‘You can rest your eyes if you want, I’ll wake you up when we get there.’

——————————————————————————

It felt weird being back at the cabin with Hailey again, but the good kind of weird, the kind where you feel it in the depths of your stomach and it makes you want to grin at everything. She was still dozing in the passenger seat, the grip on his hand loose but their fingers still linked together. Since they had finally come to their senses and admitted how they felt about each other, the need to be touching each other, even just the smallest of touches, had increased exponentially. If Jay could spend every hour of every day just holding his wife in some shape or form, he’d be a happy man.

Still, the last time they had been here it had all been an act. At least on the outside. He had known even then, that his feelings for her were not just platonic - hell he’d never brought a girl to the cabin, friend or relationship. But he wanted to share it with her. Wanted her to know a bit more about him, where he came from and wanted her to experience a place that meant so much to him. Because she meant so much to him. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

But now, being back here and getting to kiss her on the dock, wrap his arms around her as they snuggled in front of the fire and tell her he loved her as often as he felt it. It was going to be perfect.

Glancing back over at the peaceful form of the blonde haired love of his life, he debated waking her up or pulling the cheesy move of carrying her into the cabin. He decided to unload the trunk first and if she was still asleep then he would make the call.

He hadn’t packed them too much. Unfortunately their time at the cabin was limited to two days as that was all the time off he could get approved and as happy as he was to spend the entire time naked, he wanted to show Hailey all the wonders the lake fronted cabin had to offer, and that would involve them being dressed for at least a portion of the time.

He’d also packed a limited supply of groceries - the nearest restaurant didn’t deliver and some of his mothers recipe books were still tucked in one of the kitchen cabinets and he intended to wow Hailey with a couple of them. He knew he didn’t need to impress her anymore but he also wanted to spoil her, treat her like she deserved to be treated and they always say a way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. He wasn’t sure that was anatomically correct but still, his mothers chicken pot pie recipe was calling his name.

With everything unloaded and put away, he was back with his original dilemma. To carry his sleeping wife into the house and risk her potential wrath for him being too old fashioned or wake her up and risk her grumpiness at being pulled from her slumber too soon. They hadn’t slept much the past couple of days, had been far too occupied getting to know each other on a different level so her needing to recoup some energy wasn’t too unusual. And she looked so peaceful asleep, like whatever weight she had been carrying that day had completely evaporated.

His mind was made up. He softly opened the passenger door, unclipping the seatbelt and sliding his arms underneath her, pulling her against his chest and kicking the door closed. She shifted a little in his arms but Jay just smiled as she buried her face into his neck. It seemed to be one of her favourite positions, her face tucked tightly into the space between his head and his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. It was adorable the way she buried in deeply, like she didn’t want to be apart from him. Jay’s only complaint - when her face was tucked in like so, he couldn’t reach it to kiss it. And kissing her had become his new favourite hobby - something he was sure he would never get sick of.

Walking slowly toward the cabin, trying not to jostle her too much he let his mind wander. If you’d have asked him just a couple of months ago if he thought they would ever have ended up here, as much as it would have pained him, he would have said no. No matter how much he loved her and had hoped with every single fibre of his being that she could possibly feel the same way, he had never let himself really believe that. It felt like too much of a happy ending, and it was just out of reach.

‘Are you carrying me over the threshold?’ A soft voice broke through his thoughts and he let out a little chuckle. He hadn’t even thought about it like that, had just wanted her to get a little more sleep if she needed it.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he chuckled, continuing up the steps into the cabin.

‘You’re such a fool,’ she sighed but he felt her snuggle just a fraction closer to his chest.

‘And you love me despite my flaws,’ he smirked, making his way over to the couch. But when he tried to set Hailey down and pull his arms out from under her, her fingers gripped tightly to his shirt and wouldn’t let him go.

‘Stay with me,’ she murmured. He couldn’t say no to her. So the next couple of hours were spent napping on the couch, Hailey using his chest as a pillow, his arms tight around her and their legs tangled together. It was what he had never daren’t to let himself imagine - it was perfect.

——————————————————————————

‘I promise I won’t let you fall in,’ Jay said, offering Hailey his hand as he stood in the wooden row boat. The boat was already moving a little too much for Hailey’s liking so her feet were glued to the dock as she shook her head ferociously.

‘You can’t promise that,’ she said, crossing her arms over the unattractive buoyancy aid that she had rescued from the outside storage unit next to the dock. She wasn’t sure it had been worn in the last 10 years but she wasn’t going to risk getting into the boat without it. She knew how to swim but getting caught in the middle of the lake which looked freezing for want of a better word, did not sound like a fun way to spend their honeymoon.

‘I promise if you fall in, I’ll rescue you,’ Jay offered, wiggling his fingers at her with a smile. ‘Pretty sure if I let my wife die on our honeymoon, people might ask questions.’ He chuckled and Hailey couldn’t help but giggle.

She knew she was being stupid, she could swim, it was only a small lake and she had Jay. She trusted him with her life at work day after day, she could do this right?

‘Okay,’ she said tentatively, taking a small step towards the edge of the dock. ‘But if we end up in the water, you’re going to have to warm me up later!’

‘That was already on my list Hails,’ he said, his boyish grin firmly on his cheeks. ‘Come on, I’ve got you.’

‘Okay,’ she repeated, another small step brought her right to the edge, her toes hanging off the dock. One small step would put her in the boat next to Jay. On the water. In a boat.

‘Hailey,’ Jay said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Have you always had a fear of boats?’

‘It’s not the boat that’s the problem,’ she said frowning, trying to get her feet to move just a fraction more but it was like they were made of granite, heavy and unmoveable. ‘It’s the potential of drowning.’ She heard Jay laugh and turned her frown on him. ‘Do not laugh at me Jay Halstead!’

He raised both his hands apologetically. ‘I’m not laughing at you Hails, just shocked that I didn’t know.’

‘Well, I joined the police academy not the boat academy,’ she said through gritted teeth. Why wouldn’t her feet just move damn it!

‘The boat academy?’ Jay scoffed.

‘Jay will you just pick me up and put me in the damn boat,’ she groaned.

‘Are you sure?’ He asked, his jovial tone vanishing from his voice and Hailey knew why. He would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, and she loved him for it. But this was just in her head. She wanted to row out into the middle of the lake with Jay.

She’d never admit it to anyone unless under the influence of a good number of whiskeys but she loved the Notebook and the scene with the rowboat had always been one of her favourites. And call her a hopeless romantic but a boat ride with her husband on an empty lake - well it was more romance than she thought she’d ever experience.

‘Positive,’ Hailey said, nodding her head. ‘Once I’m in I’ll be fine,’ she said, trying to assure both him and herself.

‘Okay,’ he said, climbing back onto the dock. He dropped a kiss to her lips which she let herself get lost in for just a moment before his hands came up underneath her armpits and lifted her up as if she weighed little more than a bag of flour and dropped her gently into the waiting boat.

Hailey froze, the boat rocked with her movements so her logical brain told her if she remained totally still, so would the boat.

‘Hails, sit down,’ Jay said gently, pointing at the empty bench. ‘It’ll rock less if you’re sat, I promise.’

She breathed out and slowly bent her knees until her butt met the wooden bench beneath her. Jay had been right, seated the boat felt like it was a lot more stable.

‘I’m coming in now too,’ Jay said, climbing back into the boat and unlooping the rope from the cleat, pushing off against the dock and letting them drift towards the middle of the lake.

As much as she had been apprehensive about the boat initially, sitting there with Jay gently rowing, the only sound was the water against the oars and the birds from the tree line, it was so peaceful. The view she had of Jay’s toned arms as he dragged the oars through the water was also not one to scoff at. She had initially scolded herself for ogling him until she remembered that he was her husband and if that didn’t grant her permission to appreciate the body that he worked so hard to maintain - what did?

She let herself relax more as they continued their journey with no destination, the enjoyment of each other’s company and the fresh Wisconsin air their only companion. She loved Chicago, the bustle of the city was programmed into her bones, but getting to take a step back, step away from the noises and the continued busyness, well it was like a reset button for her soul.

Hailey didn’t know how many favours Jay had to call in to get them both assigned to two days off consecutively and together, and if he had told her what he was planning she probably would have said it wasn’t worth it, that they had already been married for months and a honeymoon seemed like a foolish idea. But she was so glad he hadn’t. After the chaos of the last few months, this was exactly what they needed. Peace and Quiet. Together.

——————————————————————————

‘This is perfect,’ Hailey said as she sipped on her mug of hot chocolate, the marshmallows bobbing around in the steaming liquid. Her legs were thrown over Jay’s and the blanket tucked around them both as they shared a single Adirondack chair that Jay had dragged down to the water's edge. ‘The stars are so bright out here,’ she said as she let her head fall back to take in the view of the night sky.

‘It’s the one thing I miss when I’m in the city,’ Jay said honestly, his fingers were drawing patterns on Hailey’s thigh, she could feel the warmth even through her leggings.

‘I can see why you like it up here,’ Hailey admitted.

‘I like it better with you,’ he said and Hailey could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Thank you for sharing it with me,’ she said, taking another sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the liquid heat her from the inside out. She thought back to the day they had had and couldn’t remember a time she had felt quite so happy and so free.

After Jay had successfully navigated the lake and brought her safely back to shore, he offered to take her on a walk to show her the rest of the lake but Hailey had had other ideas and had tugged him into the house by the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t the sex by the fireplace that Hailey had planned for later, she hadn’t had the time or the forethought to build a fire before disrobing Jay of his clothes, her own had been divested before they had even made it halfway up the stairs.

Once her legs had stopped their shaking thanks to the skills that she had been unaware that her husband had possessed until very recently, more fool her, they made their way downstairs and had pottered around the kitchen making dinner together. Jay had wanted to make her dinner but she had insisted on helping, which really meant sitting on the counter and reading out the instructions from his mothers handwritten recipe book. It also gave her the perfect position to be able to capture Jay with her legs every time he tried to reach into the cabinets behind her.

‘Why didn’t you bring this back to the city?’ Hailey asked after one such capture, gesturing to the book open next to her.

‘Mom always loved it up here,’ Jay said with a little shrug, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, ‘seemed right to leave a piece of her up here.’

Hailey smiled softly, pecking him on the lips before letting her legs fall back down again letting him continue with his cooking.

They had eaten the perfectly prepared pot pie before Jay offered a hot chocolate for dessert and suggested they drink it by the water. It had been the most perfect day.

‘Thank you,’ Hailey whispered quietly. The night was silent apart from the sounds of the water meeting the shore and their own breathing so there was no doubt Jay had heard her words, but he stayed quiet.

Hailey knew he knew what she was thanking him for, it was the same thing he had told her all those months ago not to. But she meant it as something more this time, thank you for marrying me but thank you for trusting me enough with your heart as well. They were both guarded people, people who somewhere deep inside themselves weren’t completely believing of the fact they were deserving of love. But they were. And Hailey knew they both realised it now. They had just needed a little pushing.

She made a mental note to send Will a big thank you card when they got back to the city.

——————————————————————————

‘Come on Hails,’ Jay said loudly as he ran ahead of her, his laughter echoing back through the trees.

‘I’ve only got little legs!’ She yelled back. It was only partly true, she was shorter than him by at least a foot but in a flat out running race on regular terrain she would smoke him. However this was anything but.

They had been halfway round the lake, about a mile and a half from the cabin when the heavens had opened. It hadn’t been on the forecast so they were not prepared and were currently legging it back to get out of the rain. They were already soaked to the bone and Hailey was certain at this point there wasn’t a single part of her that was dry. She was also at a significant disadvantage - Jay knew this trail like the back of his hand whereas she was having to watch her feet to avoid every root and stray log that crossed the path.

But still she was laughing. Normally she would hate to have been caught out in a situation like this, highly unprepared splashing through puddles and mud in nothing more than her running sneakers, her hair plastered to her head and the rain soaking her socks. But Jay was hooting and hollering in front of her, betting that whoever got into the house first got the prime spot in front of the fire and first dibs on the shower.

She knew her husband well though and knew that there would only be one shower happening and they would find a perfectly good way to warm each other up.

‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate if you beat me,’ he yelled from his position a couple of paces in front of her.

‘You’ll make me one anyway,’ she yelled back, but as she jumped over a broken tree trunk, her feet slipped on the wet mud and she came crashing down to the ground with a loud thud.

‘Hailey!’ Jay yelled, spinning around and racing to her side. He pushed her hair out of her face, the worry etched across his cheeks but was met with Hailey laughing.

‘I’m fine,’ she chuckled. ‘Just a little bit muddy,’ she shrugged before reaching up with one muddy hand and cradling Jay’s cheek. ‘Anyone ever tell you Halstead, you’ve got such pretty eyes.’

Jay’s eyes widened in sudden realisation as Hailey proceeded to smear the mud across his cheek, laughing as she did so. ‘Upton, you’re going to get it now,’ he said, his brows furrowing in mock anger.

‘Well I hope so,’ Hailey winked before dramatically holding out her hand, ‘you going to help your wife up Halstead, or just leave me in this puddle.’

‘I’m debating leaving you,’ Jay growled before taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

If she hadn’t been muddy before, she was covered now, head to toe.

‘You’d never leave me,’ Hailey said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, not caring that she was rubbing the mud all over him as well.

‘Never,’ he said, clearly not minding either as he leant down and kissed her softly. ‘But I’ll still beat you back,’ he said, grinning and turning round to continue his way back down the path, only to be tripped by a wayward root and land in his own muddy puddle.

Hailey bent double with laughter, the real deep kind of laughter that bubbles up from your stomach and your whole body shakes.

‘That’s it,’ Jay said, reaching up to grab her hand and tug her down into the mud beside him, which she landed in with a wet thump.

‘Well you always said where I go you go,’ Hailey smirked and sealed her lips to his, the rain and mud long forgotten, her husband’s lips her only thought.

——————————————————————————

A few hours later, they are wrapped around each other in front of the roaring fire, the blankets from the coach acting as both cushion and cover, but neither Hailey or Jay were paying much attention to the hardwood floor underneath them. Their focus was on each other and nothing else.

Hailey folded an arm over Jay’s shoulder and used it to prop herself up so she could look at him, her other hand trailing across his bare chest, absentmindedly connecting the freckles she had already memorised.

‘What time do we have to leave?’ She asked softly, her voice the only noise apart from the crackling in the fireplace.

‘In an hour,’ Jay said reluctantly. They had both avoided talking about leaving from the second they had arrived, but they knew it was coming. They had to be back in the bullpen at 8am tomorrow so needed to drive back tonight to get some sleep, theirs was not a job one should do without at least a few hours of rest.

Hailey hummed in response, she didn’t want to leave. She had never felt as carefree and content as she did at the cabin, with Jay.

‘But we can stay right here until we need to leave,’ Jay said, clearly sensing her apprehension. ‘I’ve already packed the truck.’

‘I knew there was a reason I married you,’ Hailey muttered, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips.

‘There was,’ Jay said when she pulled back, ‘a visa.’ He smirked and Hailey grinned.

‘That’s true,’ she chuckled. She was glad they could laugh about it, she had been worried initially that it might have been awkward, but it hadn’t been. It was their story.

Sure it wasn’t the most normal of roads that relationships took, but it was theirs and Hailey didn’t think she’d change a single moment of it. Because that crazy road, with all its twists and turns, had led her right here. To this moment in time.

To Jay.

#upstead #hailey upton #jay halstead #chicago pd #upstead fic #one chicago #hailey x jay #chicago pd fanfiction #upstead fanfic #chicago pd fic #upstead fanfiction #chicago pd fanfic

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