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clearlynotjanus · 4 years ago

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Moceit Appreciation Week :: Aftermath

Read on Ao3

Art by @nonchimerical

tag list: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @the-snekwhisperer-world @varthandi @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody

CW: Alcohol/Wine mention, food mention, insinuated swearing Word Count: 5646 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Teen Ships: Moceit, implied Loceit, implied Intruloceit, implied Dukeceit, implied if you squint Prinxiety

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“Well,” Janus started, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Seems like things worked out after all,” Here it comes, he thought, another round of the Blame Game. “Guess I was wrong about everything,” It didn’t matter that they had just come to some sort of understanding; after years of passing the buck between them, Janus was awfully accustomed to Patton saying his input was wrong -- Especially in a situation like this, where evolving circumstances made his advice seem moot.

“You and I both know …” Patton’s soft voice interrupted Janus’ bitterness. The tone caught him off guard, though as far as he knew, the sentence would end in a crushing you’re wrong. It was best not to get his hopes up, but the silence dragged on too long, and Janus’ defenses fell with his racing thoughts. “That’s not true,” Patton finished finally and Janus couldn’t help but to look over at the wistfully pensive expression that accompanied Patton’s admission. Perhaps it was just a sense of victory he felt, but humorlessly, his lips reciprocated.

“Is that--” Janus began only to be comedically interrupted by the vagrant and imaginative impression of Leslie Odom Jr. With a heavy sigh, the specter was dismissed and the sounds of Thomas with his friends began to fill the apartment.

Awkwardly, Janus and Patton stood next to each other. Sidelong, Janus caught Patton’s expression softening as Thomas laughed loudly at something Lee just said.

“Well, even if things did work out,” Janus started again, chin raised like he expected a fight. Patton blinked and turned his head, wearing a curious expression as though he had actually been content standing in silence together. “You should still consider what Logan and I said today.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” Patton said like that was a given. The sentence trailed off in an unusual and nervous way that made it feel like he had more to say, but more never came. Janus resigned himself to being content with that. Patton had seen the repercussions of his actions; there was little more he could do now besides press the issue when need be.

“Good,” He paused, nodding slightly. Speaking of Logan, the thought crossed his mind that he should check on him, given how their bargain had gone. “At any rate, I suppose I’ll … see you another time.”

Patton forced a smile, pulling at the fabric of his shirt anxiously. “Yeah! See you around, Jan,” The old nickname slipped out and Patton cleared his throat.

A week later, Patton squeaked an, “Oh,” as he walked into the Light Side kitchen. “Hiya, Janus,” He greeted in a pitchy, nervous voice. A weird feeling blossomed in his stomach and he thought he might be getting sick.

“Hello, Patton,” Janus gave a half-lipped smile as he finally reached into the fridge, having stood here for the better part of an hour.

“Didn’t expect to see you over here,” Patton’s anxiety was evident; just holding the cup he had come to place into the sink was a gamble given how shaky his hands were suddenly. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, just peachy,” He responded sweetly, tipping the freshly retrieved carton of milk into his now cold cup of tea. “We were just out of milk you see,” He explained, holding the carton up as evidence before sliding it back into the fridge.

“Oh, okay,” Well, that made sense, as long as Patton didn’t think about it too hard. Brushing his hip against the counter on the far side of the kitchen, Patton placed his cup into the sink and promptly turned back around. “Well if that’s all, I’ll--”

“There was one more thing actually,” Janus interrupted, absentmindedly opening a drawer to borrow a spoon. He turned to face Patton, expression unreadable. “Just while I have you here, of course.”

“S-sure!” Patton stuttered. “What’s on your mind?” He gripped the lip of the counter he leaned against, knuckles soon going white.

“Well I was just wondering,” Janus continued slowly as he stirred his tea unnecessarily. “If you had any, oh I don’t know;” his tongue clicked with a shallow, one shouldered shrug. “Dilemmas, problems, maybe some quandaries of poor Thomas’ that you needed to … bounce ideas around for?”

Patton gulped and quickly shook his head. The lively feeling in his stomach suddenly felt unpleasantly warm. “Nope!” He laughed humorlessly as he pushed himself forward and started to stumble backwards out of the kitchen. “None at all! Thomas has, hah, Thomas has been doing just great lately! No problems here!” The air sweetened and Janus lost his appetite for his overly sugared cup of tea. “If that’s all--”

“Yes, yes, whatever then,” Janus raised the spoon out of his cup and waved it dismissively with a sigh, flicking drops of tea on the floor.

Patton hopped the last two steps out of the kitchen and was hardly down the hall when he heard a new voice. High pitched and nasally, it was unmistakably the Duke’s. Patton’s body froze in fear.

“Janny! What’s taking you so long?” Janny? Patton questioned internally. That’s … actually kind of a cute nickname…

“Remus,” Janus sounded annoyed and surprised. “I told you to wait.”

“I was waiting! For like, a whole hour! How long does it take to get milk?” The frustration in Remus’ voice grew and Patton’s brows furrowed. An hour? Janus was … in their kitchen for an hour?

“However long it takes,” Janus mumbled and Patton got the sense he wasn’t talking about getting milk anymore. Suddenly the clattering sound of Janus carelessly tossing his teacup into the sink rang in his ears; until then, Patton didn’t realize how hard he was listening, or how quickly his heart was beating. He squeaked, too loudly, and then the voices in the kitchen stopped as he threw a hand over his mouth.

“Who the fu--” Remus abruptly stopped. Patton’s ears twitched, going red. He could almost make out the sound of a whisper. Fear set adrenaline lose in his blood and he silently sank out.

Later that month, Patton and Roman sat on the couch, watching some show together. Between Roman becoming distracted with the notebook in his lap and Patton dreamily staring out the window, neither of them really knew what was happening on screen; but that much didn’t really matter. Patton enjoyed sitting there, listening to Roman’s scribbles, and Roman enjoyed not being holed up in his room, burning his candle at both ends. It was a pleasant afternoon, for all intents and purposes.

“I’m going to grab a Coke,” Roman said with a stretch, setting his notebook aside. “You want one?”

“Huh?” Patton blinked, “Oh yeah, sure. Thanks!” He said with a typical smile.

The cushions had hardly risen from Roman’s absence before the couch was jostled again. “That was fas--” Patton started before registering who had actually taken Roman’s place. “Oh, J-Janus, hello,” His voice hitched and the television suddenly felt muted.

“Hello, darling,” Janus greeted warmly, an arm over the back of the couch.

“What’s up?” Patton questioned, taking a deep breath. Nerves wracked his stomach familiarly and a warmth made the back of his neck itch. “Everything alright?”

“Splendid, of course, thank you,” Janus charmed and paused. With curiosity, he reached for Roman’s notebook between them.

“Oh, you shouldn--” Patton started but it was too late; Janus had flipped open the cover and started admiring the haphazard yet beautiful doodles on the first page.

“So I was thinking,” Janus began, thumbing to another page. His eyes glazed over the curly cursive writing. Patton glanced anxiously behind Janus; if Roman walked in right now… “Have you noticed anything … off about our dear Thomas lately?”

“Off?” Patton echoed. He tried to think; ever since the reconciliation he had with Lee and Mary-Lee, things had been … better. Patton had been trying to lay off of reacting to things so quickly and he thought he was doing well with it. “N-no, I don’t think anything specific’s been wrong,” He surmised slowly. “Why do you ask?” Had Janus noticed something he didn’t? His stomach tightened uncomfortably now.

“Just wondering is all,” He dismissed with a curt smile. A pause ensued and Patton could hear Roman hum-singing to himself in the kitchen. Janus placed his palm on the couch and stared at Patton from under his lashes after a moment. “Though that brings up an interesting question, don’t you think?” His voice was low and provocative. Patton had to listen closely to hear anything at all, which made him lean towards Janus unconsciously. He felt like a useless fly; did that make Janus something dangerous? Something that’d burn him or swallow him up if he got too close?

“D-does it?” Patton stuttered, trying to keep his voice as quiet as Janus’. Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly following; too paranoid about Roman coming back, too nervous about what Janus was about to say, too flustered from suddenly being this close. Butterflies cut up the inside of his stomach.

“Mhmmmm,” Janus exaggerated, “Tell me,” He batted his eyes and Patton’s cheeks warmed. “Would you even let me know if something was wrong? ... Would you let me help in that case?”

Patton’s mouth opened like he had a response immediately, but no words followed; only a rush of warm air that blew sweetly in Janus’ face. He didn’t have an answer to that question, and thankfully, he wouldn’t need one.

“One Coke for the Marvelous Morality~” Roman sang as he rounded the kitchen corner, two filled glasses in his hands.

Patton blinked and Janus was gone, making him wonder if he had imagined the entire thing. Roman slid the drinks onto the coffee table and plopped heavily back on the couch with a gruff sound. Patton straightened his back as Roman reached for his notebook.

“Hm?” Roman’s brow furrowed, “Did you open this, Pat?” Patton struggled with his words for a second before Roman laughed. “If you wanted to read what I was working on, you could’ve just asked! Here,” Roman flipped through the pages, ignorant to the dumbfounded expression on Patton’s face, “I’ll read this much to you, but prepare yourself; it’s a little rough,” Roman said with grandeur before clearing his throat several times.

If asked, Patton couldn’t recall what Roman had read to him then. Janus’ words kept repeating in his ears until Patton was so dizzy, he felt faint.

The warm month of May shifted impatiently towards the sweltering Flordian heat of June. Even as the sun set, the summer continued to loom with heavy, humid air. Realizing that the apartment showed no signs of cooling off any time soon, Patton went to his room with the intent of changing into something lighter than his usual khakis. His heart stopped and all traces of a coherent thought process came to an abrupt halt, however, as he spotted someone on his bed.

“Oh hello, dear,” Janus purred as though this was a chance meeting. He was lounging back, head resting against Patton’s pillow, one leg crossed over the other. His hat was placed on his stomach, revealing a crooked hairline that seemed to be pushed back by the encroaching scales on the left side of his face; a sight Patton had caught glimpses of by now, but not one he was altogether familiar with.

“J-Janus!” Patton managed through the shock, a hand clutched the fabric of his shirt at his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” He panted, forcing himself to take a gasping, deep breath.

“Apologies,” Janus offered a half smile, but hadn’t yet looked at Patton for more than a glance. Instead, he was focused on flipping through the rectangle shaped memories in his hands. Patton recognized them, once he gathered his senses enough to register the scene fully.

“You ... came to look at those?” Patton assumed, leaning to the side with a raised chin to peer at the one Janus was now staring at. It was an old memory that had begun to go grayscale at the edges. From Patton’s point of view like all of them, it showed Janus; smug at all of ten years old in an oversized hat that fell lopsided on his head. He looked as smart as any actual lawyer might as they won their case. Janus could tell Patton had been smiling when this memory became dear enough to actualize here, in his room.

“In a way,” Janus admitted. Unlike prior conversations, his voice was soft and now he, too, wore a rather endeared smile -- at least for a silent moment, as they both appreciated the memory. Soon he sighed and flipped to the next. The color of this one was vibrant and tinged in an idealistic, soft pink; the color of a schoolboy’s blush. Janus, now perhaps thirteen, reached over with a puzzle piece in hand. It was one of the last few Patton needed to finish the border he had been working on all afternoon. He remembers having begun tearing up, frustrated at not being able to complete something like that. But then Janus walked in. He had simply blinked between Patton’s watery eyes and the pile of pieces, sat down, and began to rifle through them for a moment before locating the one Patton needed. He pressed it into place easily and smiled. It hadn’t been his usual egotistical or knowing smile. It was one that made Patton’s little teenage heart race.

Janus sighed with finality and placed the pile of memories on Patton’s bedside table. As he sat on the edge, he put his hat back on. “Mostly I wanted to see if my own memories lined up,” Janus said as he stood, busying himself with adjusting his clothing. “You’ve been so obstinate lately, I had begun to think we never worked well together.”

Patton’s heart sank and so did his head. “We used to,” He whispered at the floor.

“We did,” Janus said, bittersweetness on his tongue. He shrugged and took slow steps around Patton. “It’s a shame you won’t just let us be like that again,” Janus shrugged a flimsy wrist, sounding mockingly disheartened. “But,” He amended as he reached the door behind Patton. “You’ve had everything handled without me for years now, so,”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed, instantly regretting how loud his voice was. “I have had everything handled! This whole time!” He spun around and Janus’ hand froze on the doorknob. “Without you! and now you’re trying to be around, acting like we can just go back to how it was, assuming that the others will just -- just -- get over it or something,” Patton’s voice gained an exasperated and humored edge despite finding absolutely none of this funny. “Roman nearly had a breakdown at just the idea of trusting you! Virgil can’t be in the same room with you! I just -- I don’t,” Patton’s anger began to fizzle out into despair.

His breathing caught up with him, now heavy and quick. The hand that had been pointing with accusation at Janus’ back fell with the intent of gripping his shoulder, but as though Janus saw that coming, he pulled away.

“I see,” He said, after a silent moment with an unreadable tone. “You have a lot to worry about,” Janus released the door knob. “Don’t let me keep you then,” and as fast as Patton could blink, Janus was gone.

One night, a little over a week later, Patton couldn’t sleep no matter what he did. Supposing he deserved a cookie for his trouble, he wandered into the kitchen, only to find the light already on. He froze and blinked sleepy eyes at the scene; was that … Janus? and Logan? Sitting at the small table by the bookshelf together? Patton gulped and the pair noticed him before he could digest much more.

“Patton,” Logan greeted curtly, sitting up as he seemed to notice how far over he had been leaning. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

“Well I could say the same thing to you!” Patton joked, but his tone was off. The three sat in awkward silence and Janus busied himself with retrieving the nearly empty bottle of wine from the floor between them. “Wh--What are you guys up to?” Patton asked conversationally, pressing his knuckles together nervously.

Janus and Logan exchanged a look and Patton’s face became feverish. He had never felt so terribly out of place before. He shifted on his feet, realizing how uncomfortable his skin was.

“Well if you must know,” Janus answered, refilling Logan’s glass before meeting Patton’s eyes. His gaze was lidded, knowing, and it set Patton on fire. “We’re trying to find a solution to a problem you insist doesn’t exist.”

“Oh now, that can’t be true!” Patton objected eagerly, taking a half step forward only to receive a dubious expression from Logan.

“And why’s that?” Janus asked as he refilled his own glass. “Because you know everything?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm and wine. Janus could feel Logan’s gaze on him now; curious, wondering how he had gone from laughing demurely at something one moment to passive aggressively reproaching Patton the next. Janus wondered in turn what Logan would think of him for his words, but figured the judgement wouldn’t be too harsh. Patton annoyed them both most of the time. “Or because you think we’re too inept to solve anything for Thomas?”

Patton’s hands shook as they anxiously balled fists in the fabric of his shirt. Why would Janus say something so mean? His stomach twisted into intricate knots. Is that how Janus thought he felt? Did he really think Patton thought he was inept? His eyes stung as he stared at the ground. He couldn’t cry here, that’d just add more shame to this horrific, nightmarish moment.

“N-neither, really,” Patton whispered, not trusting his voice to be any louder.

“Why then?” Janus pressed insistently, staring Patton down with hands folded atop the haphazard papers. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like a grotesque mockery of their court scenario the other day...

Patton sniffled quietly, trying to keep from snotting all over himself. “I didn’t realize anything was wrong…” His voice pitched and broke with the effort he extended to keep from sobbing on the spot. How awful it was, to be misinterpreted this gravely, to not have the words to explain himself, to think Janus hated him for not knowing how to ask for forgiveness.

Janus swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to roll his eyes. “Well that’s your mistake then,” He mumbled, sitting back in his chair. As he reached for his freshly poured glass of wine, Logan hesitantly pressed feather-light fingers against his sleeve.

“I think that’s enough,” Logan whispered without much tact before looking back at Patton. “We were almost finished here. The kitchen is all yours in a few moments,” Janus scornfully met his serious gaze and soon clicked his tongue. This time, his eye roll was genuine.

“Yeah sure,” Janus snarked to no one in particular as he stood. “Let’s leave it all to Patton. As usual.”

“Thank you all for joining us today,” Logan began professionally, briskly meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Yes, thank you all so much for taking the time out of your very busy schedules,” Janus snarked in good humor from his position next to Logan; an easel with a balanced poster board stood between them. The information on the board was utilitarian in design; flat colors with thick black lines. Altogether, it was very easy to read and especially clear that Janus, with all his dramatic flair, didn’t have a single hand involved in the writing of it.

“Sure thing,” Patton interjected from his usual spot near the sliding glass door. He raised a finger like one would raise their hand in class. “But uh, I’m a little confused. What’s this all about?”

“I’m glad you asked, Patton,” Logan began, immediately getting cut off by Virgil, who had shoved himself in the very corner of the stairway.

“This is a waste of time, why am I here? I have nothing to do with stuff like this,” he gestured at the poster board, clearly not actually reading anything written there.

“You’re here so we can get your input,” Logan gestured between Patton, Roman, and Remus, who seemed to be fidgeting with some wires behind the television, “Along with everyone else’s.”

“I say let him go if he wants to,” Janus mumbled cynically, adjusting his capelet. “He’s not at all capable of providing helpful feedback.”

“You mean I don’t feed your ego,” Virgil replied bitterly with a scowl. His mouth opened to continue but no sound was produced as Logan met his eyes expectantly. Virgil sighed and shifted stubbornly against the wall. “But fine. If Logan has something to say, I guess I’ll listen. For a bit.”

“Thank you, Virgil,” Logan said, offering a small smile.

At some point during Virgil and Janus’ bickering, the twins began to argue. The quarrel increased in volume and Janus cleared his throat.

“Darling?” Janus called, brows and chin raised. Remus’ head poked up from behind the television; black, blue, and red wires were between his lips like thick spaghetti noodles. Roman crossed his arms with a loud huff and a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Care to clue me in on what’s going on over there?”

Using his tongue, Remus maneuvered the wires to the right side of his mouth. “Roboat thinks he can stop me from eating these wires,” He explained with his mouth full. Janus scrunched his nose delicately and shook his head.

“Leave their wires alone, dear,” Remus deflated and opened his lips, letting the spit-soaked things fall out and back onto the floor. Patton went visibly queasy at the display, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously.

“Okay,” Remus pouted exaggeratedly.

Janus turned and smiled pleasantly at Logan, who adjusted his glasses with a hint of exasperation, though both Janus and Remus knew the irritation was only ever meant with fondness for the Duke.

“If we’re ready to begin,” Logan started and everyone fell begrudgingly silent. “For several weeks now, Janus and I hav--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Virgil interrupted, sitting up again and waving his hands hastily. “You and Deceit have been talking for weeks now?” Patton chewed his lip and tried to look at anything but the inevitable fight currently breaking out.

“Hey, yeah!” Roman agreed, pointing in Logan and Janus’ direction. Anger creased his expression. “I haven’t even seen that Sneaking Snob around here at all! Wouldn’t we have noticed if he was stalking around here like some B movie villain?”

“Maybe you would have if you were more perceptive,” Janus mumbled to himself, looking busily down at his gloved hand as though to inspect his nails. Remus snickered and whispered an oooo, like Roman had just gotten called to the principal's office.

“I’m plenty perceptive, thank you, Boa Bitch-stricter,” Roman dropped his arm heatedly.

The bickering continued for several more minutes, insults flying towards Janus from both Virgil and Roman. He took them in stride, giving his own snide and sarcastic comments back that only served to fuel both of their tempers. Patton’s nerves grew with each passing second; he shifted on his feet, pushed his knuckles together, debated sinking out silently but figured he’d better not cause more tension than there already was. Eventually, Logan spoke up above the roar.

“If you would all just listen,” He said, managing to gain everyone’s attention. “I promise we’ll be through in just a few minutes,” Everyone mumbled a respective, incoherent comment each as they shuffled and settled back to their original positions. Remus gave a cheer in support of Logan, which was followed by a whispered curse and apology as the latter gave a pointedly serious look.

To a silent and mostly attentive room, Logan explained what he and Janus had been discussing and planning for the last two months. Thomas’ financial situation, they all agreed, wasn’t spectacular. To that end, Logan had asked the newly accepted Janus if he had any ideas or solutions. Despite Janus’ surprise at being asked for input (and being considered ‘accepted’ at this point), he offered to go over the issue in detail with Logan; something none of the others had done to date. Over late nights of tasteful wine and the occasional dinner beforehand, they had crunched numbers, mapped solutions, and thought up lists of pros and cons to a multitude of different fixes.

Hearing this, gears clicked into place for Patton; the time he had stumbled on them late at night made a lot more sense now. Though even with the explanation, Patton’s stomach continued to knot painfully. He would really rather not recall that moment. It was filled with such shame and guilt and suspicion, he almost refused to believe it had even happened.

“And so after all that,” Logan approached the end of his explanation, “We settled on a very reliable and doable solution; Thomas and his team should, by all means, open up a Patreon.”

The audience’s eyes went wide as they stared at each other. The fact that the numbers had gone over their heads was clear on their faces, but the conclusion was easy enough to understand.

“So wait,” Virgil said, sitting up slowly, “Basically, what you’re saying is, we should ask the viewers for money, for something Thomas already gives them for free?” He asked incredulously.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t provide them with a little something extra every now and again,” Janus chimed in with a flourish of his fingers and an enigmatic grin. “The amount of things Thomas keeps hidden...phew, let me tell you,” His brows raised dramatically.

“You’re considering airing out his dirty laundry? For money?” Roman interjected, tone fantastically offended. “Preposterous! Who do you think you are, treating Thomas’ classified secrets like they’re some measly prince being sold for ransom!”

“Like that isn’t what our series is already based on?” Janus asked skeptically. Roman fell silent after a few sputtered and disjointed, rather useless words. “The point is,” Janus continued after a moment, meeting everyone’s eyes seriously now. “Thomas can’t afford to keep making videos if we don’t do something. I know you’re all against me, but you could at least extend the courtesy of considering it for Logan.”

Again the room became hushed, but only for a moment before Remus decided to speak up.

“It’s a great idea. Lolo! But I think he could make even more money if he did an OnlyFans!” Remus said too loudly for the room’s atmosphere. Patton flinched and grimaced distastefully, beginning to regret not making a bigger fuss about letting the Duke attend this meeting.

“No one asked you,” Roman snarked, turning slightly to glare at his brother.

“Actually,” Logan interrupted, “We did ask him, all of you,” He gestured with an open palm. “We’re asking you to consider it, as Janus said. No big decision needs to be made right now, even if I don’t quite understand what the hold up could possibly be,” Logan glanced at Janus with a hint of aggravation, “But something bad will happen if we don’t do something.”

“Alright,” Patton said quietly, nodding. “I think we get it, so,” He looked sheepishly around the room; Roman and Virgil had perked up significantly at Patton’s words. They both clearly waited with expectant expressions for Morlaity’s opinion. The twisting in his stomach grew uncomfortably hot. “So,” He repeated before drawing in a breath through his teeth, “Why don’t we all take the night and think about it. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow after … after we’ve all had a little while to think.”

“Very well,” Logan responded immediately, almost cheerfully -- at least cheerfully for Logan’s standards. “That’s quite alright with me, though please try to be quick about it.”

Janus’ brow pinched subtly as he stared at Patton for a moment too long. Logan had called his name twice before the third reached him through his thoughts.

“Janus?”

“Oh, yes,” He cleared his throat and nodded shallowly a few times, “By all means, do drag this out.”

Logan nodded, agreeing with the true intent of Janus’ sarcastic comment as he removed the poster board from the easel. As he collapsed the set up, Patton sunk out silently; the twins began fighting again and Virgil had somehow gotten pulled into their bickering. “That went well,” Logan summarized quietly to Janus, who was still staring distractedly at the space Patton usually occupied. “You were right unfortunately,” Logan paused, waiting for Janus to respond, only continuing when he realized no immediate retort was coming. “About them needing time to think about it?”

“Huh? Oh, yes,” Janus mumbled. Logan frowned; did it not go over as well as he thought? “You have all this handled, correct?” Janus gestured vaguely at the room, taking steps away.

“I suppose…?” Logan answered slowly. He started to say something else, but Janus had already disappeared.

Janus knocked on Patton’s door three times, the sound muffled by his gloves. From his bed, Patton flinched and instinctually squeezed the pillow in his lap tighter.

“B-be right there!” Patton called out, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. He inhaled a ragged breath and scrubbed at his face with dry hands. Please let it be Roman, please let it be Roman, please let i--

“H-hey Janus,” Patton greeted, swallowing his disappointment as he opened the door.

“Hello, dear,” Janus’ voice matched the serious tone he had used in his closing statement at the meeting just a few minutes ago, though the edges of it were softened. Patton thought his brow was creased and wondered what he was worrying about. “How are you?” He asked, and Patton had a hard time believing the question was genuine.

“Oh, I’m fine!” Patton said and Janus’ mouth watered. “Was just getting ready for bed,” he gestured behind him with a thumb and hoped that was enough to deter Janus from any kind of conversation. “S-so if you really don’t mind,” He continued, taking a half step back and starting to close the door slowly. “I sure am wiped from that meeting,” Patton forced a yawn.

“I know you’re lying,” Janus said pointedly, tone deliberate and unamused as he reached a hand to stop the door in its tracks.

Patton frowned, almost pouting as he stared at the floor. Janus’ eyes were too severe just then, and meeting them made his chest hurt. The silence dragged on as Patton found himself in an impossible situation; Janus knew he wasn’t okay, but that didn’t imply he was concerned enough to hear what was on his mind. Even if Janus did want to know, Patton wasn’t sure he could manage to sound coherent. To make matters worse, if all that weren’t true and he did get his feelings across to Janus, they felt silly and inconsequential in the face of Logan and Janus’ idea. They spoke so surely, so convincingly, and all Patton had was … feelings.

“Patton,” Janus said softly, letting his hand fall from the door, “How are you?” He asked again, sounding more insistent.

“I’m,” Patton started to repeat himself again but looked up to see Janus’ face. He wore such a distressed expression, Patton almost wanted to ask if he was okay. “I’m,” He began again, voice shaking as he clutched his shirt. “I’m scared,” Patton admitted in a whisper after a long pause.

Janus’ posture relaxed with a quiet sigh. He remained silent, knowing Patton well enough to predict that he would continue of his own accord now that the dam was open.

“I’m scared that I’m doing the wrong thing, but I’m … I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I’m scared that the others will hate me if I … If I,” Patton swallowed, “If I start letting you help again. B-but I’m also scared that,” His voice quickened, gaining speed like a rushing torrent of unstoppable water. “If I don’t let you help, I’ll just keep hurting Thomas. I’m scared that Virgil will lose himself again and leave us, I’m scared that Roman won’t be able to help Thomas if--if Remus is around, I’m terrified that Remus will hurt Thomas, and,” Patton inhaled a ragged breath. When he continued, his voice was a slow whisper again. “I’m scared of you, of--of not knowing how much selfishness is just right. I know you don’t want to hurt Thomas, I do, but …” He looked up with teary eyes finally, meeting Janus’ patient gaze. “But what if we get it wrong?”

“Then we’ll fix it and get it right together,” Janus replied instantly, like he knew exactly where Patton’s words were going to end up. “Like we always have,” He affirmed calmly, his tone and expression implying that, while this conclusion was obvious, Janus didn’t mind saying it as often Patton needed to hear it.

Patton gasped and the tears in his eyes fell. Hastily he reached up to brush them away with mumbled apologies. Janus rolled his eyes and muttered a sarcastically impatient, “Come here,” as he reached to hug Patton with both arms.

“Just because you’ve done it alone all this time doesn’t mean you should continue to, darling,” he said as Patton gripped the front of Janus’ shirt, letting himself be selfishly consoled, for just a second he told himself. “You can rely on me, that’s all I’ve been trying to say,” He chastised gently. “The others will get used to it again. Thomas isn’t giving them much of a choice on that one,” His tone gained a humored edge and Patton whined softly. Janus chuckled and gave him a final squeeze before gently pushing him away with hands on his upper arms. “As for everything else,” He continued as Patton sniffled, “We’ll figure it out,” Janus said nonchalantly, with a fond smile.

“Together?” Patton whispered, his voice cracking.

“Together.”

Chapter One || Chapter Two

#moceitappreciationweek #moceit appreciation week #moceit week 2021 #moceit #sanders sides

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clandonnachaidh · 4 years ago

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Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)

Read on AO3

Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.

He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.

Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.

And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.

The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.

Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.

“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”

“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.

Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.

“That’s too many names.”

“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”

“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”

She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.

“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”

“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.

“Not enjoying it so far?”

“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”

He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.

“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”

He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”

“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”

“And what would that be?”

“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.

“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.

“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.

“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.

“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”

“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”

His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.

“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”

That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.

“Bad date, was it?”

Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”

“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.

“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”

“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.

“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”

“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”

“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.

She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.

Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.

After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.

“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.

“I dinna think so.”

Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”

“Then they’re eejits.”

A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Eejits, huh?”

He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.

“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.

“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.

“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”

Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”

“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.

“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”

Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”

Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.

“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”

By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.

They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.

Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.

“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.

“Aye?”

“Can I…?”

An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.

A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.

He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Saorsa, Chapter 20

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. It’s Hogmanay! Time for everybody to get dressed up and make life-altering decisions! Also, this chapter contains my very favourite re-purposing of a line from the original series. Guess which one?

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

It was strangely intimate, sharing Lallybroch with Claire over the holidays when most everyone else was away. He found himself deviating between an easy casualness that reminded him of his parents, and a stiff formality that reminded him of his place as a guest in the house of a widowed Englishwoman.

The modern wonder that was the icebox meant that Cook did not have to prepare food for them each day. Mrs. Fitz was visiting her niece in Elgin, leaving only Murtagh to frown at him as he mucked the stalls and shouldered bales of hay down from the grange like a stable boy, and then washed up and sat down to supper as though he was laird of the manor.

He was profoundly confused.

All his short life he’d never hesitated, never faltered. If there was a decision to be made, he made it, and lived with the consequences. If there was a step to be taken, he forged ahead, eyes wide open.

Now he wavered, uncertain, two equally obscured paths laying before him.

He sensed Claire observing him as they ate leftover turkey with chestnut stuffing, warmed up in the huge AGA cooker that dominated the kitchen. It reminded him of Mrs. Crook’s cooking from when he was a boy.

“What was Christma…, sorry, Yuletide, like when you were young?” He squinted at her, wondering if she knew some sorcery that allowed her to see directly into his thoughts. He dearly hoped not.

“Nae sae verra different, really. We ne’er exchanged gifts – that was for Hogmanay – but Jenny an’ I loved tae stay up late, go tae mass and light our nativity candles. There’d be some huge beast roasting on a spit fer days, an’ the whole house fair reeked of it, sae ye were always hungry. E’ry day, some new guest or family would arrive, ‘til on the eve of Hogmanay the castle was burstin’ with folk, all talkin’ an’ drinkin’ an’ laughin’.”

“That sounds wonderful. I hope Lallybroch can be like that again, someday,” she said wistfully.

“It will be, Sassenach. I ken it.”

Murtagh had loaned him a necktie, and it was slowly choking him. There was a light knock on his bedchamber door, and he yanked miserably at the stiff collar as he went to answer it. Claire stood on the other side, looking positively radiant in her burgundy dress. He felt his cheeks flushing and hoped he could blame the cravat.

“Oh no,” she giggled as she took in his costume. “That simply will not do.”

He considered feigning insult, but her voice was too musical, her eyes too merry as she laughed at his outfit.

“Twas your idea tae dress up fer Hogmanay! An’ now ye’re laughing at me, lass?”

She merely smiled more broadly, and held out a bulky, paper-wrapped package that he’d somehow missed in his earlier perusal of her pretty frock and berry-ripe lips.

“Your Hogmanay gift, Mister Fraser,” she pronounced cheekily, and he wondered if she’d already sampled the rum punch Cook had laid out on the table downstairs.

“Sassenach, I…”

“Don’t. Please. This is yours. If you won’t accept it as a gift, consider it reparation for a past mistake.”

And with that she turned and left his doorway. He set the package, which was surprising light considering its size, on his bed and proceeded to open it, hands shaking slightly.

Inside he found a Fraser plaid.

Dashing the onrush of moisture from his eyes, he quickly shed his borrowed suit and wrapped the plaid with practiced ease around his hips and over his shoulder, securing it with his belt and sporran.

He was about to rush down the stairs to thank Claire when he realized he had nothing to give her in return. His eyes cast about his room, but everything there already belonged to her. He had no money, and it was too late to buy a gift in any event. He hooked his thumbs beneath his belt, a grimace of concentration on his face. Then he smiled and walked towards the door.

The great hall was filled with chatter and music, merriment and cheer. Claire had invited anyone even remotely associated with Lallybroch to celebrate Hogmanay, and they all seemed to have accepted.

The lady of the estate walked about the room, chatting easily with her guests, offering more refreshments, and generally playing the cordial hostess. He stood near a stone pillar watching her, scowling as a drunken shopkeeper grabbed her by the waist and spun her for a reel across the gleaming flagstones. Jamie took a step into the room when she lay a hand across her still-flat belly, ready to intervene, but she was merely catching her breath.

Flushed and thirsty, she took refuge in his quiet corner.

“Don’t you like dancing, Jamie?” she asked as she sipped her punch.

“Aye, but as an onlooker. Wi’ these feet, t’would be a cruelty tae step on y’…, um, a lass.”

“Pity, since you’re dressed the part.”

“Sassenach, thank ye. Truly. I ne’er meant for ye to feel responsible fer burning my plaid, ye ken? Twas just the last in a series of blows.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m just happy it got here in time. When it hadn’t arrived by Christmas, I was panicked.”

“Where’er did ye find it?”

“Oh, just a little shop in Inverness that Murtagh knows. I rang them on the telephone back in November.”

Jamie shook his head in wonder. She’d bought this plaid to replace the one he’d ruined coming through the stones, even before he’d told her his strange tale. Before they exchanged family histories and truly gotten to know one another. Before she started to look at him the way she was looking just now.

“I have something for ye as weel, Sassenach,” he said, taking a fortifying gulp of whisky and then placing the glass on a nearby ledge. He opened his sporran and withdrew the object he knew Claire should have, just as the plaid he wore belonged to him.

“Jamie, I… that’s… I mean… what is it?” she stuttered, her usual eloquence failing her in the sudden heat of his gaze.

“Tis my key. To Lallybroch. It belongs to ye, Claire.”

She held the heavy iron balanced across both palms as though accepting a sacred relic. When it became apparent she would not be speaking, he added, “Yer the rightful Lady of Lallybroch, Sassenach. Ye’ll do right by its people. Teach the bairn tae do the same.”

Her face turned pale, her taffy eyes huge. She grabbed for his hand, the key fumbling between them.

“I can’t. Jamie, I can’t. I can’t accept this. Lallybroch is as much yours as mine.” Then, so quiet he had to lean down to hear her over the music, “Please, don’t make me do this alone.”

His heart was riven in two inside his chest, a tearing sensation that felt like birth and death combined. How could he deny what he’d already promised her? A clear path forward emerged from the fog, and he took his first, fateful step.

“There is a way, Sassenach…”

#my writing #outlander

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welshdragonrawr · 4 years ago

Note

For the Valentine's Day asks: 1-5, 7-11, 13-17, 19, 20, 22-27, 29-33, 35, 39, 41-43, 44 (fuck, marry, kill: Amanda, Audrey, Ally), 47-49 pleeeeeeease?? I know I said I wouldn't request a million but I'm a curious bean hehe ;)

Seeing as it is actually Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d finally answer these. Under the cut, because it’s a loooooong post and I didn’t want to overtake peeps’ dash. Well here goes;

(Also, the post format messed up, but I couldn’t be bothered to fix them because this already took ages so they’re just in the order asked and I bolded answers so they stand out)

do you have a crush on anyone? - I do indeed, and I am fairly certain they are well aware of it ;)

what’s your favorite candy? - It changes all the time because I have such a sweet tooth but right now chocolate-wise it’s probably cadbury or kinder chocolate, and actual candy probably haribo (tangfastics to be precise)

favorite love song? - There are too many to choose from or list here but right now it’s probably still ‘Wasteland Baby’ by Hozier, You Are In Love by Taylor Swift, or for entirely cheesy reasons a certain someone might know Hero by Enrique Iglesias

what was your first kiss like? - Terrible because I didn’t know what I was doing and was with entirely the wrong person at the wrong time and I didn’t know it then

what was your last kiss like? - If it’s the one I’m allowed to think of in this context, pretty damn good ;)

do you prefer poems or love letters? - Both - I can’t decide, because I love anything remotely like that, when someone goes to the length of composing something like either of those because they were thinking of me? Incredible!

favorite fanfic trope? - Slow-Burn if that counts, with a side order of fake dating or mutual pining, potentially both at once heheh

have you ever been in love? Mayyyybeeee, maybe I aaaaam, I’ll just have to let you ponder that one ;)

favorite milkshake flavor? - Chocolate brownie, even if I can’t have too much because then it gets sickly but in small quantities? Yesssss! Or cookies&cream in any variation

dinner dates or brunch dates? - This one was tough because I don’t really have any experience with either, but I think Brunch dates, and not just because I would have much much less anxiety about awkward food ordering and stuff, plus I feel like Brunch dates have much less formal expectation about them, and you have the rest of the day after to do more things if you want to!

favorite perfume/cologne? - Probably the Ghost one that has a bottle shaped like the moon, or Good Girl by Caroline Herrera (the bottle looks like a high heel?)

favorite candle scent? - There’s a seasonal Yankee Candle one they do around Christmas time that I cannot remember the name of for the life of me right now, but it’s just the right kind of sweetness in the air when you have it burning for a lil while? If I ever remember what it is I’ll come back and edit this post haha

what’s your ideal first date? - I’m not really sure, because all types of dates make me nervous especially first dates haha. I’d like to leave it up to the other person to decide what we do, as long as I could treat them in some way with whatever it is/wherever we go?

favorite love story? - Are we talking classics or fandom or...? What currently springs off the top of my head though is Hades & Persephone - I’m convinced he didn’t ‘steal her’ to be a dick, he stole her away to somewhere cool and calm away from the pressures and terrors of life on the surface so she could catch her breath for a couple months, and can we blame her? And he makes her his Queen, like - if he was gonna be mean, he could have made her his slave, or his concubine or his pet or something, but instead he gave her his whole world to rule with him. Sounds like a better guy than that bastard ol’ Zeus, no? (Historians/Classics students please don’t fight me)

what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear? - Happiness. Doesn’t matter to me whether you’re wearing a trash bag, or a Chanel dress or your faded ol’ pjs or not a single thread. So long as you’re happy and you’ve got that glow about you and that bright shine in your eyes? Yeah..

snow, rain, or sun? - I love all three for different reasons (I’m indecisive, don’t judge me, or do) give me a snow day with my dog or my lover with hot chocolate and snowmen and flurries out the window, or an afternoon reading inside while it rains with blankets and a cup of tea, or a sunny afternoon walk with just the right amount of cool breeze to keep it balmy but bright? Yes please. But again, if I had to choose, probably rain... Because I live in England for one thing, but there’s something so comforting about the rain.

sweetest romantic memory? - My partner at the time took me to a second-hand bookshop and let me browse the stacked shelves as long as I liked, and I found a hardback copy of a book by a fave author but it was too expensive so just admired it and put it back, then when my birthday rolled around 2 weeks later, they turned up with that same book they had gone back for without telling me as a surprise gift

fictional crushes? - Cordelia Goode, Theo Crain, Mildred Ratched, I could keep listing but that means we’d be here forever and if you’ve been following me long enough you probably already know anyway...

what’s your dream wedding like? - This would need a whole post on its own to answer if I could actually be decisive and sit down with some thought over it. But alas... I don’t really know, I’d like things to be somewhat fancy and romantic, but I’d also like for it not to feel all stuffy and super serious like, that everyone can have fun and be a little goofy and a little merry and not have to worry about oh am I doing this certain thing right or feeling all self-conscious while dancing. So I’m not really sure how to narrow it down into specific details or events...? Except, there’s a really dumb nerdy part of me that wants to be able to do the cake slicing with a sword rather than a knife. Because reasons.

what makes you blush? - Too much. Usually compliments.

do you believe in love at first sight? - I believe in *attraction* at first sight, and *affection* you find or work for later.

do you believe in soulmates? - Yeah, but I also believe a soulmate doesn’t have to be someone you’re in love with or a romantic partner, a soulmate can just as easily be a friend you keep on keeping on through this silly little game of life with, y’know? You’ve both been dealt shitty hands, but you’d be willing to share each others cards to get through, and some other cheesy af analogies...

denim jackets, leather jackets, or bomber jackets? - Leather jackets, tho technically I have worn and do wear all three so - I hoard jackets like some people hoard shoes and handbags, it’s a problem

are you single? - if you know you know, and that’s the that on that ;)

do you prefer to charm, or be charmed? - Both? I love to see the look on a partners face when they’re charmed, all blushing and cute and sparkly eyes and big smiles - I think I like to be charmed too but I would also get suuuuper awkward and not sure what to do with it or in response to it because I’m not used to being on the receiving end of attention like that?

guitar or piano? - I love both, and girls who can play either/both are heavensent sirens who can have me under their spell for hours (I think it’s the hand thing again, see?) but if I had to choose it would have to be Piano.

favorite romcom (or any romantic movie)? - Um... Does Love & Other Drugs count? Or Imagine Me And You - I’m not big on too many ‘traditional’ rom-coms because they make me cringe way too often, and often not in a good way, but there’s sometimes the odd one I enjoy! (Though I must admit, being British, Bridget Jones and Love Actually are like, historical treasures so...)

do you fall in love easily? - Nope. I mean, do I love people easily? Yeah I try to give the best of myself to the people I cherish as much as possible. But do I *fall in love* easily? Nah, takes a while before this oblivious lil heart realises it.

would you prefer to propose or be proposed to? what’s your dream proposal? - Oh gosh, honestly, I don’t know... I’m one of those people that *love* to do anything and everything to bring a smile to my partner’s face and make them happy and there’s just something so magical about seeing their face light up and their eyes sparkle, y’know? So I feel like I would want to do that by giving them the perfect proposal for them (but on the flipside this means I would also be incredibly *terrified* of ever doing it remotely wrong/not exactly how they wanted it, or getting the wrong kind of ring or all of that plethora of details and minutiae that could be messed up ahha). But also, I kinda wouldn’t mind being proposed to either? Like I’m so used to taking care of other people, it might be nice, at the risk of sounding like a bad pokemon promo. to have that validation of someone else saying ‘I choose you’ y’know? As for dream proposal, much like dream wedding, I’m not entirely sure? As long as it’s memorable and with the one I love? (Which is such a cop-out answer) I honestly don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it, probably because I never really thought it was happen so I figured why think about something that’s never gonna happen ahhah. Somewhere picturesque I guess? So I could really capture the picture in my mind for the rest of my lifen, not like for a social media photo post or any of that shit but just for myself to look back on, if any of that essay ramble makes any sense.

kittens or puppies? - How DARE- Nope. It’s both. I’m sorry but it’s both. They are both adorable AF and I will love and pet and cherish them all.

favorite soda? - Cola I guess? And don’t try to rope me into the Pepsi V Coke thing, because honestly I like both for different reasons and choosing one over the other seems silly when either of them tastes good if you’ve got enough whiskey or rum in them ;)

do you prefer gazing wistfully out the window or lying dramatically over the sofa? - I rather like doing both tbf, but if I’m gonna be honest, give me ‘cosied up under a blanket, with a mug of hot tea/coffee gazing wistfully out the window at whatever weather is going on outside, any day.

favorite ABBA song? - How dare you - umm... Slipping Through My Fingers or The Winner Takes It All because I am at heart a soppy dramatic fool.

fuck/marry/kill? (anons name 3 people of your choice) - You meanie, how dare you make me decide such a thing. Buuuut Fuck Ally (cuz you just *know* that canon wlw got some mooooves), Marry Amanda (because she seems like someone I could get along with in all the day to day stuff y’know? Like, I could settle down with her, you feel me?) and don’t hate me but you asked the question but Kill Audrey (*runs and hides*)

do you think about love a lot? - Yeah, I think so, in all its different incarnations. As a writer I’m kinda obligated to? But I think I think about it even when I’m not super aware of it or the reasons for or why.

a walk in the park or a walk on the beach? - It’s a tough once because I love it when the light filters *just so* through trees and looks so pretty, but the beach has the lapping waves and soft sand to walk on and pretty colours at sunsets and sharing ice creams/chips/doughnuts/pretzels and- Yeah so beach probably.

hand kisses or nose kisses? - Hand kisses, fo’sho, because haaaands

#ask things #this took way too long to answer and I'm sorry about that hehe #but thanks for asking!!

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thespacebetweenworlds · 6 years ago

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Umbrella

This was written for the @aftgholidayzine! Many cool creators in the fandom have done art and word constellations for it, so check it out!

Beta’d by @sisaloofafump (an angel). Read it on ao3 here.

Laila knew these to be truths: Alvarez had a first name, but nobody knew it. Alvarez was one hell of a backliner, but Laila would never admit that. Alvarez had jokingly referred to Laila as her enemy in their first week of summer practice, and that was what stuck. Alvarez was her roommate. And Laila had a crush on her.

Wait, no, that wasn’t a truth. Laila did not have a crush on the most obnoxious and infuriating Trojan there ever was.

She sighed audibly. Jeremy in front of her just watched her as if she was an interesting fish in an aquarium. With steadily shaking hands she reached for the bottle and filled herself another shot of too-sweet yellow liquor. It was only her fourth - fifth? - but it was now sometime between 3am and morning, and the Trojans had celebrated winning their last game before the holidays. The only other time she had been this drunk was after high school graduation, and those were not nice memories.

“Do you have a crush on her?” Jeremy asked, effectively startling Laila out of her fuzzy memories.

“What? No!” She said, way too loud. “I do not have a crush on Alvarez! I would never! She’s always so smug about bodychecking others! She’s insufferable when she steals balls! And she always washes the dishes! Always!”

Jeremy stared at her. Laila assumed he was too drunk, anyway.

“She’s just so, so… I don’t know! I tried to antagonize her by giving her a lavender scented candle for her birthday, because she always complains that my closet smells of lavender, but she just smiled!” Laila couldn’t fathom how Jeremy could be so passive about her rivalry with her roommate. “We’re enemies, Jer!”

Jeremy’s eyes searched her face. Then he nodded at nothing. “It’ll be okay, Laila.”

But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay because when Laila woke up sometime that afternoon, she had the chilling realisation that yes, she did indeed have a crush on Alvarez. Alvarez, whose eyes were as intimidating as they were beautiful, no matter the amount of makeup she wore or didn’t wear. Alvarez, whose hair looked way too good when it was wet from a shower. Alvarez, who could possibly bench press Laila. When Laila was wearing her goalie gear.

No. Nope. Absolutely not okay, Laila thought as she subtly admired Alvarez’s relaxed face on the other side of the aisle in the Trojan team bus. She had white headphones in, and her brown skin looked soft to touch. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes catching in the light from outside.

Jeremy beside her sighed, and Laila sighed back. It was the mood. Sighing was what they had done for the last ten hours on the bus, only interrupted by some sleep.

Every year, in the winter holidays, the Trojans went on a three day vacation together. It was a team building event, and a chance for the upperclassmen to get to know the freshmen off the court. They had boarded the bus at nightfall and had been going north ever since.

“Beautiful,” Jeremy said quietly. “So very pretty.”

“Yes,” agreed Laila, her eyes stuck on Alvarez’s nose. She’d tried to convince Jeremy she didn’t have a crush, but the downside of having a best friend was the forced honesty and the inability to hide things. “How can her nose be so attractive?”

“That’s not who I meant,” Jeremy elbowed her. Sighing, Laila followed his nudge and saw Finn Montez, two rows in front of Alvarez. Like Alvarez, Finn was sleeping, but one of his headphones had fallen out of his ear. “Finn Montez.”

“A striker?” Laila asked, confused. A junior striker, too.

“He just,” Jeremy said, in much the same tone she had used when asking about Alvarez’s nose, “he’s so elegant, you know?”

Laila did not know. But she nodded anyway, and listened to Jeremy trying to describe the colour of Finn’s hair (black) and Finn’s skills on the court (very good) and that he once sang a Rihanna song when he thought he was alone in the showers.

Even Laila had to admit that last one was cute.

By the time they reached their destination, a small hotel next to a Target and a forest, Laila was excited for the next few days. They got off the bus and got their bags, Coach Rhemann going inside first to check in. Coach was the only adult on the trip, but the older goalies had said he usually just sat in the hotel cafeteria and drank coffee all day.

There wasn’t any snow around, but the sky was a cool grey, and the air was definitely colder than in LA.

Motion came to the twenty eight student athletes when the captain shouted that there were only rooms for two, and would everybody please find a friend. Laila turned to Jeremy, but Finn Montez was first.

Laila couldn’t believe the smile she saw on Jeremy’s face, and the enthusiastic yes he said with all his sunshine power. She was his best friend! Who was she supposed to room with if he roomed with someone else? Finn nodded, and smiled at Laila as he walked past her to put his and Jeremy’s names on the list for the rooms.

“Oh my god,” Jeremy said, staring wistfully after Finn. “Did you see that?”

“Of course I saw that!” Laila exclaimed. “Could you be any more obvious about your crush?”

“Pff,” Jeremy said and smiled even brighter, “I’m not the only one who’s obvious.”

Laila shook her head. “Yeah, coming up to ask you to room with him was pretty obvious, I suppose.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jeremy said.

They were the last to step into the hotel, a three storey tall house, painted yellow. Everything was okay until Laila saw the list with the names of the Trojans and a room number. The only free spot was next to room 201, Alvarez.

“Why doesn’t she write her first name,” Laila grumbled.

“This is wonderful!” Jeremy said. “You’ll be rooming with your roommate and your crush!”

“Shhh! Don’t shout that! And no, it’s not wonderful! Did you forget the part where we’re enemies?” But Jeremy wasn’t listening, so Laila sighed and wrote ‘Laila Dermott’ in the spot next to Alvarez’s name. How bad could it be?

Very, as it turned out.

Alvarez was lying on the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes. For a moment, Laila could only think about how good Alvarez looked in jogging pants and a sweater and how she felt slightly like she was intruding. The room was nice, the walls were painted yellow with small drawings of trees hung up, the window let in a lot of light given the overcast sky outside, and a wooden door that presumably went to the bathroom. Then she mentally backpedalled. Her bag slipped out of her fingers.

“Wait, one bed?”

“Geez,” Alvarez flinched and sat up, making a face. “What are you doing here?”

“Jeremy abandoned me, but that isn’t the point!”

Alvarez raised an eyebrow.

Laila took a breath. “Why is there only one bed?”

Alvarez lifted her shoulders in an I-don’t-fucking-know kind of way.

“How can you not care?”

“So what? It’s a double bed. We’re both girls.” Alvarez sounded like she was reading off a list. “We’re both athletes, we’ve seen each other naked. We’re roommates anyway. This is a team building vacation, so why not just play along and try to enjoy ourselves?”

Alvarez was right, and Laila knew it. She just… it felt too easy. To be in the same room as her, to breathe the same air, to not tease her about her backlining, to not be teased in response. So Laila nodded and walked around the bed, dropping her bag on top of it. She didn’t know what to make of Alvarez’s calm acceptance of a double bed.

Dinner was a loud affair. Laila found herself caught in a group of sophomores, who all wanted to know about her love life, and didn’t seem to be satisfied with her short answers. There wasn’t much to tell, really, aside from Alvarez, but Laila wasn’t saying that to anyone, as she was still trying to convince herself otherwise.

The team bonding exercises after dinner were more exhausting than Exy, and Laila didn’t even think about her room situation until she and Alvarez, cheeks flushed from the running in the exercise, closed the door to their room and found themselves standing in a room that suddenly felt too small.

“Um, do you want to use the bathroom first?” Laila asked, and Alvarez wordlessly disappeared behind the door.

Laila heavily sat down on her side of the bed. She was going to kill Jeremy. But then, maybe Jeremy was dying anyway because he shared a room with Finn Montez. Laila hadn’t even known Finn wasn’t straight. Oh god, was Alvarez straight? More importantly, why had Laila never made a point to find out? Why did it never come up in conversation? In team gossip?

When Alvarez left the bathroom Laila was glad for the distraction of grabbing her pyjamas and going through with her evening ritual. Alvarez didn’t seem straight. She definitely wasn’t straight. Laila did not have a crush on a straight girl, that would be way too heartbreaking.

She finished brushing her teeth and shut off the lights, lying down on her side of the bed. She could feel that Alvarez shifted her weight.

“Good night, Laila,” a soft voice said, but Laila was already drifting off.

Her dreams were filled with snow. Evergreen trees under a thick layer of snow, and flakes falling down lazily, as if gravity was just a game. Breath that turned to clouds ascending into grey skies. But Laila was warm.

The rain on the window woke her.

Hair tickled her nose. For a moment she was caught up in sleeping and dreaming, but then all at once she realised. Her arms were around Alvarez, and the hair tickling her nose was Alvarez’s, and her pillow was Alvarez’s shoulder, and their legs were tangled, and she could feel Alvarez’s hand on her waist.

Laila couldn’t help herself. She tensed. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

“Laila?” Alvarez’s rough voice sounded too close to her ear (and yet not close enough).

Fuckfuckfuck. Laila abruptly sat up, disentangling herself and blushing fiercely as Alvarez slowly woke up. It was too late. There was no way Alvarez would not think Laila’s entire existence didn’t start and end with Alvarez - damn it all that should not have happened. Laila wasn’t supposed to crush on her roommate, much less fall in love with - no, fuck, she wasn’t having these realisations now.

“Um, good morning,” Alvarez mumbled and cleared her throat. “What - what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Laila pressed out. Love. The word felt like fire and ice, and now, looking back on months of denial - it made sense. She sneezed. Her eyes burned. Alvarez’s eyes burned into her. And Laila panicked. She jumped out of the bed and barely registered to put on her shoes.

“Laila? What?”

But Laila was already running down the stairs, and through the foyer, and out, out into the rain. The rain washed her tears away.

It was cold, that was the first thing she noticed. Wet, the second. Still dark, the third. The Target was closed, and she could see no lights, not anywhere, not even street lights. It was so different from her home in New York City, and so different from USC campus in LA. The darkness where the trees began was imposing on the street.

She stepped into a puddle and cursed. Rain fell heavy, and her shirt was already soaked.

Cold crept into her limbs. She sneezed again. “This was a bad idea,” she whispered to herself. Why hadn’t she gone to Jeremy’s room? Why hadn’t she insisted that Jeremy shared with her? Why had she fallen in love with the girl on the team that had declared herself Laila’s enemy, and then proceeded to have a frenemy-like relationship with?

Sure, it had never been outright hostile. They were roommates, they compromised, Alvarez did the dishes, Laila cooked for two when the dining hall seemed to far away, and they collaborated on laundry. Of course, there had been the incident with the lavender scented candle, but wasn’t that just… an inside joke? Laila messed up big time.

“Laila! Wait!” Laila turned around. She couldn’t see well, but a familiar figure was moving towards her.

Laila wanted to hide. She really did. But what would be the point? She stood.

Panting, Alvarez stopped in front of her. “Are you okay? Why did you just run outside? You didn’t even take your jacket!”

“I… uh.”

“Wait,” Alvarez stepped closer, concern in her eyes, “were you crying?”

Laila couldn’t look at her. She looked down at her hands, feeling drops fall down on them, feeling the drops landing on her shoulders and drenching her. Why not just say it? What was holding her back?

“You’re shaking,” Alvarez said.

“I’m in love with you,” Laila said. The rain suddenly stopped. It was still cold, and she could hear the rain, but it didn’t touch her. “I… I thought it was a crush that would go away, but… you’re just so infuriatingly you! You always wash the dishes! Who does that! And you’re literally the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen! So yeah,” Laila met Alvarez’s eyes, nearly faltering at the expression in them, “I’m in love with you. And… and I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable -”

Lips met her lips. Warm breath hit her face and she felt Alvarez’s lips moving, slowly. Laila kissed her back. She felt Alvarez’s tongue against her lips and opened her mouth, welcoming whatever Alvarez was willing to give. She felt a hand on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and gripped Alvarez’s coat, when she felt herself losing balance. She was kissing Alvarez.

Laila expected to wake up in bed when she opened her eyes and their lips parted. But she only saw Alvarez’s dark eyes, and noticed that the black sky was getting greyer. She shivered and looked around.

The trees had more shape now, and more colour, and rain was still falling around them. Laila looked up. A red and gold umbrella floated above her. It only took her a few moments to realize Alvarez was holding the umbrella above their heads. Alvarez.

Alvarez, who had just kissed Laila.

“Laila,” Alvarez said, and Laila’s knees buckled at the soft smile on her lips, “I’ve been in love with you for like, ages. Do not apologize, as I will just kiss you to shut you up. If anything, I should apologize, for not saying something sooner.”

Laila leaned in and captured Alvarez’s lips with her own. “If I can’t apologize, then you can’t either.”

Alvarez’s giggle rang through the morning. “That’s fair, but we really need to get you somewhere warm.”

Shivering, Laila could only nod. Her body hurt from the cold, and, well, Alvarez just confessed, too. Her heart felt like it was doing cartwheels when just a few minutes ago she was crying and fleeing a situation she had gravely misunderstood.

What a weird start to the holidays. Back in their room, Laila took a hot shower, before dressing in the most comfortable clothes she had with her. They’d… have to talk things out. Definitely. Probably?

Laila sat on the bed, but Alvarez quickly dragged her under the blanket, embracing they way they had done in their sleep.

“Do you feel better?” Alvarez asked quietly.

Laila suddenly giggled. “You had my heart, and we’ll never be worlds apart… maybe in magazines, but you’ll still be my star…”

“Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other, you can stand under my umbrella.” Alvarez continued, and Laila was in awe at how beautiful Alvarez was when she smiled.

“Under my umbrella,” Laila whispered. “Thank you for coming after me and being a functional human being.” She relaxed in Alvarez’s arms.

“You know, I’m pretty sure Jeremy faked his crush on Finn to set us up,” Alvarez said neutrally.

“What!?” Laila couldn’t believe - but oh, yes, she could. “That’s why it sounded so fake. I just thought it was because I’m lesbian, and therefore fundamentally did not understand.”

Laila felt Alvarez laughing more than she heard it.

Thank you for reading! Also feel free to talk to me about lailvarez any time!

#lailvarez #all for the game #heathen's greetings #usc trojans #laila dermott #sara alvarez #jeremy knox #fluff #my writing #there was only one bed #pining #enemies to lovers #i love them #aftg #tfc #long post #i hope the read more thing works #fanfiction

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betweensceneswriter · 6 years ago

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Island Hopper-Chapter 25: Honeymoon Sweet

Previously on Island Hopper: Chapter 24: Stag Night Seth wants to give Jamie a stag night, and Joe and John have a bachelorette night with Claire.

The Sheraton was amazing, the lobby high-ceilinged and grand, with a chandelier in the entrance and checkerboard black and white marble flooring. Even in our fancy club wear I felt underdressed, and particularly foolish when the valet took the keys to my mom’s rusty Honda with a slight wrinkle to his nose and curl to his lip.

“John and Joe had my mom pack a bag for us,” I whispered to Jamie, cringing slightly as I brought the small backpack out of the car before the valet left us at the entrance. “I’m kind of dreading looking in it to see what she thought we would want.”

He grinned and shook his head, turning to open the entrance door for me.

“They canna truly have paid for us to stay here, Ri-pālle,” he said then, gazing with wide eyes at the spacious lobby. I felt nearly as awestruck as he appeared. I’d stayed in a few nice resorts through the years, but never anything as glamorous as this. Finally he shook off his awe and squared his shoulders, looking down at me with a sly smile.

“Come along, woman,” he said, taking me firmly by the hand and leading me to the check-in desk.

“Reservation for Fraser,” he said confidently to the suited concierge behind the desk, who, after tapping on his keyboard and asking twice how we spelled our last name, found the reservation.

“A gift, it seems,” the clerk said. “With an open tab for room service if desired.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly—not so much that the suited gentleman noticed, but enough that I did. I squeezed his hand. This was quite decadent enough without taking undue advantage of John and Joe’s generosity.

The concierge signaled for a bellhop to come assist us, and after an awkward moment as the young man held out his hands before I surrendered the backpack, the two of us followed him from the lobby into a towering ten-story atrium. The hotel rooms opened out to balconies overlooking a geometric fountain surrounded by stately palm trees in pots. I tried to minimize my astonishment, gripping Jamie’s hand and trying to direct his gaze toward the stunning surroundings as we entered the elevator and waited in awkward silence as it climbed to the seventh floor, until the bellhop had opened our door and Jamie had scrabbled through his wallet for a wrinkled five-dollar bill, after which we entered the room and closed the door.

“So, this is what you would have preferred for our actual honeymoon?” Jamie asked, taking in the smooth white bed linens, the glossy furniture, the gentle glow of bedside lamps. He ran his fingers through his hair, then stepped hesitantly into the center of the room and looked back at me, eyebrows raised.

“It is pretty decadent,” I agreed. “But our wedding night and honeymoon were much more memorable. Anyone could have their wedding night in a hotel…”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, moving over to the bed and untying his deck shoes, wiggling his toes gratefully once he had shoes and socks off. I kicked off my spangly heels, padding over to the sliding glass door that led out to a balcony. I opened the door and went out, stunned for a moment by the lights of the island and the view of the infinity pool eight stories down, lit up for nighttime swimming. It was surreal, to say the least. Jamie didn’t follow me, so I went back into the room to find him still sitting on the bed.

He was looking at me wistfully. “I do love your family, truly, Ri-pālle,” he said. “And this room is amazing… But somehow I canna wait until it is just you and I in our little apartment.”

“With the geckos and mosquitos?” I asked teasingly, shutting the door behind me.

“Them I could do wi’out,” he smiled, winking at me.

“I know what you mean, though,” I said, walking up to him and stepping between his knees, resting my arms on his shoulders. “Until now it's kind of been just the two of us.”

“Wi’ a little Rupert and Angus thrown in,” Jamie added, linking his hands behind my back and smiling up at me as he pulled me toward him.

“But not too much,” I mused, imagining our friends noisily tromping into our apartment.

Our apartment. I felt a pang in my stomach and as I realized what I was feeling, pushed away from Jamie and exclaimed in surprise, “Babe… I think I’m homesick!”

His look of discomfort softened, and I leaned forward to kiss him gently.

“I am as well, mo chridhe,” he whispered, drawing me down onto his lap. “Sit wi’ me for a bit, and I ken both of us will soon feel better.”

He drew my head to his shoulder, tucking it under his chin, wrapping his arms thoroughly around me. I breathed deeply and melted into him, slipping my shoulder under his arm, curling my body against his. I found myself humming contentedly and closed my eyes with a sigh.

“Dammit, Jamie,” I murmured. “I was yours from that very first day you held me in your arms.”

In response, he chuckled and tightened his arms around me. I felt the soft pressure of a kiss on my forehead.

“You looked alluring tonight.” He spoke slowly, his deep voice rumbling under my ear. “Dancing in your sparkly top and sandals,” he mused as his hand traced over the spaghetti straps of the tank and drifted down my back. “Wearing these jeans, tight as a second skin,” he added, the firm warmth of his palm moving lower until he stopped with it gripping the curve of my backside.

I’d wanted him earlier, but the extravagance of the hotel had stunned me out of it. Now I felt the glow begin again, warmth creeping from my abdomen outwards.

“I’m taking these foolish wee things off you,” he said, nudging me off his knee and into a standing position in front of him again. He reached for the button of my jeans, his forehead wrinkling in concentration as he undid it, a slow smile creeping over his face as he looked up at me and gripped the zipper.

There was something disconcerting about being undressed. My heart rate increased and I flushed as I watched him pull the zipper downwards and then slip his hands inside my jeans to spread the tight waistband and push it down over my hips.

He took his time drawing the jeans down to the floor, his hands tracing their way down my thighs. “You did indeed shave today,” he said. “Your skin is as soft as... a cat’s fur.”

“A cat?” I asked. “Did you have a cat growing up?”

“Aye, but we arna talking about Bòidheach right now,” Jamie said, returning to a sitting position after holding the jeans down as I stepped out of them. He ran his hands back up my legs, and the gentle touch stirred me so thoroughly I closed my eyes in response.

“Now these are even more foolish,” he murmured, his hands tracing over the sides of my lacy panties. “But I’ll leave them on you a wee bit longer.”

“Will you?” I asked, feeling breathless.

“This, now,” he mused, and I could feel his hands at my waist, slipping slowly under the tank top. “The way you moved in it! A Dhia, I felt as if every eye in the place was on ye.”

I backed away from him playfully, raising my arms up as if still at the club, dance moves somewhere between club Claire and dancing-with-the-Marshallese-kiddos Claire. I turned around, facing away from him, still swiveling my hips.

“Come here,” Jamie groaned. “Before ye kill me… Itōk, Ri-pālle.”

He reached his hand out to me and once again swept me into his lap as I approached him.

“I’m curious, Claire. Do ye like it here?” Jamie asked as I rested in his arms.

“I love my family,” I said. “But it’s so busy and chaotic.”

“I agree,” he responded. “It is so loud. So commercialized. It seems as if it is all about money and what ye have and drive. What you buy. What you accomplish.”

“Arno is such a simple place,” I said. “I’d forgotten the constant barrage of advertising and noise. The distraction of my silly cell phone dinging all the time.”

I could feel him nodding his head as he spoke gravely, “I havena seen the stars since I got here. Havena just sat alone in the silence. Haven't quietly watched the sun rise on the beach. I haven't read. And other than lighting the candles at midnight mass,” he confessed soberly, ”I havena prayed.”

I sighed. “I feel like we’ve lost something being here. Because I have felt jealous, petty, bitter, possessive--about you, I mean. I’ve seen all these gorgeous young girls, and unwittingly I've been calling myself ugly, old, frizzy...” At this, Jamie frowned and shook his head.

“Ye shouldna speak so to yerself,” he scolded. “I would never say such things. To me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“You’re sweet,” I said. “But here there is just too much to compare myself to. Magazine covers in the grocery store, billboards, petite Asians and tanned- skinned Chamorrans. I feel like I'm clinging to you just to try to feel valuable. This isn't working, and I’m so glad we will be going home soon.”

“Do you imagine we will ever be able to return to civilization?” Jamie asked earnestly. “I'm serious. Will we ever be able to tolerate the noise and chaos? The commercialism?”

“Sadly,” I said, “I think we could. I think if we move to the states or Scotland, we will easily forget simplicity. But for now, babe, there are far better things for us to focus on.”

“Ayet,” Jamie responded, with such enthusiasm that I sat up and looked at his face. “Such as to finally remove this top!” His smile was blinding, and the crinkle of affection at the corner of his eyes endearing. His arms around me tightened.

I closed my eyes as his lips met mine. Warm, strong hands on my body claimed familiar territory, and I felt firm flesh under my own hands, his skin smooth over the gentle ripple of muscles and occasional jut of bone. I let out a little sigh.

I could feel his lips pull back in a smile against mine, and then his warm breath and insistent lips on my neck and collar bone.

“Will ye have me, then?” he asked, his hand hesitating just under the hem of my tank top.

I pulled away from him for a second, meeting his eyes. “Seriously, Jamie…?”

“I’m no’ confused,” he explained. “I just want to hear it from your lips.”

“I love you, babe,” I said, punctuating the phrase with kisses. “And yes, of course I want you. Badly!”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I believe I'll be able to accommodate ye.”

Sometime later the two of us were tousle-haired and sweaty in our gorgeous suite overlooking the moon-lit ocean. Jamie was stretched out on the bed looking satisfied and I felt flushed and a little stunned as well.

I looked at Jamie, shaking my head. “That girl at the club wanted you. And she wasn’t the only one.”

“What are you talking about?” Jamie asked skeptically.

“Seth’s friends were salivating all over you on Cocos Island. When I watch you walk around, you don’t know how many pairs of eyes are following you, how many girls stand up straighter, suck in their stomachs and stick out their chests when you walk by.”

Jamie shook his head sheepishly as if he didn’t believe me at all.

“When he visited, there was one thing that Frank said that did strike fear in my heart,” I said, taking a deep breath and continuing hesitantly. “I don’t remember his exact words, but what he said was that if you were this young and this physical, that you would get bored of sex with me, or feel like I was too old for you.”

“Oh, lass,” said Jamie empathetically. He reached out for my hand, pulling me into the bed to rest in his arms.

“Was Frank right?” I asked quietly. “How can I know you’ll always love me? That I’ll be enough for you?”

Jamie looked at me for a moment, brows furrowed. Finally he spoke. “Claire, what you are to me is more than sex. Which I do love, don’t mistake me. I love it now, and I’ll love it if you ever get lukkuun pregnant and bloated. I’ll love it if you get soft and round like a good Majel mama and even if you get skinny—though, ye shouldna ever get too skinny,” he commented, his hands straying down to my hips. I giggled and shook my head, but kept looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I hope we make our kids groan and plug their ears with the noises we make when they’re teenagers,” Jamie grinned. “And I hope I’m still taking you to bed when we’re old and gray in our flat in the retirement village.”

By then I was laughing through tears, and Jamie handed me tissues from the dispenser on the bedside table, then took me in his arms again. “And I’ll be creeping down the hall in the carehome even when I’m half senile, climbing into your bed because in your arms I can remember.”

“Are you serious?” I asked him. “But that’s still just sex.”

“That’s not all,” Jamie continued. “When I lost my ma and Willie, and then my da, when I left Scotland and Murtagh and Jenny and Ian, I lost my family. My home. My sense of belonging. And ye ken Dougal. He isna given to much affection.”

“You’re right,” I responded, nodding. “He’s not much of a hugger.”

“I traveled through school, and the first taste of being loved again was John,” Jamie murmured. “I couldna be what he wanted, but he still cared for me even after he knew that.”

I snuggled closer to him.

“And my students… they fill me. Rupert and Angus, the numpties, they’ve been friends to me. But then you arrived. And ye took care of me, Ri-pālle. You healed me, looked after me, fed me, enjoyed my company, hugged me.”

I squeezed him and closed my eyes.

“Ye felt comfortable, Claire, like family, even though I was also lusting after ye. You called me ‘mo chridhe’ by accident once, and my heart ached at the words. I hadna been called that in a long time.”

“I remember that,” I whispered back. “I remember the look on your face.”

“And then you wanted me too. You wanted to save me from being sent back home. But you wanted me. My company, my friendship, my body, my love. And when I met your parents, when your da called me ‘son,’ my heart felt like it was going to explode. I… I didna just marry you for your body, Claire. I married you for your company. I married you for your soul. I married you so you could always be my family.”

I pulled him down to me for a kiss.

“It doesna matter where we live, who we become.” Jamie said seriously, looking into my eyes. “Because Claire, you are my family.”

He placed his hand on my breast, over my heart. “And this right here?” He said. “This, Ri-pālle, this is home.”

Next Up: Chapter 26: Father, Forgive Me... Jamie’s got a lot of built up bitterness toward his father.

#I split & lengthened chapter 24 #More love scenes #Jamie x Claire #on Guam #Christmas gift #Outlander fan fic #outlander aesthetic #Marshall Islands #betweensceneswriter #island hopper #Chapter 25

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unto-myself-together · 6 years ago

Text

Of Stories and Songs: Ch 6

A Haunted Mansion fanfic.

I did want to get this chapter out before the new year 2019, and I guess I accomplished that goal

Author notes and story below the cut.

Authornotes: I wanted to give off the clear impression that there really are 999 spirits roaming around, which is why there’s a lot of going on here in this chapter.

I also apologize; I couldn’t quite find a reference pic that I wanted for the hallway, which may be why it looks a little bad. I also can’t scan things right now very well with what I have on hand.

I also tried to make a picture for the Wallpaper Woman, but it did not come out quite right and I don’t want to post what I came up with.

In this chapter, Karen is beginning to figure out a few things about ghosts, a few things more about the residents of the mansion, as well as a few things about her own psychic abilities.

You may recognize the very end; it’s an edited version of what was originally the teaser for this story. You can still look up the original teaser by going here

And yes. That’s me singing. I may end up removing it if I don’t like it later. I can’t tell if I suck or not. Eh. It may be better if you stare at the hallway artwork while listening to the singing. I don’t know. Tell me if it’s any good.

~~~~

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

~~~

Ch 6: Sixth Sense

~~~

“If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.”

---Baruch Spinoza, philosopher

~~~~

Shaking.

She was still curled up in a ball and shaking, though nothing paid her any heed.

No being came and bothered her; neither Ghost Host nor statue.

In a room by herself.

With a single lightbulb.

And a pile of coffins.

Those didn’t move either, and she thanked the stars for that.

Taking a deep breath (a quickly developing habit), she---

---one movement at a time---

---gradually got herself to stand. On two feet, too.

The door of the closet was as solid as when she had first approached it. No sign or markings that a statue had thrusted its arms and face straight through.

Of course not. That would make too much sense in a house full of plain nonsense.

And opening the door only brought with it more nonsense: the hallway was a different hallway than the one she came down. Again. Naturally.

The closet only had one door, so how could she have ended up at a different hallway?

She winced her eyes shut, and slowly opened them again.

No use. The new hallway was still there.

A very long hallway with wooden floors showing underneath the sprawling emerald green carpet. It seemed to go on forever, outlined with light from the small chandeliers every so few feet away. The doors on either side seemed to go on forever as well….except….

There were no door handles on any of them.

She sighed and ventured out. No point in getting upset over this; clearly this was just another thing going for this place.

And it was decently lit; not as bright as she’d like, but she was too frightened that the statue may return if she tried to turn more lights on.

It was so much…louder than before. In the distance, she could hear doors slamming, some people were laughing….Or was that…screaming?

But there was also….singing.

How many people were here?

Who was singing?

(listen to the singing)

[Mother?]

[Mother? Will you sing again soon?]

[Please?]

[I like it when you sing.]

Mother? Was that …the little boy speaking?

Karen willed herself to move forward. The voice was hard to pinpoint where it was coming from, although it sounded close. With the wafting way the voice seemed to rise above all the other sounds of humans, one would have thought it would be easier to find.

She moved one way, only for the voice to sound as though it were coming from the other.

It was impossible to chase the voice.

She frowned and eventually moved in a straighter line.

The voice never wavered, but the sounds of the other people grew louder.

At some point, she reached a junction where a door visibly slammed shut all on its own in front of her.

She froze.

Had she…found more people? More ghosts?

“Hello?” She asked, tentatively.

There was no response. No even the lightbulb breaking trick that the statue had been fond of.

Biting her lower lip, she voted against opening any doors and continued on.

The deeper she went, the colder it got. And louder the noises grew. It was more apparent that there was both laughter and screams all vying for space in the echoing halls.

She tried not to chatter her teeth as she brought her jacket closer around her.

Ahead, a black coffin lay atop a table among decayed flowers and rotting leaves. It took her more than a few moments to notice the glass enclosure that lay behind the dying candles, giving her the hint that she had made her way to the glass room she’d seen from outside.

The conservatory.

She flinched as this information popped in her head. Knowledge was all well and good, but she was beginning to really hate that facts and memories were intruding straight into her brain.

As she drew closer, the coffin unexpectedly jerked.

“Carlotta?!! Carlotta, I can hear you! Open up this lid!”

Her mouth went dry; she couldn’t answer.

“I can HEAR you, Carlotta! I swear to pieces, I. WANT. OUT. I’m so tired of these little games you play.”

Below the jutting wood and through a small hole drilled in the sides, there was a single eyeball, pale white and outlined in the decaying flesh of a corpse.

“I. SEE. YOU.” The sinews of old flesh flexed.

Karen wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react. She felt so worn out, she couldn’t quite bring her own anxiety up in response to a talking corpse in a jerking coffin. In a split decision, she instead quickly moved on, away from the conservatory. The Ghost Host was bad enough; she didn’t need more dead people threatening her life. Why, she’d start to get used to it.

A safe distance away, she slowed her pace again, her hands instinctively going to her pockets to get warmth.

The ring….

She pulled it out. The diamond sparkled at the tip, and the golden band almost glowed in the dim light.

Such a pretty thing…..And such…..a very strange….feeling….

…..

She stood at the foot of a bed. The young boy was already tucked in for the night, but he clung to the maid’s apron.

“Please mother? Can’t you read me just one bedtime story? I’m scared.”

Emily Slater hesitated, but then looked in fondness upon the boy’s face.

“I suppose there’s time for one. Which would you like?”

“Your favorite, mother.” He grinned sheepishly at her.

“Again?” She chuckled, but settled down next to him. One of her hands gently went to smooth out the ruffled mop of his hair. “…Don’t you grow tired of it?”

“…You don’t ever tire of it…You said you liked it….And…A-and it will take a long time, so you don’t have to go back to him yet!”

Her face was overcome with solemnity and sorrow. She gently cupped his face and stroked his cheek.

“You shouldn’t worry about such things, little one,” she said this with a smile, but her eyes told a different story. “Leave that to me, all right? Now, how does this story begin again…?”

She gave him a teasing side eye, which the boy responded in turn with an even wider grin.

“Once upon a time!” He said.

“Oh, that’s right! How could I forget? Once upon a time…

There lived a beautiful young woman named Ella.

But she lived with her cruel stepmother, and her equally cruel stepsisters.

They did not treat her like one of the family; instead, they treated her as a lowly servant.

And she was made to sleep amongst the fireplace cinders.

Her dirty, soot caked face convinced the stepsisters to start calling her

Cinderella.”

“But she didn’t give up and she tried really really hard to stay good!” The boy said.

“That’s right. Despite how cruel they were, she never gave up.

Her mother had made her promise to always be a good person, no matter what.

And so she always tried to be the best she could be.

One day, the handsome prince of the kingdom invited all of the girls in the village to his royal ball.”

“So that he could find someone to marry.”

“Yes…so he could find someone to marry…”

“And Ella is the one he found and fell in love with!” The boy exclaimed, eager now. “And he saved her from her cruel stepfamily and they lived happily ever after!”

Emily laughed and playfully poked his nose. “I thought you wanted to hear me read a story to you. Not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry, mother.” The boy couldn’t tone down his smile. “It’s my favorite part, because Ella gets all the nice things she deserves…”

“Yes…” Emily smiled back at him, a little bit more wistfully. “That part is my favorite too…”

The boy stared up at her, his smile dying down. “….Would you…want a prince to come save you, mother?”

She was startled by the question, her mouth hanging open. “I….that is…”

“Do…do you think that Nathaniel is the prince…?”

“No,” she said, rather firmly and immediately. But she then added: “Perhaps at one time…I may have thought he was. But that was a long time ago.”

The boy’s expression was unreadable, but he continued to watch her.

“What if….What if I saved you, mother?”

“…What?”

“When I grow up…I can come and save you, like the prince in the story!” The child’s enthusiasm was precious enough that she could not help but smile sweetly back at him.

“You can’t…you can’t marry me, little one,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at the well intentioned naiveté.

“No, but I can save you! I could! When I grow up, I promise!”

“You…” She tried not to let her emotions overcome her. The boy’s childish, pure logic was enviable.

She sighed, and stroked his hair. “I think you will have much more important things to focus on when you grow up. You should concentrate on school an—“

“Emily! Oh Emily!” A young man walked in. His face, and the way he held himself, looked all too familiar.

The man from the first memory.

“Nathaniel! I’ll…I’ll be with you in a moment. I’m telling a story—“

“Could it be a story about how my mother died years ago…” Nathaniel interrupted, his eyes narrowing in the young boy’s direction, “…and this brat is responsible?”

“Nathaniel!” She gasped, and tried to pull him away as he approached the child.

The boy whimpered and cowered under the covers, perhaps with the belief it might somehow save him.

“Oh, but Emily. My sweet Emily, there’s no mincing words. If he hadn’t been born…”

“Nathaniel! Not now, please.”

“And why NOT now? It’s as good a time as ever to bring it up again! Especially as he’s all nice and cozy in bed, being read to him by his ‘dear mother’.”

These last words he said with both heavy sarcasm and a disgusted sneer.

“How wonderful that you have a mother to read you stories!”

The man grew more and more visibly red in the face as he screamed.

“How I wish I could say the same, isn’t that right?!”

“Nathaniel, please. Nathaniel…I…I-I can read to you too, if you’d li-“

“Shut up!”

A sickening sound later and Emily was on the floor, hand clasped her face.

Nathaniel looked at her, almost in disbelief, and slowly looked at his own hands.

“N-no. Mother!” The child threw the covers off and tried to run to her side.

But Nathaniel grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. “What do you think you’re doing, brat? You see what you do? Do you see how angry you made me?! It’s…It’s your fault! It’s all your fault! You stupid little—“

Emily threw herself at the man as he advanced on the boy. “Nathaniel, please stop!”

“Let go of me! He needs to be taught his place. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

....

Her head was throbbing as she banged it against the wall in an effort to scuttle away.

Karen.

Her name was Karen, right?

That was right, right?

Karen’s whole body was shaking. That memory, or whatever it was, was much more powerful than the others. She struggled to bring herself back to the present time.

A hallway. The mansion house that she and Michael had entered.

Karen. Her name was Karen.

In a futile effort, Karen closed her eyes and tried to will away the feeling of a mark across her face.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Her cheek wasn’t REALLY stinging from a man hitting her.

She rose a hand to her face to feel against her cheek. There was no pain. It all vanished as soon as she did that.

Her attention went back to the memory. Emily looked younger than she did in the memory with the Ghost Host….and yet…

She didn’t remember the boy being with her when Emily struck a deal with the Ghost Host.

Why hadn’t she taken her son with her when she fled the mansion?

Karen’s stomach dropped as she thought through the implications of this.

What happened….to her son…?

She leaned heavily against the wall. Her head was pounding as soon as she stood up, and it was causing her to see things.

Strange things.

Like the face in the wallpaper.

……..

Karen blinked again.

…..There was a face…..in the wallpaper….of the hall….

She shook her head to try and get the pounding away, but that only made the pain worse.

It also didn’t seem to make the face disappear; on the contrary, it was now coupled with a set of hands.

Karen took a few uneasy steps back. The wallpaper already looked like a series of faces, and more than once she had to ignore what she’d thought were eyes blinking back at her. But this was such an obviously sculpted human form that she couldn’t just wave it away as a flight of fancy result of too many memories.

And it was becoming more and more pronounced by the seconds.

First it had been a face, mouth wide open as if frozen in a scream.

Then it had been a set of hands, reaching in front as if trying to escape.

Next a torso.

Then a foot.

A dress.

A person…

The wallpaper woman, newly freed from the wall, mechanically turned to Karen’s direction. Karen stumbled back further as the mouth opened and closed as if on hinges, hands opening and closing as if stretching. The pliability of the wallpaper person was increasing.

They could now close their mouth.

They could now put their hands down.

They could now open their eyes: Stark white eyes, with no pupils in sight.

Karen stumbled further back out of caution.

“Miss Slater!!” The Wallpaper Woman yelled, advancing upon her, “Miss Slater! Are you messing around with that boy again?!”

“Uh…uh….”

The woman was advancing further and further. A human shape, human face, but completely composed of wallpaper, save for stark white eyes. The purple of the paper of her “dress” almost had a sheen to it, like real silk would have.

“I swear, if the Master finds out what you’ve been doing with his son, he’ll kick you out for sure! Be thankful the war has preoccupied him for so long!”

But how do I say no to Nathaniel? I’m scared.

Karen tried to shake the intrusive thought away. She was already under the end table of the hallway.

“I’m only hard on you for your own good, Miss Slater!”

The Wallpaper Woman pounded on the table, her knocking almost akin to slamming her fist down in frustration.

Karen screamed, in part because she didn't know what to do, but also in some vain hope someone would help her.

The Wallpaper Woman paused. Karen could see the “hem” of her “dress” as it jutted out into her personal space.

The woman’s face loomed as the spirit ducked down its torso.

“You….” She said, her pupil-less eyes staring.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Karen whimpered; she could not retreat any further back and resorted to sticking her arms up in defense.

“Y-you….”

The Wallpaper Woman’s eyes began to flicker….a circle forming in the center of each of them….a pupil….

“Y-y-you…are….m-mortal….” The Wallpaper Woman stuttered in time with the flickering pupils.

Karen was struck speechless with confusion. This was a heel face turn and she couldn’t bring herself to respond.

“W-what…..what…..are you…..doing here…..?” The pupils seemed to refuse to solidify fully.

“I….I’m sorry….I’m….lost….” Karen finally managed to gulp back the lump.

The Wallpaper Woman laughed weakly. It had a sound similar to sandpaper slapped and scrapped together.

“So….so am I….Lost…I am Lost…like many…here….”

The spirit was retreating, and Karen, after hesitating, felt safe enough to poke her head out from under the table.

The spirit was….going backwards, as if by invisible force, towards the wallpaper. She reached it, and her face was contorted in agony for a flicker of a second as a crunching sound was heard.

“Wait!” Karen got out and approached her. “How do I get out of here? How do I find my friend? You haven’t….you haven’t seen a living boy--”

That sounded so odd out of her mouth.

“A living boy about my age come by here, have you?”

The crackling continued; the wallpaper surrounding the spirit began to latch onto the spirit herself, returning her to the rest of the wall.

“Down the hall….to the junction….” The spirit’s voice began to crackle too. “Two rights….one left…to the ballroom…the ones there are not Lost…they can help….they can help better…”

The ghost let out a cry as it fell further into the wall, which alarmed Karen. The ghost’s arms and dress were already dispersed through the wall.

“Are you okay?” Karen asked anxiously, her mortal hands hovering around the wallpaper in an attempt to help, but she wasn’t sure what to help with.

“Don’t let….” The ghost’s voice was beginning to fade now. “Don’t let…Master…Gracey….he will possess you…He wants…a body….”

The crackling came to a climax as the woman’s head embedded into the wall. The mouth of the woman fell silent as it was crackled over with more wallpaper.

It was hard to tell there had ever been a woman at all…

Master Gracey….

Which Master Gracey? As far as Karen could guess, Gracey was a family name and not one particular person.

Karen continued onward. At least the spirit had been nice enough to give her directions, but now she had even more questions.

Who was that ghost, since she knew Emily Slater?

Why did the ghost think she was Emily Slater?

What did the ghost mean by saying she herself was ‘Lost’? Wouldn’t a spirit who had lived here (or was it unlive?) for a long time know their way around?

Why did she have to find ghosts who were not ‘Lost’ in order to find her way out?

Did this have something to do with those strange white eyes that the spirits in this hallway seemed to all possess?

Karen turned all of these thoughts over in her head. Now that she considered it, the statue ghost had backed off after getting a set of pupils too.

The junction.

Karen had reached the junction. Four hallways (including the one she’d just came from) all intersecting together. And they were all different.

To the left, was such a completely dark hallway, it was impossible to see.

In the front was a brightly lit hallway, but it was encased completely in spider’s webs and parts of the doorframes and objects were severely distorted like something from a dream.

To the right…and Karen was very grateful for this, it was a hallway lit with moderate amounts of green light. The green light was creepy, but the hallway itself looked much like the one she had just came from.

One right….

As she wandered down the hall, the green light making her feel like a shamrock, she heard a deep….booming….laugh….

“Hmm hmm hmm hmmm…..”

That sounded just like….

“Ghost Host…?” She called out tentatively.

Her fingers felt along the edges of another table, preparing herself to hide again. That laughter couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

An old hat stool beside her…..her head was beginning to pound again….this felt just like…

…..

The slamming of the door caused Lucy to look up. The master, Solomon Gracey, had barged through the front entrance with an absolute look of chagrin on his face.

Immediately, she sought to step forward.

“Sir, shall I take your coat and hat?”

But he seemed to pay her no heed, instead choosing to take out a length of letter head and angrily scribble something she couldn’t quite read from her vantage point.

“S-sir?” She tentatively stepped closer, and Solomon’s face snapped to hers.

She almost felt frozen; held in the gaze of brilliantly blue eyes that still smoldered with barely restrained fury.

“S….S-s-sir?”

The gaze softened into surprise; and she felt release as if from physical bonds as his expression turned more neutral.

“Yes, Miss Blanchard? Did you need me?”

“Your….your coat….”

Confusion crossed his lips, then…

“Oh….yes, of course.” He shrugged off his outer coat and handed it to her alongside his hat. “Tell me, is Abigail around?”

“She…she should be in the main parlor, sir.”

“Of course. Thank you.” He nodded his acknowledgement to her with an apologetic smile, before leaving her. He took the paper with him.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lucy!” A female voice whispered.

Lucille looked up to see Elizabeth, another maid, standing in the doorstep. She felt obliged to neatly hang up the master’s affects before joining her. The wafting fragrance of cypress, vetiver, and sandalwood rubbed off of the clothes and seemingly followed along with her.

Elizabeth giggled as Lucy came close.

“The master and Abigail are talking in the parlor.” Elizabeth said.

“I know; I sent him there.” Lucy took another deep breath, trying to wave away the memory of that stare (and also partially the fragrance of his clothes).

“Don’t you want to go up and give a little listen?” Elizabeth asked, coyly.

“I tell you; I do not think that is a very good idea at the moment. The master seemed rather angry coming in just now.”

“Oh he won’t mind. He’s already caught me eavesdropping before.”

“Elsie!” Lucy cried, laughing a bit with a tinge of red in her face.

“Well it is true! Just the other day, in fact! I was polishing the door handles when-“

“You don’t polish any of the door handles!” She playfully pushed at her friend.

“A good maid has to be attentive to every detail!” Elizabeth playfully pushed back.

“Hogwash. You were there solely because you wanted to listen in.”

“Aren’t you curious enough to know what happened?”

Lucy stared back at the gall of her friend. Both couldn’t resist to hold a cheeky smile on the edges of their lips.

“Go on then. Don’t leave me in suspense.” Lucy said.

“Well I was listening in, and it seems the company has been having trouble with that Williams’ family in town.”

“When are they not vying for each other’s business?”

“But that’s not the whole of it! I also heard of a circus…”

“A circus?”

“Yes. You know that strange circus that’s been making its rounds across the state? They were here some many years ago. It was so filled with dark things and death that I could scarcely stand it.”

“I remember it. But why the circus?”

“Well there seems to be a singer he’s taken an interest in.”

“To hire?”

“I’d say it was because he had something of a fancy for her. I can’t think of any reason why the Gracey family would need to hire a circus performer.”

“Neither can I, and yet you’re here.”

“Lucy!” The gobsmacked expression on Elsie’s face made it well worth the statement, even if it earned her a pinch on her arm in the process.

“And for my next trick!” Lucy stated with a giggling air of grandiosity. “I, the Great Elsie, will attempt—and fail—to fold the a simple shirt!”

“You beast, you beast!” Elsie laughed along as she nudged her friend harder.

“But you haven’t said the part where you’re caught.”

“I would get to that if it weren’t for all these interruptions you cause.”

They stared each other down, all smiles, and Elsie finally gave way first.

“All right, all right. So there I was. An ear to the door, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Hush you. An ear to the door, and, before I had known it, the door had suddenly swung open, and I landed none too ceremoniously at the master’s feet!”

“You didn’t! What did he say?”

“He was rather amused; you could read it on his face. I could even swear that those handsome blue eyes of his glistened a bit too. And he was very much the gentleman, allowing me to gather myself without so much as a word at my expense. But the moment I was up and proper, my dress smoothed out and face as red as a rose he leaned forward a bit and….”

“….And?? Elsie!”

Elizabeth laughed and leaned towards her. “And he said ‘Remember for next time, Miss Fletcher, that the doors in this particular hallway swing inward.’”

Both erupted in a fit of giggles.

“He didn’t.”

“He did!”

“Does that mean he approves of the habit?”

“I certainly mean to take it that way. Mr. Galloway, who was the one speaking to him, was not so amused. Oh but you should have seen it, Lucy. I could swear by Mr. Gracey’s grin he was teasing me. Perhaps I stand as much a chance as that circus performer.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I think he was only humoring you. A smile doesn’t always mean a spark; you’ve too vivid an imagination for your own good sometimes.”

“A girl can still dream.” Elsie’s grin widened and she poked at her friend’s elbow. “You can’t honestly say that YOU’VE never felt a bit of a thing for our young employer, now can you?”

“Of course not.”

“…Uh huh.”

Lucy very much believed she did a good job steadying her emotions. But the moment she peered over and saw Elsie’s smug little grin, she could feel her face heating up.

“Well at the very least, I don’t wear it upon my sleeve. Unlike some people.” Lucy elbowed her back. “Your wanting is very nearly improper.”

“Oh it is very improper. To think; an eligible bachelor of his status ever considering to court a maid, of all people. But one doesn’t have to be courted to try and catch a gentleman’s eye. A little fun off the books never hurt anyone... ”

“Elsie!” Lucy’s face felt even hotter. “That is so inappropriate! Truly, I should think your mouth ought to be washed with soap!”

But Elsie only laughed. “Speaking of inappropriate, shall we go and listen in on what the master and Miss Galloway are doing in the parlor?”

Lucille made a face. “I don’t….think that’s wise today, Elsie.”

“Well why not?”

“The Graceys are just as much known for their generosity in payment as they are for their quick and violent tempers. And I’m telling you, the master’s temper looked particularly ready to boil over when he came in just now. I know firsthand what happens when one of the family is peeved with you…”

As if in response, the scars on her back stung a bit despite their age. The marks of a fine piece of birch.

“Oh my dear Lucy.” Elsie gently touched her cheek out of comfort. “I do so forget that you are used to Mrs. Emmeline Gracey. I promise you, as someone who has spent much time with Mr. Solomon before he left for school that he is not like his other relatives. His temper is as the same as them, but he has never once raised a hand to me or anyone else that works here. It’s all right.”

Lucy hesitated, but nonetheless allowed herself to be dragged by the hand as they crept upstairs to the walkway overlooking the main parlor.

“Speaking of a thing for the master. Have you ever notice how Miss Abigail Galloway looks at him? ….He looks at her much of the same way…”

….

Karen was panting, her hands shaking as she sat grasping the hat stand. Somehow, she had slumped her way down to the floor.

Were these….memories….getting more frequent?

Karen….her name was Karen…

And that’s exactly when she realized; she was no longer a third person observer.

The first memories she’d seen, she had always been her own separate person, watching in on the people in the memory as if she were some omnipotent being.

But this memory….she wasn’t Karen watching in….she was Lucy.

She was actually Lucy.

And before, she’d been Emily. She’d actually raised her hand to her cheek in response to being struck by Nathaniel.

If this continued on…was she going to…..

Was Karen going to….

She gave a soft cry and leaned against the hat stand.

She was still shaking so badly, she wasn’t sure she could stand up.

“Hmm hmm hmmm….”

“Ghost Host!” She cried out. “Ghost Host Ghost Host Ghost Host…”

In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she cared that he’d torment her further. She just wanted something familiar to latch onto. To ground her. Anything.

“What’s this? Calling for me now?”

“Yes…” Karen choked out, clinging to the hat stand like a teddy bear.

“My, we must be desperate. Could it be that you’ve missed me? Please do be honest, hmm hmm…”

She gritted her teeth. Already, he was getting on her nerves; this was a bad idea. But it was the best she had. She couldn’t even think straight at the moment. She still had Lucy’s thoughts swimming in her head.

“Yes,” She lied.

“….What an underwhelming response. You couldn’t at least flatter me a little, my dear? Say how wonderful I am and how happy you are to hear my voice? ”

Again, that stupid tone in his voice that gave off the impression of superiority and mockery. She grasped the hat stand tighter.

“Are you, perhaps, stuck? Need assistance to get where you’re going?”

“I….” She would have preferred to have found her way without having to resort to this creep’s help, but the pounding of her head and the haze in her brain already made her forget how many turns she made.

Was it supposed to be two lefts and a right? Or two rights and a left?

“….Yes…” She breathed, worn out, “Yes, I need help.”

“As you wish.”

The door nearest to her swung open and a suit of armor appeared. A moving suit of armor, naturally.

“Because why not…?” She muttered under her breath.

She didn’t immediately figure out why he summoned a moving suit of armor until it took a swing at her hat stand with an axe.

The sound of the top of the hat stand being sliced through and clattering to the floor had a semi sobering effect on her. She jumped to attention, and barely managed to dodge as another swing came for her head.

“You said helping! This isn’t helping!”

She careened down the hall, the suit of armor in hot pursuit.

“Ah, but it’s helping you move, isn’t it?”

“I hate you,” she seethed under her breath, “For once, can you not be a little piece of—“

She was interrupted when a wall suddenly materialized in her way.

“Tsk, tsk. Good mortals watch their language.”

She fumed, angry tears in her eyes, but gave no further reply. She had to duck again as another axe swing came her way.

Down a different hallway. Left. Right again. Was she going the correct way? The hallways were getting quieter. No longer could she hear the chorus of people laughing and screaming. That couldn’t be a good sign.

She stumbled against the wall, picking herself up just long enough to turn around the next corner. Another hallway filled with creaky wooden floors and seemingly endless darkness.

But she didn’t have time to think or even consider that the corridor that lay in front of her was worse than the one behind.

She had to keep moving forward.

And forward.

And--

Something suddenly slammed into her. She stepped back, dazed at first, only to feel in front, anxiety growing, and confirmed it: A wall.

“Dead end?”

A taunt and a chuckle as she frantically grasped around in the darkness for some hope of a door.

She could feel him. More and more it was becoming as if he had a tangible presence. The longer she stood in that one spot, the colder she grew and the more pronounced the sensation crept down her spine.

She had a feeling that it wasn’t just out of fear; there was something about being near the self-proclaimed ‘Ghost Host’ that made her feel like icy fingers were gently clawing down her back. Needless to say, it was none too pleasant a feeling.

She couldn’t see. There were still leftovers of tears in her eyes and her pounding head was still making it hard to think, but that mattered very little when the hallway itself was so dark. There were shapes in the shadows creeping towards her, but she had no way of knowing if one of them was the armor. They moved and danced to give the darkness an almost liquid appearance.

And they were coming closer.

And CLOSER.

AND–

A door banged open right near her, jolting her from her helpless staring. She felt something else moving in the darkness, something that was distinctively different.

Quite suddenly, her mouth was full with the taste of….licorice?

“What,” A different voice, low and deep and angry “in Blue Heavens is all this racket?!”

She could actually see a little better in the doorway, as the man was illuminated a bit from some unseen light from within. Somewhat tall with a fine cut suit, he gave off the airs of an extremely influential individual.

His eyes.

Unlike the statue’s. Unlike the coffin man’s. Unlike the wallpaper woman’s.

He did NOT have milky white eyes. He had pupils.

They were as blue and as beautiful as always. Perhaps even more so than she’d seen in the memories or even in his portrait.

And he was standing before her now.

Solomon Gracey.

#fanfiction #haunted mansion fanfiction #the haunted mansion fanfiction #fanfics #my fanfiction

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jonsa-creatives · 7 years ago

Note

Fic prompt: Sansa is drunk when Jon returns to winterfell. They discuss potential marriage alliances for each of them, Sansa with a little too much candor... Jon helps Sansa ready tor bed because she's too hammered.

Hi Anon! Thank you for the prompt and apologies for the delay. Real life is sometimes so annoying. Sooo… This sounds like a fun and what could probably be a delicious premise but the romantic in me told me other wise (also I blame the Spotify playlist I was listening to) so here’s the one I did instead.

Summary: From S7 but pre- Dragonstone. I had in mind a scene which explained the LF chokeslam, Jon’s emotions/reason behind that one bit which seems to be puzzling everyone (except Jonsa shippers.. we know why ahem). Hidden feelings, canon verse and slightly incesty. Ending bit inspired by Outlander.

Mood music: Photograph by Ed Sheeran & I Could Fall in Love by Selena

Rated GF - general fluff. Safe to read :)

I hope you like it and I’m so sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. I’ll do better next time, promise! So many prompts to fill, so little time… *sighs*

Anyways, enjoy!

~ Mod Elle

I’ll Pray for You, Always

It was a knockthat broke the dam. Three gentle raps on the door that caught him unawares, of the torrential flood of thoughts and feelings that had led him up to this point. A point, if crossed, there was no return.

It had already been hours after dusk and several casks of ale between him and Davos that Jon decided it was perhaps better discussed with a clearer mind. The sudden interruption was welcomed indeed. Another soft knock caused Jon to let out a small smile when he recognised who it was.

“It’s late. Bestwe discuss this again tomorrow, Ser Davos. Get some rest.”

Davos nodded andgreeted Sansa as she entered the chambers. “Aye, it is. Till then, your Grace.My Lady.”

Sansa returnedhis greeting with a nod and turned her attention to Jon, albeit only brieflybefore her eyes caught sight of the large map laid on the study before her.

“Setting upfortresses and guard posts, facing the Wall. Hope to get around it soon,” Jonexplained as he watched her examine the various sigils placed on differentparts of the map. In time hopefully, before the dead come marching.

“For the WhiteWalkers?”

Jon sighed andhis hands sought for his goblet. “Aye. Sentry posts. No harm in guarding theNorth from everything else.“

“Are you goingto tell the Lords of your plans then?” Sansa asked as her thumbs ran along themap’s edges. It was an old parchment, a map from the library, one thatresembled another that Maester Luwin once owned as he told stories of the First Menwhen they were little.

“Soon enough.Still up?” Jon looked up at Sansa as he set his cup down. That was the last ofhis ale and Jon realised tonight was going to be another of him keeping watch.Sleep was but a memory.

Sansa sighed wistfully.The nightmares still haunt her and kept her away from her own bed. No. Nothers. Mother and Father’s bed.

“I find it hardto sleep sometimes. Being back here… In mother and father’s room. It’sdifferent, I suppose. Takes some getting used to.”

Jon nodded, he knew well what she meant. It was just the two of them now. And Winterfell Castle. The future of Winterfell and the North rested on both their weary shoulders. Itwas a burden, he could not deny; yet a gift of honour, to be the protector of the very home heknew and loved.

“Lord Manderlysent us a wagon of wine, this morning. From his own press, he said. I waswondering if the King in the North would like to try some,” Sansa held up acask and smiled.

Jon could only chuckle atthe impeccable timing. “Well, I won’t be a good King if I didn’t. I’ll give my thanksto him tomorrow. You didn’t have to send it to me personally, Sansa.”

Sansa pouredsome into Jon’s empty cup and another for herself. “I didn’t want to risk anytalk of battle leaving your chambers, should you and Davos were discussing suchmatters. So I decided to take this to you myself.”

Jon’s lipsslowly curved into a smile. Talk of battles and Sansa. Nothing could be further apart. Who is this girl? This woman? Nonetheless, it was still as clear as day as he remembered it, the moment hiseyes fell on her, as he watched the Knights of the Vale stomp the Bolton armyto their deaths. Sansa did not flinch one bit as the carnage unfolded beforeher. It was almost as if it was another person who led the march and not thesweet Sansa he thought he once knew.

“Well, weweren’t but caution is always good advice. And I need to listen more, or soI’ve been told.”

Sansa grinnedand once again it struck him, the stirring rising within him, as he caught the sparkle ofher pale blue eyes, as blue as the azure sky on a clear summer’s day, againstthe gentle flicker of candle light.

“It’s quitegood, no? Good thing he sent a wagon load of it, perhaps I should thank him toowhen you do,” Sansa giggled as she sipped the last mouthful swirling in her cup.This was very likely her third. Or fourth. Fifth, maybe. It was all a blur. She remembered itwas a large and heavy cask that she carried in her hand. She had lost count howmany Jon had already.

"Aye it is.Very good. I didn’t know you like wine, Sansa. But then.. I suppose I don’t know much about you,now, do I.”

The wine hadbrought a slight flush to her face and made her belly warm, besides her wearymood it lifted. Indeed, it was good. She felt lighter, almost as if she could float, without a carein the world. She could do anything, say anything and be anything she wanted.

“Mmm… Idon’t normally drink, I’ve seen what it does to people but this wine, I quite likeit. And what exactly do you wish to know about me, your Grace?” Sansa teased playfully as she slowly rose from her seat and walked carefully to the edge of the bed. Itlooked awfully like hers. Why yes, it was her bed.

“Sansa, areyou all right? Do you wish to return to your room? I’ll go fetch Brienn-”

“You sillynumpty, this is my room. But you can stay, if you like. I like talking to you,” Sansasaid, her voice in an almost whisper and smiled sweetly at Jon. It was true. If he wasn’this usual grumpy self, Jon was perfectly good company. Sansa liked that he wasfamily, someone she could feel safe with. As long as Jon was with her, nothingcould harm her. Not even her nightmares. Perhaps, tonight sleep would finally come.

Jon watched asSansa slowly lowered her head down till it rested on his pillow, her lovely smile made his heart swell and flutter all atthe same time, a feeling he was quite unfamiliar with, yet highly frequent of late.

“Jon?”

“Yes,Sansa?“

“Have you everthought of sharing your bed, you know… With someone?”

The question joltedhim to sit up, pricking his ears wondering if he had heard wrongly, no thanks to the wine. He wascontent in leaving Sansa in his bed, while he watched her sleep from afar in his chair.It wasn’t meant for sleeping but it would do for tonight. If he could sleep atall, that is.

“Excuse me, LadySansa, what do you mean? I don’t think it’s something we should be discussing-”

“I never thoughtI wanted it. No. Not, after Ramsay. I didn’t want him near me at all. After what hedid to me.”

“Sansa, I-”

“But… But Iwish to be held sometimes. In someone’s arms. Someone whom I love and who lovesme back. I’ve always wondered what that feels like. I never knew and maybeI never will.”

“Don’t say that,Sansa. That’s not true.”

Jon glanced down uncomfortably, at his fidgety fingers as a slight lump formed in his throat.

“Who would wantme, Jon? I’m twice married, both to enemies of our family. Both that I know who don’tlove me. At least not the way I want to be loved. And, yet… here I am stillwondering and hoping if there’s anyone out there who would? I’ve prayed so hardfor it, I must confess. Besides praying for our family. I always say a prayerfor my beloved to come to me. Is that silly? I hope he prays for me, too. Well…Whoever he is. Perhaps, men like you don’t thinkof such things but… have you thought of that, Jon? Don’t you ever wonder?”

There were amillion things he should have said to end the conversation. Or how he couldhave just left his own chambers, at that very moment. That was what he shouldhave done, or at least what he imagined doing.

But hedidn’t. Instead, it was something deep inside that compelled him to leave his chair and approach his bed. It was something else entirely, when he came and sat beside Sansa,whose eyes were slowly closing, blissfully oblivious to anything or anyone around her. Jonlooked at his empty cup and placed it on the floor, afraid and uncertain of hisnext move. This was very strange ground, indeed. Inappropriate and forbidden,yet it was this very nature that made his heart soar in ecstasy and delight. And in love.

His hands itchedto run through the soft copper locks and caress the pale alabaster skin. Sansa, a name that echoed in his mind relentlessly, dayand night, wherever he went and whatever he did. The name that was surely the cause of his unrest and sleeplessnights. Chastising himself for feeling that way only heightened his longing and there was nothing he could do but let it pass.

“Yes, Sansa Ido. I want and wish for the same things you do. Though I wish I had more time.”I wish we had more time. And I wish you weren’t my half sister.

"Hmmm…”Sansa mumbled in response, her voice drifting and her eyes shut as her soft breathing fellinto a rhythmic pace. Jon paused to watch. She was a mesmerizing sight tobehold. Even in her sleep, she had Jon overcome with emotions and thoughts henever knew he had in him.

Lady ofWinterfell; a delicate Northern rose of astonishing beauty. Jon leaned downcarefully and gently stroked Sansa’s cheek, tucking away the stray strands from her face, behind her ears. His lips were only a breath away from hers but it summoned everything in Jon to pull back. Instead, he laid down next to her, his mouthclose to her ear and took in a deep breath.

Aye, I am a manof little faith but I pray sometimes. To the old gods and whoever that takes heed.

“Shield mybeloved, my gentle dove and the love she bears in her heart. Keep her safe fromharm, in this place and every place. On this night and on every night,” Jon whispered as he pressed his lips gently against her temple.

He too, had a prayer. A dear one; one he kept close to his heart.

“That is myprayer for you, sweet girl. Even if I’m not yours, I’ll pray for you that… One day, maybe in another life, you’re mine. To have and to hold. Always.”

thanks for reading!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #anon prompts #fluff and romance #original content #canon verse #deleted scene headcanon

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mayhemories · 7 years ago

Text

Braids & War Paint (Part 3)

Things To Note About This Fanfiction:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 4:

Aelin had decided that she’d make a friend today, whether he liked it or not.

It was early in the morning, the sun hadn’t yet burned her light upon the city of Orynth. Aelin had dressed in her black pants, a green tunic and long, chestnut hunting boots. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tail, golden waves cascaded down her back. She made quick haste of strapping on her sword and scabbard, hiding a few blades in her shoes and tunic belt she found a small throwing knife and quickly set to work.

Aelin’s scrawl was usually refined and as beautiful as any princess’ handwriting ought to be, but in her impatience the letter came out messy. Tying the note around the handle of her throwing knife with a stray hair ribbon, Aelin began to palm the knife in anticipation as she stepped out in the cool air of the morning. Though it was springtime, Aelin’s balcony furniture and railing was covered in morning frost, a sign of the altitude of Orynth.

Now, Aelin was a good shot, she knew she was. But she had a very small target and if she missed glass would fly everywhere and her mother would go into cardiac arrest.

The balcony doors across the way were identical to her own. Small panels of timber sat in-between the square panes of glass, wide enough that the knife would stick if she threw straight and hit her mark, though it was small enough that a centimetre off puts her head in a basket.

Aelin should really wait until a more appropriate hour and go knock on his door. Wait, like the lady she was. Aelin hated waiting. And she was no lady.

With that thought revolving around in her brain she let her knife fly, Aelin didn’t breathe- couldn’t breathe until the small blade found its mark and caused the whole door to shake.

Aelin sat on the marble railing, dangling her legs over the sixteen story drop, to be frank she didn’t expect a wide awake Rowan to step out onto his balcony and read her note as quickly as he did. The sight of him caused something to expand in her chest with anticipation. Aelin had never felt it before, it was other worldly.

Whilst he read her parchment she took her merry time reading him; he’d ditched the Doneralle colours for a plain grey tunic and beige pants, his black boots were the only bright thing on him, and that was only because the leather had been polished so much Aelin would be able to fix her cosmetics in them in case of emergency.

Rowan cleared his throat: “Sightseeing huh.” Aelin’s only response was a light shrug and a whisper of a smile. His northern accent, the diction he used… He wasn’t from Doneralle. He may live there now but Aelin knew what a Doneralle accent was like. His tone was much stronger.

“Palace gates. Ten minutes.” Rowan ordered.

Aelin had never run down sixteen flights of stairs before, but there was a first for everything.

Rowan had been waiting for eleven minutes, he’d heard her heavy footfalls before he’d seen her. The look of shock was the most satisfying thing Rowan had seen in a long time.

“How could you possibly get here before me? I live here!” Aelin panted as she came to a stop near the palace gates, Rowan smiled at her annoyed tone.

“Having an animal form with wings is very convenient.” The young princess rolled her eyes. Blowing stray hair out of her face, Aelin started walking down the path, not even waiting for Rowan to follow, just expecting him to. Which he did.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is, you buzzard.” Rowan scoffed. His friends joked with him sure, but Aelin Galathynius knew what peaked his sense of humour. Fenrys and all his practical jokes, did not.

“White tailed hawk, not exactly a buzzard.”

“If you can make scramble eggs from it, its a buzzard.”

“I don’t lay eggs.” Grumbled Rowan like a pouting child. Aelin laughed her golden laugh, her whole presence was louder than the crack in a cathedral bell.

They fell into a lapse of comfortable silence. The Terrasen sky was set alight, mauve’s and pinks casted their shadow. Rowan looked over at his tour guide, Aelin had her neck craned absorbing the colours of the sunrise.

“Is this why you demanded we leave early?” Rowan asked, the sky danced overhead. Never has he seen something so beautiful.

Aelin faced him again, his eyes still trained on her. She smiled and Rowan was taken back to a different time, taken back to a different city where a girl smiled at him from behind a flower stall, he was taken back to when he first experienced love, when he first realised that love and lust were seperate. When a women with the fairest heart smiled at him.

“It’s one of the attractions, seeing a Terrasen sunrise.” Aelin said nonchalantly, their stroll had lead them to the outskirts of the inner city. A man was climbing on a ladder, putting out candles in light posts. Market stalls were being set up, spices and herbs were being used, meat was grilling. She had taken him out for breakfast.

“And what does Terrasen have to offer of the likes of food?” Rowan quipped, Aelin linked their arms at the elbow, smiling brightly and said:

“Only the finest.”

As they walked Aelin said good morning to everyone they past, knowing most by name. Rowan has never seen a kingdom that loved their rulers more than the Terrasen people. The market drew intense as the sky began to fade into a pale blue. Stalls of plates, dyes, butchers, cabinet makers…They had it all.

Rowan almost tripped over Aelin as she came to an abrupt halt at a small shop window, filled with pastries and bread. A bakery.

“Come on, this is our first stop.” Aelin excitedly opened the door creating a jingle from a small bell above, the bell in question Rowan did indeed hit his head on

“Princess Aelin! How may we be of service to you?” Asked an older human lady, she was heavy set and had flower stained onto her skin.

“Miryim, I’ll have the biggest loaf of the rhubarb and garlic bread.” Aelin sweetly ordered as she dug through a coin pouch on her belt.

“Now Aelin, you know we don’t expect you to pay.” The princess scoffed and handed two silvers over to the bakester. She took the brown bag of bread and turned to Rowan. Her big eyes said something that Rowan couldn’t put his finger on.

“Would you like to try anything Rowan?” Rowan quickly shook his head. Aelin rolled her eyes at him.

“I recommend the doughnuts, the chocolate ones are the best.” The baker, Miryim, stated. Rowan nodded at her kindly before quickly adding:

“I don’t really like sweets, but thank you.” Aelin looked at him as if he’d hit her. She thanked Miryim again before they walked out the door.

“How can you not like sweets! Thats a travesty!” Aelin’s voice rose. Rowan laughed at her, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He could smell seafood, his stomach grew taught. Seafood had always been his favourite.

“I just don’t. I’ve never have.” Aelin turned an faced him, her mouth wide open and gaping like a fish.

“Gods…were you deprived of a childhood?” Aelin asked as she stopped again, quickly buying a jar of cream cheese.

“Do you know how old I am? I barely remember my childhood.” Aelin shrugged in indifference as the continued to walk, further into the city, further away from the castle. The cobblestone streets still damp with the morning cold.

“What’s one thing you remember from your childhood?” To be honest, it was a good question. Rowan didn’t remember much. He remembered big things, like when his parent’s faded, when Endymion broke Rowan’s collar bone, Sellene giving him his first bow and quiver, but Rowan couldn’t remember much mundane things for the life of him.

“My mother told me a story of the little folk once.” Rowan wistfully remembered, Aelin smiled at him.

“Have you ever seen one before?” Rowan shook his head vigorously. Aelin’s whole face lit up, and just as he saw the cogs working in her fine tuned brain, she said: “I have an idea.”

“Aelin, where are we going?” Rowan asked. After his confession about the little folk Aelin took him by the wrist and ran with him, their bread and cream cheese to the edge of the Oakwald, the largest forest in Erilea. They had been climbing uphill for the past twenty minutes. Rowan wasn’t complaining by any means just…curious.

“You’ll see in a minute.” For what felt like the tenth time today, Rowan nearly fell over Aelin Galathynius, by this point he swore she was stopping right in front of him on purpose. They had made it to a clearing, a stream trickled by, large boulders covered in moss and mildew were scattered in between gnarly trees. Small patched of purple and blue wildflowers sat in the windblown grass. It was a haven.

Aelin took a seat on the grass and began unpacking the bread. Rowan sat by her side, watching her slice the loaf with efficiency. It was rare that a Fae used more steel than magic but Aelin was an exception, being so well trained with both made her a big threat, or the perfect ally. The background noise was birds and water and silence all at the same time. They were alone and on top of the world. From here Rowan could see the white fortress sitting atop the hill. It appeared pearlescent in the early morning light.

A small but hot and bright flame erupted out of Aelin’s left hand whilst a slice of bread dangled from a blade. She was mundanely toasting bread with Mala’s gift. It was the first time Rowan had seen her use the legendary wildfire. He’s heard stories about how deep her power went, how she burned legions of witches without dismounting her horse. He’s heard it all, but hearing and believing are too different things.

Aelin extinguished the flame once a few slices had been toasted, she covered them in cream cheese and handed on to Rowan. It was amazing. All the flavours at once, the richness of the cream cheese, the denseness of the loaf. Doneralle was very bland compared to this. Compared to all of it.

“Good huh.” Aelin stated brushing off crumbs. Rowan nodded as he watched her draw symbols in the nearby moss patch. He’d seen these symbols before, or some like them in Maeve’s keep, written on the walls in gold or silver.

“You know the ways of the Wyrdmarks?” Rowan questioned as the symbols lit up in a celestial white glow.

“I was taught a few when I was younger as I got older I taught myself everything about them. Everything about the Wyrd itself.” Rowan watched her, the more she drew the more Rowan could see the mark on her forehead. When she was done she faced him smiling, the mark on her forehead glowed the same ethereal hue. Before he could understand the repercussions of his actions, Rowan reached out and traced the mark on her velvet skin with the featherlight precision of his pointer finger.

“What is it?” Rowan asked softly, wary not to upset her. Her soft smile faded once Rowan removed his hand.

“My mark of Mala. My grandfather Brannon had one too.” Rowan’s vision unfocused on her and on the eyes past her shoulder, a dozen pairs of hazel eyes were trained on Aelin and her marks. Rowan lent forward, closer to her. They were a hairs width apart.

“Don’t move.” Rowan whispered as he inched one of her daggers out of their confines. Aelin quickly placed her hand on Rowan’s, twisting her body quickly to face the eye’s.

“You can come out.” Aelin says happily to the things in the understory. It was only until Rowan saw a foot, no bigger than a toddlers step out of the brush did he connect the dots.

Little folk, twelve in total slowly crept out of the shrubbery, inching their way to Aelin, their princess. Their skin coloured varied from the natural spectrum to light greens and violets. The tallest out the bunch, a green little folk with ivy crawling over it’s body carried a crown of yellow and red wildflowers. Aelin bent her head and the little folk placed the flower crown on Aelin’s soft curls before they giggled and vanished from Rowan’s sight.

Aelin’s marks turned to brown lines in the moss, their glow abandoned. Her own forehead went back to it’s natural golden tan.

“Did I fulfil a childhood fantasy or not?” Aelin said, poking him in the bicep. Rowan laughed. He had laughed more in Terrasen then he had in Doneralle.

AN: Eh, it’s kinda fluffy and I’m trying to get the ball rolling but at the same time I’m trying to keep it a slow burn. It’s a struggle.

Are these long enough? Are these too long? Thoughts? Comments? Ideas? You have a prompt you want written? As always, my inbox is open and I’m not scary. I love hearing from you guys and I’m astounded by the support I’ve received already.

Many thanks and much love,

-El.

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