#my brain wants to make a AU fic were they met outside of the prison | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lambourngb · 4 years ago

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a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN ****

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown.

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W.

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.”

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.”

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.”

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.”

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance.

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.”

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.”

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long.

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.”

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.”

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.”

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered.

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled.

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.”

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?”

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street.

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.”

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.”

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

#Malex #roswell new mexico #malex fic #alex goes undercover #not forrest long friendly #getting back together #Season 3 speculation

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jmbringitonworld · 3 years ago

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Brothers Once More

AO3 link for those who prefer to read fics there.

I wrote this over a month ago, but as soon as I was about to go over it one final time and post it, I was suddenly struck by inspiration for another fic, which I had to immediately write out while the plot bunny was still firmly latched onto my brain. So this has been gathering dust, patiently waiting until my mind was finally devoid of all other fics, which just happens to be now! I'm so glad to be sharing this, finally, because it means a lot to me. I absolutely love the Dreamtale brothers, and, for very personal reasons, have the biggest feels for reconciliation between siblings.

While this oneshot doesn't feature my Fallen Star Frisk, Lumi, it does mention her quite a bit, so if you want to know more about her and her relationship with Dream, see my other works Starry Eyed and Stargazing. It's not required to have read either of those works to follow this one, but they do help give meaningful context to what's said here.

Nightmare and Dream belong to Jokublog, but my version of Nightmare differs quite a bit from canon Corrupt!Nightmare. Namely the fact that mine is, in fact, the real Nightmare, and Dream’s actual brother, and not what essentially amounts to a possessed zombie. There are probably plenty of other differences, but I’m far too attached to my own version of these babies to care about canon, beyond acknowledging that they aren’t exactly the same.

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The Ebott Quadrant was silent, empty, its former prisoners having abandoned it years ago, when the forcefield keeping them trapped in that particular part of space had been broken. And so, with the monsters having fled for new horizons, to the far-flung reaches of the galaxy, the deserted asteroid belt was the perfect place for two recently-reconciled brothers to spend some quality time together, in peace and privacy, as they attempted to mend a bond broken centuries ago.

While Dream and Nightmare were sat on the edge of a rocky platform, floating lazily in the vacuum of space, with their legs dangling over the ledge, the two outcodes struggled to make small talk, their conversation stilted and forced, despite Dream’s best efforts, their childhood closeness long since destroyed by bitterness, miscommunication, and far too much fighting. It was painfully apparent that too many years of too much animosity, would not be easily erased, the gap between them too wide to bridge without a great deal of time and effort. But both brothers had time aplenty to spare, and a willingness to try. They had both agreed, one with a full heart, the other in a quiet voice, that the bond they’d once shared was worth whatever difficulties they would face to rebuild it.

And so here they were, eating nice cream lollies together, in the very same Outertale AU where Dream had first laid eyelights on Lumi, the fallen star he had come to love. The estranged twins were sat side by side, not touching but closer than they’d been in centuries, outside of battle. However, the distance between them, both literal and figurative, left an ache in Dream’s soul. Idly nibbling on his popsicle, Dream gazed at the distant stars, his mind drifting to his own, beloved star.

“Wow, this place sure does bring back memories,” Dream remarked, more to himself than to Nightmare, as he smiled to himself in fond reminiscence, his legs swinging back and forth in the emptiness. “It feels like only yesterday that Lumi and I first met... The past few years passed by so quickly.”

To his right, Nightmare hummed, chewing on nice cream as his tentacles haltingly reached out towards Dream, curling and uncurling, close but not quite touching him, before retreating to their master’s side, writhing with nervous energy.

“I know what you mean,” he spoke up for the first time in a while, his deep, rumbling voice lacking its usual menace and arrogance, as the dark being grappled with his own awkwardness at his current situation, unsure of how to act around his former nemesis. “I still vividly remember the day my Frisk suddenly appeared out of nowhere in my castle, all lost and confused. And now, we’re... engaged. It has yet to truly sink in. I’m uncertain if it will ever feel real to me.”

Dream beamed at his brother, his star-shaped golden eyelights sparkling as he practically vibrated with excitement.

“Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself! You , getting married ! Incredible!!”

Nightmare shot him an affronted look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled at Dream, who raised his hands up placatingly.

“Nothing bad, I swear! I only meant that I still remember how shy you were back... then . You’ve never been the type to make friends, and now, well, you’re even less sociable than before. I’m just... so happy to know that you’ve found someone who loves you for who you are, enough to want to bind herself to you for eternity,” Dream gave his brother the most earnest look he could, hoping to convey his sincerity. “I really mean it, Night. I’m so happy for you.”

Nightmare stared mutely at Dream for a few seconds, before he whipped his skull away, trying to hide the way his teal eyelight wavered in his socket. Emotions welled up within him, powerful and strange to the pseudo-Guardian of Negativity, and he viciously tried to stamp them down, feeling vulnerable and raw. His tentacles hesitantly poked at Dream, seeming to want to touch him properly, but too afraid to do more than lightly prod at his arms and back. Dream stayed perfectly still, despite the liquid negativity making his bones itch, and allowed the tentative touches, while inwardly hoping for more, but not wanting to push too hard and scare Nightmare away. For his brother, Dream could be patient.

Eventually, Nightmare could no longer stand the silence, nor his twin’s warm smile, and, desperate to change the subject, blurted out the first thought that came into his skull.

“So what’s going on with you and that star?”

Dream blinked. “Huh?”

Nightmare impatiently tapped his phalanges on the hard ground, as he struggled not to fidget, though his tentacles wriggled in agitation.

“I’m asking you when you two hopeless fools are finally going to get together, and officially start dating.”

Dream blushed a bright yellow, the colour overtaking his entire skull, as he instantly fell for his brother’s attempt to deflect the conversation away from himself. It was now Dream’s turn to fidget awkwardly, as he averted his eyelights, his bones almost rattling with nervous energy, and his fist unconsciously tightening its grip around his ice pop.

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Brother!” Dream winced as his voice came out louder and higher-pitched than he’d intended. Flustered, he attempted to lower his voice, but his words still came out jittery. “We’re just f-friends, we’re not-.... we wouldn’t... It’s just not like that, between us, okay?!”

Nightmare smirked, feeling much more at ease, now that they were no longer discussing his relationship with his fiancée (he dutifully ignored the rush of giddiness he felt at that last thought). He inwardly admitted to himself that he greatly enjoyed seeing his brother squirm like that, despite no longer hating him or blaming him for what happened in the past. It was rare for his normally so bold and self-assured twin, to act so visibly ruffled. He may no longer have any desire to harm his fellow not-quite-Guardian, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take full advantage of this delightful opportunity, to tease and embarrass Dream as much as possible. After all, wasn’t that something big brothers did?

“Come now, Brother,” the gentle, reassuring tone of his voice belied the teasing glint in his single eyelight, as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in amusement. His tentacles slithered languidly towards Dream, resting against his right leg and his back. “You’re not exactly subtle . It’s painfully obvious that you have feelings for the star.”

Dream’s blush deepened and he buried his skull in his hands with a mortified squeak. Nightmare’s smile widened at that, as he chuckled to himself at his brother’s expense, before he settled back, and gave Dream a considering look. After a moment, he sighed softly, his expression becoming serious, devoid of his previous mirth.

“Dream, you and I both know, better than anyone else, the importance of being honest with yourself and your emotions. You must tell her how you really feel. Don’t keep ignoring your own heart, it never ends well. Trust me, Brother.”

His gaze darkened, memories of a childhood spent being tormented by fearful villagers, flashing through his mind. Dream stared sadly at his brother, old regrets bubbling up inside him, before he looked away, trying to focus on the matter at hand, namely what he would and should do about his not-so-secret love for Lumi.

“I... I can’t ,” Dream eventually forced out, his voice tight and pained. “I just can’t tell her, Night. It wouldn’t be right, to dump my feelings on her like that. Not when she has her own worries to deal with.”

Nightmare frowned at him, clearly dissatisfied with his answer, but Dream ploughed on.

“And it’s not like we can even be together anyway! I promised her that I would help her find a way home. She... she belongs in the sky, with her sisters. I know she misses them, so much , even if she doesn’t want to dwell on it, and I have to reunite them. I know what it’s like to be separated from your siblings, after all. I won’t let her suffer any longer! I’d rather break my own heart, if it means hers won’t anymore!”

As Dream’s impassioned words rang out into the stillness of space, Nightmare watched his brother with an unreadable expression. He glanced down, seeming to gather himself, before turning his skull upwards, towards distant, out of reach stars.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Lumi doesn’t want to go back?”

Dream whipped his skull around, a protest on his lips, before pausing, as he caught sight of the intense look on his brother’s skull.

“Wh-why would you say that?” he asked quietly, and startled when Nightmare let out an angry huff, viciously taking a bite out of his nice cream lolly.

“Not everyone is eager for things to go back to the way they used to be,” his voice was low and tense, his tentacles coiling around themselves, viscous, tar-like darkness dripping off them and forming small, black puddles on the rocky floor. “Not everyone clings desperately to the past. Maybe Lumi isn’t as fond of her ‘home’ as you think.”

Dream looked troubled at Nightmare’s words, at a loss as to how to respond, but his brother didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. Instead, his gaze was far off, fixed on something only he could see, grief shining in his eyelight.

“I can sympathise, if so,” his voice was softer than Dream had ever heard it, since the... incident , and the light being was astounded at the compassion he could feel emanating from his dark twin. Nightmare’s expression softened further, as sorrow coloured his tone. “Being all alone, with no friends, having no one pay attention to you, not one single person caring about you except for your siblings... If it were me, I certainly wouldn’t want to go back to that. Even if... even if it meant... sacrificing my relationship with the only family I have.”

Dream stilled, feeling conflicted as he considered that thought, a painful ache growing in his rib cage as it really hit him, again, just how much the two people he loved most had suffered in the past, with him being none the wiser, but Nightmare wasn’t done speaking just yet. With a forceful shake of his skull, as if shaking off his lingering anguish, the living embodiment of negativity turned to face his brother.

“And even if the star doesn’t feel that way, even if she does, indeed, wish to return to her place in the sky... You should still confess your feelings to her,” Nightmare insisted, his tone bordering on pleading. “Don’t hide them, or pretend that they don’t exist! If only I’d been more forthcoming about my own feelings, my own misery, back when we were children, then maybe...” he trailed off, then shook himself, refusing to allow himself to consider what ifs or what might have been. Nothing good could come from that line of thinking. “The point is, I know the cost of not sharing how you truly feel, with those closest to you. Please, Brother... Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Silence descended upon the brothers. Nightmare took one final bite of his ice lolly, shoving the entire frozen treat into his mouth, before yanking the wooden stick handle out and carelessly tossing it aside, absentmindedly watching it drift further and further away, out into the depths of space. Dream sat quietly, unusually still, as he digested what he’d been told, mulling over the words. Eventually, he seemed to come to a conclusion.

“You’re... you’re right, Night,” he whispered at last. “I’ll... I’ll tell Lumi how I really feel about her. And I’ll ask her how she really feels, about me and about returning to the sky. Whatever answer she gives me, I’ll accept it. I’ll be satisfied with having been honest, both to her, and to myself.” He closed his eye sockets, took a deep breath, then opened them again and turned to give Nightmare a grateful smile. “Thanks Brother. Thank you for being here for me, and telling me what I needed to hear. I... I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

Nightmare pointedly turned his skull away from Dream, a teal blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You’re exaggerating,” he waved his hand dismissively, affecting nonchalance despite his obvious embarrassment and still-present blush. “I merely offered you some very obvious advice. I’m certain that any one of your half-witted ‘friends’ would have told you something similar.”

But Dream insistently shook his skull.

“No, I mean it, Night!” his emphatic tone and the fervent look in his eyelights gave Nightmare pause. “I really mean it. I really am so, so grateful to have you give me advice, to have you act like my big brother again. It hasn’t been the same without you; friends, no matter how close we are, just can’t compare to you. I’ve... really... missed you, Brother,” Nightmare’s eyelight widened in alarm as Dream’s voice wavered, and yellow tears gathered at the corners of his eye sockets. “I’ve... missed you... so much... so... much ...”

Dream’s voice trailed off, his emotions finally overwhelming him, and he stopped trying to hold back the sobs from wracking his body, the half-melted, half-eaten nice cream lolly falling from his numb phalanges, and drifting away and out into the cosmos. After being so used to holding his negative feelings in for so, so long, Dream found that he no longer had the will to force down that part of himself any longer, not now that he finally had his beloved brother back by his side. And so, he gave in to his still-persisting pain and grief over the loss of his brother for so long, crying his heart out for all that he’d lost, all that he’d suffered, for all this time.

Nightmare was completely caught off guard by the sudden outpouring of negativity from his brother, who was meant to be the very embodiment of positivity. Dream had always been the type to hide his pain with a smile, never letting on how much he was hurting on the inside, and always, without fail, presenting an appearance of unwavering positivity and optimism. To see his brother so openly distraught, not even trying to supress his negative feelings...

Nightmare hesitated, unsure what action to take, and uncomfortable with every option available to him, before he grit his teeth and, purposely turning his skull away, closed the distance between them and put his left arm around Dream’s shoulders, tugging him closer.

Dream stilled at the touch, his crying coming to an abrupt halt, though he continued to sniffle softly, as his eyelights widened. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his brother and hug him tightly for all he was worth, just like he used to when they were children, but he restrained himself, not wanting to make Nightmare any more uncomfortable than he already was, and contented himself with leaning into his twin’s hold. Nightmare froze for a second, before relaxing minutely, his tentacles retreating into his back as his arm tightened ever so slightly around Dream.

Pressed against his brother’s side, Dream could feel cold goop seeping into his clothes, the inky corruption an unpleasant sensation against his bones, but beyond that, he could feel something else. This close to the other outcode, Dream could sense, through the mass of corrupted negativity, a tiny flicker of warmth, the still-burning flame that was, and would always be, his brother. And it whispered to him ‘ I miss you ’, ‘ I'm sorry ’, and ‘I love you ’, and Dream leaned further into his brother’s body, wrapping his right arm around Nightmare’s back, and closed his eye sockets, listening with his shining, golden apple soul to the words he’d long wished to hear.

Even though it wasn’t the same as it used to be, even though their relationship would never be as it once was, despite everything, they were still brothers. And right then, that was all that mattered to them.

BONUS:

Error was comfortably sat on a rock platform, floating in space. He might have hated AUs in principle, but he could admit that he hated Outertale Aus slightly less than others, besides Undernovela. He had detected an odd blip from this particular one, dating some years ago, but the AU was currently stable and, more importantly, deserted, since the monsters were freed, so he didn’t bother to investigate the anomaly further.

He’d decided to come here, by himself, to get some peace and quiet away from his family. While he very much loved his wife and children, more than he’d ever thought himself capable of loving anyone or anything, he did still value his alone time. And his darling wife had shooed him away with a fond smile, reassuring him that she’d be fine looking after their kids for the day, so who was he to say no to his dear wifey? It was also a lot harder to get any knitting done with the kids running all about the house, and glitching through the walls, and he really did want to finish knitting these socks for Blueberry’s upcoming birthday.

It was while he was blissfully ignorant of all but the yarn he was steadily turning into socks, that a small object suddenly hit him in the back of his skull. Startled, Error dropped his knitting supplies and shifted around, to grab hold of the offending object. It was a little wooden stick. Glaring at it in bewilderment, he failed to notice a half-eaten, melting nice lolly hit him in the side of his skull, with a wet smack. Feeling cold, wet, spit-covered nice cream sliding down his skull, error messages filled his eye sockets as the former destroyer of AUs started glitching out in rage.

“W-Wh@t th£ F-F#€K!!”

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Error belongs to Crayon Queen/Loverofpiggies. I just love teasing this anti-social man-baby XD His wife is a version of Frisk, but I've left it ambiguous which one, so it could be Core!Frisk, or it could be a different one (mine is too complicated for me to include directly in my fics, but she lives rent-free in my head at all times).

One of these days, when I'm done with some of my other WIPs, I'll finally write about Brightmare!Frisk, Nightmare's wife. She appeared briefly in my April Fool's Day fic (and in some of my short snippet works), but I really want to write about her backstory and her relationship dynamic with Noot and his gang. It's still a ways off, but it's a dream of mine (pun not intended but fully embraced). Just gotta keep working on my Lost Child series first.

#JMB writes #dream!sans #nightmare!sans #dream #nightmare #mentions of dreamxfrisk #mentions of nightmarexfrisk #frans #to some #close enough for me #brotherly bonding #the dreamtale brothers have reconciled #nightmare being a good brother #they still have a ways to go #but they're really trying #some bonds are too precious to abandon

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ad1thi · 5 years ago

Note

If your still doing fic recs, could u rec any soft stevetony ones?

absolutely!! this got pretty long so ive hidden most of it under a read-more so i don’t annoy people. a couple of authors feature more than once. ive tried to avoid that as much as possible, but if an author features more than once - take that as a sign that they have rly good stuff for soft stevetony

disclaimer: don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for every author!! (a disclaimer i regrettably forgot to add to previous fic rec lists but will be adding from now on)

soda pops: @starklysteve

If anybody asks, Steve would smile and say it was very romantic. Very Tony. Because if he went into any further detail, nobody would quite believe him.

Tony, on the other hand, would laugh and say that Steve’s in love with a man in a can. So, really, it wasn’t outside the natural progression of things.

me voy pa’l pueblo: @firebrands

two times steve walks away, and one time that tony walks with him.

/ or, my very fluffy take on my bingo card prompt "farewells." steve is on vacation when he meets tony.

fill for my stony bingo prompt: farewells; also for bookworminaslump on tumblr who asked for a tourist/knowledgeable local au!

Tumblr Ficlets: @omg-just-peachy (this is 115 chapters of stevetony being soft!!)

A collection of enough tooth-rotting fluff to last a year, all in one place.

tender offerings: @omg-just-peachy

Five times Steve carried Tony to bed.

the best thing (is that it’s happening to you and me): @captainstarkreportingforduty

Or, five times the team saw Steve Rogers and Tony Stark in love.

Sweet On You: @miniblackraven

It’s the 1940’s and Tony is working as a Donut Doll for the Red Cross. His job is to go around to various military bases and offer comfort food and conversation to homesick soldiers. He’s come to expect a lot of things in this job, but he doesn’t expect to fall in love with Captain America, the hottest most awkward soldier Tony has ever met.

Bespectacled Avengers Society (Membership of One): @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

Tony gets glasses. Glasses get a Tony. Steve loses his mind and walks into walls.

a flower crown for your love: @anthonyed

"There, there," Pepper cooed. "Tony likes flowers?" she said with a shred of doubt in her tone. But when Steve peered up, she's smiling her bright toothy smile. He squinted and she sighed, dropping her hand from his shoulder. "He does." she insisted. "Even more so than me."

if this was a movie: @omg-just-peachy

“One of our seniors is being generous with his time this year—by force of his own actions, but generous none the less—and he’d be happy to help you, I’m sure. Tony Stark? I’ll set something up for later this week. I think between the two of you you’ll be able to pull your average up enough to make it through to playoffs,” Coulson said, with that ever-hopeful lilt in his voice.

Or, Steve needs a calculus tutor, Tony is available, but how is Steve ever supposed to focus when he's been in love with Tony for ... his entire school life?

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

amore mio: @brucewaynery

Tony has had it with Steve being dumb and reckless out in the field, he has a family to think about now, Steve promises him that he'll be with him, kingdom come.

(initially based on that one headcanon about Italian Tony yelling and gesticulating at Steve but Peter thinks he's doing some weird dance and tries to copy him, but it got very fluffy very quickly)

Lost My Mind in a Coffee Shop: @betheflame

“Boyo,” Bucky muttered to his best friend. “I swear to God that if you don’t ask that man for his number soon, I will create a Grindr profile for you and you will not like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am here to finish grading, not hit on men.”

“Can you not do both?” Natasha smirked. “Nearly tenured, historical genius, feels like something you should be able to multitask.”

&&&

In which Steve is a history professor and Tony's an engineering one and Bucky owns the joint where they have their meet cute.

AU-gust Chapter 7: @iam93percentstardust

stevetony, childhood friends AU

Right Up The Road: @gottalovev

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

i’ll take care of you: @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise.

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

The Tally System: @betheflame

Everyone on the team knew about the tally system.

Whenever Steve would save Tony - whether from a monster or from his own stupidity - he’d say, “tag”. Whenever Tony do the same, he’d say, “your turn”. Thor thought it was adorable, Clint thought it was ridiculous, Bruce refused to register an opinion.

Natasha thought it was something she could work with.

what’s mine is yours: @robertdowneyjjr

5 times Tony stole Steve’s clothes, and 1 time Steve returned the favor.

For a billionaire, Tony Stark really doesn't pay for a lot of what he wears.

I like Shiny Things But I’d Marry You With Paper Rings: @betheflame

Rhodey: I just confirmed with Sam that he’s going to make sure he cooks tonight and that his entire team is briefed. I’m heading over now to strategically arrange a fuck ton of ficus trees to block them from gen pop.

Pepper: They’re not getting engaged in a prison, Jimmy.

Rhodey: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers show up to Circe on a Saturday night in May and you watch every person in that restaurant turn into someone I’d rather arrest than eat with.

****

In which Tony and Steve get engaged, but they're kind of extra about it, because they are always themselves

the road to the stars: @shell-heads

Tony is seven years old when he sees the ballet for the first time and meets his future pas de deux partner.

His father is invited to sweet-talk politicians into a new weapons deal and explain his latest idea for their program, and his mom goes to catch up with old friends she hasn't seen in years, but Tony goes because his mom had smiled down at him and told him he would love it.

His mom's never wrong.

In which boy genius Tony Stark meets girl wonder Natasha Romanoff at the ballet, and they fit their broken little pieces together to make something beautiful on the dance floor.

Steve? He's just a dumb, awful, chaotic, extremely supportive older brother that really should just shut up and admit he likes Tony a lot more than he pretends, because Natasha only has five people in the world she likes; it only makes sense her two favorites would fall in love with one another.

They always were a little slow, though.

A Second Chance To Take it Slow: @omg-just-peachy

Tony loves his adopted son, Peter, but that doesn't stop him from wishing he had someone to do this whole parenting thing with. After a failed one night stand, Tony's parent-teacher conference with Mr. Rogers comes with quite the surprise.

Wake Up!: @randomstufffromotherblogs

Tony came home from a business trip and is woken up by his husband and their three-year old.

pull me closer to love: @captainstakreportingforduty (part of a series)

“A Mother’s Day card? For... Tony?” Steve clarifies, and can’t help the smile on his face as six familiar little heads nod in response.

“But... guys, Tony’s not—“ he pauses and takes a breath, any explanation dying in his throat against the excited gleam in everyone’s eyes. “Why do you guys want to do that, hmm?"

compromises: @robertpattisons (when i looked up OP on tumblr, this is the blog i was directed to - but i sincerely apologise if ive gotten it wrong)

Steve should have expected it, he really should have.

There were regulations that came with dating Tony Stark. Things that were clear and things that they needed to work through.

Things like how Steve always got strawberry ice cream, while Tony got rocky road. Or when Steve needed to get his homework done before he was down to make out - even though Tony always got his way.

Things like that were clear

all that you are is all that i’ll ever need: @natasharxmanov

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers announced their engagement on Good Morning America through Tony Stark’s previous secretary now CEO, Pepper Potts. And over this past weekend, I got the chance to sit down with them both, to visit their home and attend their gala, all to write this article about the most powerful couple in the world.

(Or, the fic in which Tony and Steve get married.)

(i won’t ever) trade my mistakes: @brucewaynery

Toddler Peter, painting a masterpiece with his dad.

aka: a dumb amount of family fluff to help you power through the week

#adi's rec list #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers/tony stark #steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #i did this instead of my exam #so i rly hope you enjoy it anon!!#there's a healthy amount of superfamily thrown in here #so apologies if that isn't your thing #anon ask #adi answers asks

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 17

Scully meets the Mufon women, who clue her into their shared fate; Mulder accompanies Scully to the OB-GYN after her car breaks down; A mysterious voicemail appears on Scully's machine.

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

The murder of Mulder’s father--and attempted murders of the agents themselves--went the way of many X-Files, becoming another everlasting thorn in their sides. Skinner wasn’t happy with them, but he pitied them, so it was a two-week paper pusher assignment and then they were back at it. Lightning strikes, allusions to immortality from a mortal man, too many prisons and too much death; the calendar advanced, time marched on, and they saw it all but it couldn’t touch them. Wouldn’t, more like. Emotionally stunted, that’s what they are. Holding onto too much pain to process any.

And then comes Mulder’s $29.95 tape and its path to Allentown; a Japanese diplomat, a dead man, and a list of Mufon members wait in its wake. All of which lead Scully to Betsy Hagopian’s doorstep.

These women--whom she has never seen before, nor could not pick from any crowd--know her. They swear. She is one of them, they say, as if that’s supposed to snap everything into perspective. As if the semblance of belonging somewhere will make her spill her guts. But no; she wants to be nothing but herself, and sometimes not even that.

Then there are dozens of cars outside and women surround her, speaking of a place she didn’t know she knew until they said it. A blank slate flashes in her mind; an echo from some past life. She doesn’t believe in reincarnation, so how can that be?

Then the women--these strange women--speak of men & mysterious tests, and a drill sears Scully’s brain, and she’s coming apart, and is this annihilation or healing?

These images--she can hardly call them memories--expand until she’s living inside them. She is doubled, the victim and the spectator. She sees herself on a medical table, a tube spiraling from her belly button. It’s nonsensical, there’s no procedure of the sort. And then, before her unblinking eyes, her stomach grows. Inflated like a balloon. Her warped form...it looks pregnant, and her old fear comes back as a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely this is something seen in a dream, impossible to be reflected in any reality.

The rattle of metal pulls her back to the present. Every woman standing before her holds a capsule containing a microchip, barely perceptible to the eye. Marked...they have been marked. She has too, they say. They have all the scar, and it’s already been established that she is one of them.

Scully’s swept up by the crowd and taken to Betsy Hagopian at Allentown Medical Center. She’s unsure at this point whether she’s investigating the murder case or some vastly larger conspiracy. Or if those are even distinguishable.

She watches as the nurse slides Betsy into the MRI machine, wonders how Betsy feels about them being there as she disappears from view. Scully once thought of making oncology her specialty, back when she was bright-eyed and believed she could save the world. That path would have been paved with pain, sure, but there would be victory, and above all, hope. Her current job fails to put her in such close contact with miracles.

We’re all dying because of what they do to us, Penny Northern says. And how ironic it is, Scully thinks. She and Mulder want the truth--the proof--of some atrocity greater than themselves, and they may have it...once she’s packed into a coffin. How’s that saying go? Be careful what you wish for…

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

The scar at the base of her neck had never stood out to Scully. She can’t see it, and her hair covers it anyway. She had felt it in the shower once, shortly after her return, but she wrote it off as a bug bite. No one had ever commented on it until Penny Northern and the Mufon women; not Missy, not Mulder, not her mother…

Missy had noticed it during one of their face-mask nights in the weeks after the return, but she chose not to say anything, figuring it wasn’t worth adding to her sister’s worry. If she had seen it again recently--known that it hadn’t gone away--she would have said something.

Mulder...well, he never noticed it, and holy shit, he would have given anything for a situation where he could have. Scully never wears her hair up, he’ll blame it on that though it's fruitless. Really, it’s on him. He has a mental map of the places he’s touched her--and the places he won’t. Her neck is on neither one. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

Margaret Scully never saw it, and frankly, she would have thought it was something inappropriate to mention and wished her daughter had worn a turtleneck that day. What else can be said about that?

Thus, as autumn breaks over Washington, the agents crowd into a Bureau lab with Pendrell (or Agent Nerd, as Mulder prefers to call him) to address the intruder put into Scully’s body. Scully’s calm, cool, and collected, but Mulder winces as Pendrell’s tweezers pierce her skin. He’s never had the guts (nor the patience) for the medical profession.

“Yep, I’ve got something,” Pendrell remarks, dropping it into a petri dish. Mulder inches closer to get a good look at the object, and sure enough, it’s a microchip. He’s met with the urge to pocket it and run so that his partner would never have to see it.

Instead, Pendrell presents the dish to Scully. “It looks like a computer chip to me,” he tells her. “Something manufactured.”

Scully squeezes the object between her thumb and forefinger. She looks to Mulder. “This must be what made the metal detector go off in Santa Fe.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.” The handsy men at airport security still make his blood boil.

As Scully’s eyes meet Pendrell’s, he feels like he’s staring directly into a spotlight. And he’s not used to having the spotlight on him. “So it’s man-made, you believe?” she asks, as in need of an answer from him as she ever will be.

He blushes. “Well, I don’t know of manufacturing plants on any other planet, but it does look pretty technologically advanced.” He takes the dish over to a microscope and peers through. “I can’t say I’ve seen something of this complexity before.”

Pendrell moves aside so Scully can take a look. She’s not accustomed to using this sort of magnification for anything other than microbes, but the intricacy of the wiring speaks for itself. Loops upon loops upon loops of electric current, all contained in a space smaller than a pea.

She looks up. “It’s like it was storing something…” The idea of her thoughts being catalogued by some malevolent stranger is too terrifying to voice. Both men’s mind’s land on it without any prompting.

Mulder lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her away from the microscope. “We’ll get this all taken care of, okay?” he murmurs. “Pendrell will pinpoint the manufacturer, then we can track them down and help Betsy Hagopian and all those women.” He intentionally leaves out mention of Scully herself. She hates being helpless, he won’t frame her as such.

“Okay,” she squeaks out, and Mulder feels her shiver beneath her buttoned blazer.

Having received his command from Agent Mulder, Pendrell watches him usher Agent Scully out of the lab with complete control over the situation. It’s as if Agent Mulder knows what he’s doing, comforting Agent Scully with such composure. And right in front of Pendrell, too! Pendrell kicks himself for...well, being himself.

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

At ten to four, Scully grabs her purse and unclips her key ring as quietly as possible. Mulder’s in the midst of typing up a report about the Japanese diplomat who sold him the $29.95 tape, and she’d hate to ruin his flow. How alarmed Skinner would be if a Fox Mulder field report didn’t read like a Whitman poem! He’d probably assume the bounty hunter got to his agent.

She straightens her blazer and swings the purse over her shoulder. No need for a coat yet, her usual work attire combats the mid-October chill just fine. As she edges toward the door, the guilt of leaving Mulder without a goodbye stops her in her tracks. He knows about her appointment--knows she has to leave early--but still...it feels wrong to walk out without a word.

Hand against the doorframe, Scully tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her partner types at his desk with the ferocity of a teenage boy playing a video game. He even looks like one, with those wiry glasses. She can’t help but smile...these are the ordinary moments she will miss one day.

Setting her lips in a line, she pipes up--”I’ve gotta go, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s instantly snapped from his trance. “Whoa whoa whoa.” He lays his glasses beside the computer, rubs the red mark on his nose. “Let me walk you down.”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully assures, one kitten heel out the door. “I can navigate the parking garage on my own.”

Mulder pops up from his chair, rounds his desk. “Well, the parking garage, yeah. But haven’t you heard that the Hoover Building is unaccustomed to beautiful women roaming its halls? Who knows what might happen if I send you up there by yourself.”

Scully gives him the unamused smirk he’s fishing for, tries to ignore the way his sleeves cuff over his elbow. “I only have to go through the lobby. I think I can hold any admirers off for those twenty steps.”

“You’re right, I should have faith in you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “At least let me escort you to the elevator.”

“If you must.” Scully turns sideways.

He slides past her, winking as he does. It’s infuriating, really, how smooth he can be when he wants to.

Scully follows him down the hallway, wondering if she’s finally grown into the giddy teenager her mother feared she would be. He hits the up button for her, then clasps his hands together--the only time he’s ever been the epitome of patience.

“I hate to pull you away from your next masterpiece for Skinner,” Scully teases, trying to break his gentlemanly bit.

“Oh, an artist knows no timetable,” he responds, barely taking his eyes off the elevator door. He taps his foot...they always joke that the FBI takes an elevator tax out of their paychecks for making it go all the way to the basement.

Scully looks at the floor. A moment ago, she felt like the object of Mulder’s affections. Now, she’s shut out again.

At the sound of the doors gliding open, she steps in. No need to wait for passengers to disembark; nobody comes down here. She hits the first floor button, offers Mulder a weak smile. “See you--”

He sticks his hand out as the doors begin to close and ducks into the space, taking his place beside her. She should have known...his goofy grin confirms that he’s been planning this all along. They begin their brief ascent to the next floor.

“You know, I’m having deja vu, but I’m gonna say this anyway,” Scully starts. “You’re crazy, Mulder.”

“And I’m sure I’ve said this before Scully, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again--thank you,” he replies.

Scully rolls her eyes, but god, this is much more fun than being alone. The elevator banks on the landing, and she looks to her partner as the doors open onto the lobby. “Did you lose your faith in me, or did you never have it in the first place?” she asks, taking extra long strides to keep up with him as they make their way toward the parking garage.

“What, about the whole holding off your admirers thing?”

Scully nods.

“I figured back-up wouldn’t hurt.�� He slips his hands in his pockets, giving himself an air of pretension. As Scully watches him, she gets the notion that it’s all carefully calculated. It makes her feel both powerful and annoyed. She is the damsel, and he is framing himself as prince charming, though she is not in distress.

They make it to the parking garage and take another elevator up to Scully’s level. “Skinner’s gonna want that report before you leave tonight, you know,” Scully tells him, surprised that he has followed this far.

“I’ll burn the midnight oil if I have to,” he replies casually. And she can’t argue with that, cause she knows he will.

While he looks for her car, she takes a long glance at his face. He spies her sedan, and they set off in that direction.

“You don’t have to baby me,” she reminds him, almost apologetic. “I made it through med school and Quantico. If anyone is capable of--”

“It’s not about whether you’re capable, Scully. You are. But you should never have had to go through all that in the first place. It’s not fair, what you’ve dealt with.”

“Life’s not--”

“--fair. Yeah, I know, that’s why I don’t believe in God,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully gives him the infamous look. He shrugs. “It’s the truth!”

They make it to her car, and Scully lays a hand on the driver’s door. “Alright, Mulder. It looks like we’ve both learned something about each other. Very productive conversation.”

“Good thing I came all the way down here, huh.” He flashes a smile that would disarm a scorpion. Scully feels it in her core. She tightens her grip on the door, pulling it open.

“Bye, Mulder,” she prods, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He salutes her. “Bye-bye.”

He stays at the front of her parking spot as she cranks--or rather, tries to crank--her car. The engine gurgles at her in protest. One twist, two twists, three twists, nothing. She pulls the key out of the ignition and opens the door.

“It won’t start...battery’s dead, I think.”

Mulder leans against her door. “Let me try.”

Scully shuffles herself into the passenger’s seat and he settles in, finding himself squished against the steering wheel with her seat settings. He laughs and jams the key into place. The engine won’t give under his hand either.

He rests his elbow on the console and stares at his partner. Her eyes darken. “I don’t have jumper cables, do you?”

“I’m not a jumper cable man, no,” he mutters.

Scully knocks her head against the back of her seat, covers her face with her hands. “My appointment’s at 4:30. I got the latest one of the day…”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” Mulder taps her shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

She uncovers her face. “But what about the report…?”

“You really think Skinner’s gonna be surprised by another late report?”

She bites her lip. “Fine, fine. It’s off 6th Street, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

“And we can pick up jumper cables on the way back,” Mulder adds.

“Perfect.”

They hop out of the car and head for Mulder’s. Scully watches him out of the corner of her eye--he’s striding along, completely unbothered by this inconvenience. She is struck with the notion that he is a better person than her in some crucial ways.

“Do you have your keys?” she pipes up, always bringing reality into the picture.

He taps his pocket. “Right here.”

“You’re saving my ass, Mulder--thank you.”

“I was the ass hero of Oxford. I’m glad to be of service.”

Scully shakes her head, her smile eclipsing a laugh. “Please don’t ever tell me the story behind that, ” she giggles.

“Your loss.”

And as she looks over at him in the dingy parking garage, she knows that this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

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

He wasn’t planning to go in with her--he expected that she’d make a fuss about it if he asked, and it wasn’t his business anyway. He’s surprised, then, when he pulls into a spot at the clinic and she raises an eyebrow when he doesn't turn the engine off.

“Are you coming?” she asks, one leg sticking out of the car.

“Y-you want me to go with you?” he stutters.

Scully shrinks back. “Were you planning on going back to the office? I’m not sure how long the appointment will take, but I hate to make you drive all over the place.”

“No, I was just gonna chill in here. I thought you wouldn’t want me…”

“Oh.” Scully’s out of the car now, her purse swung over her shoulder. “Well, it’s just an ultrasound, so you can come if you want. I bet you’ve never been to an OB-GYN before…”

Mulder shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure. You know I’m all for new experiences, though.”

“Come on, then.” She slams the door closed and starts walking toward the building, playing hard to get in her own little way.

Mulder cuts the engine, locks up the car, and jogs after her. Not a usual occurrence, but he likes the role-reversal.

“So is there anything I should know,” he pants as he catches up with her, “before I walk in? Is there some kind of universal girl code that governs these places?”

“The only naked women you’re about to see are in anatomical diagrams, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, so it’s not a communal kinda thing?”

“Jesus, Mulder. That’s a male fantasy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Hey, men have urinals and locker rooms, it’s only fair that women have some arena for comparison too,” he attests.

Continuing the role-reversal, Scully holds the door for him. “Clearly, we have different priorities,” she says as he strides through. He chuckles at her as he enters, feeling no insecurity about standing out. He’s not the lone man in the waiting room, but he is the only one without a visibly pregnant wife.

He looks around while Scully checks in. The room, he feels, is misleadingly similar to any other doctor’s office. Daytime housewife fodder on TV, issues of magazines that are barely from this decade, and posters preaching about the flu shot...some unsuspecting man might walk in here because he stubbed his toe and walk out with images in his brain that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

He takes a seat at the far edge of the room, Scully joining him a moment later with a clipboard.

He points at the entry to the back--“I feel like they should have a sign on that door that says ‘beware: health class flashbacks ahead. And not the good ones.’”

“If you’re a woman, it’s no flashback,” she tells him, focused on filling out the forms. “It’s just what you deal with everyday.”

“Okay, but imagine men had to go to a place like this, and you had to go back there.”

She looks up. “Mulder, you know I do autopsies on dead bodies, right?” Then, with a smirk--”Besides, I’ve never known you to be squeamish about naked women.”

“Right, but this is like...I’m used to looking at the completed painting, and now I’m seeing the paint-by-number. Not so pretty.”

“Maybe you should go sit in the car…” Scully says with a hint of a tease.

“I digress.” He glances absentmindedly at what she’s writing, then looks away.

Scully notices and meets his eye. “You know what I’m here for, right?”

Without intending to, he read it off her paper. “Follicle ultrasound?”

“Yes, but do you know why? ”

Mulder holds his mouth open like he’ll catch an answer that way. “Uh…” he starts, classic caught-off guard college student.

Scully jots the last marks on her forms. “To check my egg reserve and see if anything’s changed since the last time. To see if there’s any possibility of me having a biological child, essentially.”

“Huh,” Mulder hums dumbly. Way to make an asshole of himself, cracking jokes at a time like this. He wishes it were socially acceptable to walk around with tape over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I didn’t realize the situation was so dire.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

It’s funny she says that, because at that exact moment Mulder is thinking about how it is his fault, and where’s the nearest bridge? He realizes then, too, that maybe she wants him there so she’s not alone for whatever the results say, and boy, this is more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her.

He turns to her, his glance far shyer than usual. “So this is the follow-up to your first ultrasound?”

Scully nods. “It’s been almost a year.”

“But you…” he tries to arrange the words in as courteous a manner as possible. “Are you still premenopausal?”

Scully crosses one leg over the other. She’s pleasantly surprised that he cares about this. “No, I’m on birth control to regulate my cycles. But that doesn’t matter if I don’t have enough eggs left for potential fertilization. Fertility and menstruation are not necessarily linked.”

“But there’s an upside to that, right? Aren’t there health risks with early menopause?”

“Yep.”

Mulder’s not sure whether she’s answering his first question or his second one. He lets it be, and good thing, because a nurse calls Scully’s name moments later. He follows her into the back like an eager to please puppy, playing it cool until the nurse pipes up.

“Mr. & Mrs. Scully, how are you?”

“Not married ,” Scully clarifies, amused.

“Oh,” the nurse takes a stray glance at her clipboard. “I’m sorry.” She gestures toward Mulder. “You are…?”

“Fox Mulder. I’m her partner.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Gender-neutral language, very inclusive.”

“He’s my FBI partner,” Scully grumbles, giving Mulder a punch in the bicep for his purposeful vagueness. “I work at the Bureau.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” The nurse waves them into an exam room then closes the door behind herself. As she reads over Scully’s chart, Mulder’s presence makes less and less sense to her, and she addresses her patient with pitched confusion in her voice.

“So you are here for a follow-up antral follicle count...?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse reads from the chart. “Your first one was roughly eleven months ago and indicated low fertility. Five follicles were counted.”

Scully nods.

“But since then, you’ve started hormonal birth control and now have stable menstrual cycles, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The nurse makes note of this, then looks to Scully. “If you could come with me for a moment, we’re gonna get your weight, and then Dr. Zapolsky will be right in for the ultrasound.”

Alone in the strange room, Mulder’s met with fascination, not fear. He’s never seen an exam chair with stirrups in real life, and it makes him chuckle, reminiscent of birth scenes in slapstick comedies. On the counter is a 3D model of the uterus, which is pretty cool if he’s being honest. Remove the labels and it’s a modern art piece...and he means that with all due respect. His reproductive system would not make a nice decoration, that’s for sure.

He’s reading a poster about each trimester of pregnancy when Scully and the nurse come back in. Did you know that babies can be frightened by loud noises while they’re still in the womb? he wants to ask, but Scully knows everything, so she probably already knows that.

Scully settles into the exam chair as best she can. She locks eyes with Mulder, and he winks at her--again. It puts a genuine smile on her face, which has never happened in this room. The nurse exits quietly, but they are still there, and so is the smile.

They don’t speak at first. Silence is good when it’s comfortable, they have learned, and it’s always comfortable for them. Until Mulder begins to worry that Scully’s head might be spinning with dark thoughts, and he can’t have that. He thumbs toward the poster. “Did you know that loud noises can frighten babies through the womb?”

Scully’s gaze falls upon him, warm and light. “I’ve always thought that was just an old wife’s tale. I never saw it demonstrated during my obstetrics rotation.”

“Well, it’s on the poster. It’s gotta be true,” he wisecracks.

The door opens, and the majestic Dr. Zapolsky saunters in.

“Let’s ask Dr. Zapolsky,” Scully suggests.

“What’s that?” The doctor rolls the ultrasound machine to the center of the room.

“We were wondering if it’s true that babies in the womb can spook at loud noises,” Scully explains.

“It’s on the poster,” Mulder adds.

“Oh! Yes! But not until around 28 weeks.” Dr. Zapolsky sits down on her stool. “You never saw that during your rotations?”

Scully shakes her head.

“It presents as a kick, and as long as the exposure to the noise is not continuous, it’s harmless.”

“Good to know...I guess,” Scully finishes, wondering why Mulder fixated on that of all things.

Dr. Zapolsky scoots toward her patient. “How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully musters a smile. “I’m okay. Much better than I was last year at this time.”

“And who is your guest…?” she asks, swerving toward Mulder.

“Mulder, my partner at the Bureau. My car went dead, so he had to drive me.”

“Ah! Hello Mulder.”

Mulder nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’ve gained some weight since your last visit,” Dr. Zapolsky tells Scully. “That’s a good thing--fueling your body allows it to put energy toward ovarian function.”

Scully tries to accept this as a compliment, though she’s been conditioned not to view it as one.

The doctor continues. “And you’re doing well on your birth control? Any problems with it?”

“Nope, everything’s working out.”

“Wonderful.” Zapolsky clasps her hands together. “Looks like we’re all set for the ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back.”

Scully does so.

“I’ll need you to pull your waistband and underwear down. Let me get you a sheet for cover.” She slides over to the cabinets and pulls out a disposable blue blanket, which she drapes over Scully’s bent knees.

Mulder turns his head away as Scully shimmies off her skirt of choice--black, pencil, from the clearance rack at J. Crew, per usual. Not that he’d be able to see anything since she already has cover, but he’s not risking any disrespect. Scully’s not paying attention to him, and it’s a testament to the trust they have developed.

Dr. Zapolsky grabs the ultrasound wand and takes it under the sheet, using the image on the monitor to guide it into place. “Everything feel alright?” she asks Scully, who nods.

The three occupants focus intently on the screen; two of them have a clear sense of what they’re looking for, and one has no idea. A few circles appear on the monitor, narrowly standing out from the background.

“There they are, right?” Scully inquires with tension in her voice.

Dr. Zapolsky nods. “Those are your follicles. What do you notice?”

Scully’s eyes search the screen. “There’s not many.”

“I’m afraid not. Six. One more than last time, but not the improvement you would need.” Dr. Zapolsky frowns. “Two low antral follicle counts qualifies you for a diagnosis of primary ovarian insufficiency. There’s no clear treatment plan, it simply functions as a label for your condition.”

Scully sits with this numbness as her doctor removes the ultrasound wand and cleans up. She wants to look at Mulder, read his face, but he’s over her shoulder and she can’t bend that way just yet. She takes a breath and pulls her skirt back on.

“So there’s no hope, then?” Her voice shakes. “Of carrying a child with one of my own eggs?”

The doctor finishes washing her hands and turns back toward her patient. “There’s a five to ten percent conception rate for women with POI. If you’re dead-set on it, IVF using an egg donor is your best option. Personally, I don’t recommend it at those odds. It’s very expensive and can take quite a physical toll.” She pats her patient’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Dana.”

With tears threatening to break her composure, Scully cranes her neck toward Mulder. He’s her escape hatch, but he’s not doing much better. His hands are squeezed into fists, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs. “You don’t deserve this.”

And even if he’s right it doesn’t make any difference, because this is what she’s gotten, and this is what she must deal with. Gravity’s full brunt bears down on her body and spirit, and she wonders once again if God intends her for heaven or for hell.

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

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time Scully sets her keys on her front table. If she wasn’t exhausted before, she is after buying jumper cables and using Mulder’s car to start hers. She hears clanging pots and pans and can only hope it’s her sister home from the lunch shift.

Forcing her tired body into the kitchen, Scully finds Melissa at the stove. The smell of marinara sauce wafts through the air.

Missy looks away from the boiling pasta she’s stirring. “Hello jellybean!” Neither one of them knows where the new nickname came from, but neither one is against it either.

“Hey Missy,” Scully says as she plops into a dining chair. She slides off her heels and stretches her toes.

“How was your day?”

“Alright,” Scully sighs. “Paperwork and then my ultrasound appointment, but my battery died so Mulder had to take me.”

“Oh my goodness!” Missy turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to her sister. “I forgot that was today...how was it?”

Scully looks up through her lashes. “Not good, Missy.”

“No?” Missy slides into the adjacent chair. “Were your counts still low?”

Scully nods, picks a piece of lint off her skirt. “Too low. Doc says I have primary ovarian insufficiency. Basically, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have a child with my own egg.”

“God…” Missy sandwiches one of her sister’s hands between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Across the way, the boiling water sings a siren song, and Missy reluctantly makes her way back toward it. “You’ll have to accept my condolences in the form of food cause I’m too far into this to stop now.”

“Oh, I will.” She’d be having a salad or...well, probably nothing, if Missy wasn’t here. Scully leans back, examines the ceiling, then rubs her eyes. “Did you know that babies can spook at loud noises through the womb? At 28 weeks, at least.”

“No, I didn’t,” Missy answers with gusto, happy to distract her sister.

“Mulder read it on some poster, and I didn’t think it was true, but it turns out it is,” Scully rambles.

“Mulder read it...?” Missy echoes. “He went in with you?”

“Uh-huh.” Scully’s immune to the usual implications of her sister’s curiosity. She’s had too much of a day to argue that Mulder isn’t as integral a part of her life as he is. “It was nice...I was happy not to be alone.”

“I’m sure,” Missy says, pouring the ravioli into a colander. “Mulder’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” Scully chews the inside of her cheek. She can’t discern whether she’s failing to repress a feeling or experiencing one anew, but it’s in that ballpark.

Having put the pasta in a serving bowl, Missy spoons sauce over it like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “There was an interesting voicemail on the machine when I got in,” she begins.

“Yeah? A telemarketer? Scammer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s odd, but it sounds quite urgent.”

Missy hits a button on the answering machine. A gruff voice fills the room. “Hello, this is Agent Feniston from the California Bureau of Investigation looking for a Ms. Scully. I am contacting you on behalf of the California Department of Social Services foster care system. Please get back to me as soon as possible at 619-555-1334. Thank you.”

It does sound legitimate, Scully can’t argue with that. She raises an eyebrow at her sister. “You were in California for a while, weren’t you?”

Missy pops a ravioli into her mouth, wipes some wandering sauce off her lip. “The Bay area, mostly,” she says between bites. “The 619 area code is--”

“San Diego. I remember, that’s what our number started with when we lived by the shipyard.”

Missy nods. “I know I’m considered the free spirit in this family, but no child of mine is running wild in California. Let’s clear that up right now,” she chuckles.

“I mean, we don’t have any details,” Scully says. “They probably just need you to testify whether some friend of yours is stable enough to resume custody of their child.”

“Does that sound like something that would warrant a call from the Bureau of Investigation? ” Missy challenges, scooping a hefty portion of pasta into a bowl and handing it to her sister.

Scully takes it and grabs a fork. “If they couldn’t find any other way to contact you.”

Missy stops, looks at her sister with a pointed glare.

“What?” Scully shrugs.

“Darling,” Missy continues, “no one I knew in California has this number, nor any way to determine that I’m living with you.”

Scully lifts the fork to her mouth, freezing before it makes it there. “You think the call is for me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” she says, taking a seat across from her sister.

Scully scoffs. “I haven’t been to California in ages. There was a case in Marin County, but it’s been two years now.”

“That’s funny,” Missy muses. “I was living there then.”

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not fond of having a random call from the California foster system on my answering machine.”

“Then call Agent Feniston back, and it won’t be random anymore.” Missy gets up, glances at the clock, and grabs the phone off its receiver. “It’s only 3:30 in Californiaaaaa,” she sing-songs, dangling it in front of her sister.

Scully pouts, but lets the weight of the phone rest in her hand. “Can you play the voicemail again? I need the number…”

Feniston addresses them for a second time, and Scully taps the keypad in concert with his directions: 619-555-1334.

#hello i am very excited for what's to come <3 #anyone who has stuck with this is now my best friend #thank you and MWAH #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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chelsfic · 5 years ago

Text

Trustfall - August Walker/Female Reader fic Part 1

Part Two now available

A/N: This fic is based on a couple of drabbles that I recently wrote exploring the villainous side of August Walker. I’m basically reworking the plot into a longer fic. I’ve read a lot of fic where Walker is basically an AU good guy version of himself and I really wanted something where he is allowed to be the bad guy. So I wrote it. You can read the drabbles here: Part One; Part Two

So, because this is bad guy Walker (to start) I’ll warn you that there is gun violence in this first part and the reader gets hurt. The rest of the fic will be exploring how Walker stays in the reader’s life and how the relationship gradually transforms from guarded mistrust to eventual acceptance and trust. Hence the title.

I’m posting this really quickly so I apologize for typos.

*** You’re making coffee because that’s what you do when you have guests. You offer to make them a hot beverage. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that you want to hide in the kitchen for ten minutes and catch your breath. And if the five men in your living room are not technically guests…well that doesn’t matter either.

When you enter the living room again, three of them–including the one with a hood over his head–are gone. You guess they’ve moved to another area of the house since you didn’t hear anyone leave. Ethan is sitting on your couch next to the imposing figure of a man you don’t know. Even sitting down you can see that the man is tall and powerfully built. His posture suggests he’s used to being in command and hints at the potential for violence. It’s a frightening prospect, but not unexpected–you got the same vibe from Ethan when he first approached you about setting up the safe house. You try to suppress the shiver of unease as you approach the pair.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Ethan says, taking the mug of steaming coffee from you. “This is Agent Walker. Walker this is Y/N, she owns this house and is kind enough to keep it available to my team….She’s a teacher.”

The last part is tacked on in a monotone and you watch as Ethan’s eyes turn cold and pointed toward Walker. He’s saying, without saying it, that you’re innocent–that you’re not involved in this life the way they are and that you should be protected at all costs. You feel a rush of appreciation for the sentiment, although it doesn’t do anything to calm your nerves.

“Nice to meet you,” you mutter. Your fingers touch as you hand him a mug and his blue eyes flick up to lock with yours.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says. He’s all business, but his eyes hold yours for another beat and you feel your cheeks flush red. You’ve always hated how easily you blush. He’s handsome, you admit to yourself. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark mustache and stubble along his jaw. He’s very handsome. But the thought is completely abstract. Just an observation in the midst of your chaotic nerves.

You turn to Ethan and excuse yourself. You’re not needed here and you’d rather not over hear whatever plans they’re working on. You’ll minimize your involvement in whatever way you can. It’s not as if you don’t have a choice. Ethan gave you the choice when you inherited this house from your father and he gave the choice again when he showed up at your door this morning–even though you’d already agreed and accepted the monthly payments in exchange for use of the house. He still gave you a final chance to back out, despite the team’s desperate need. He was a good man.

You retreat to the little room at the back of the house that your father used for a study and you use for a combo office/reading nook. There’s an oversized plush armchair in one corner and a worn desk stacked with homework folders and portfolios in another. Mismatched bookshelves line the walls and the hardwood floor is covered by an old, worn-out oriental carpet. It’s shabby but comfortable. You feel safe in here as you cuddle into the armchair and pull an afghan around your shoulders. You’ll get lost in a book and by the time you poke your head out again, maybe they’ll be gone.

Ethan and the rest of the team leave to head to their rendezvous leaving Walker behind to guard the prisoner. You emerge from your office starving and in search of something to eat. As you cross the hallway toward the kitchen you peek into the living room to find it empty. Walker must be upstairs with the prisoner. You should just leave them be but you remember the brush of Walker’s fingers against yours and the blue of his eyes as you looked up at you. Maybe you’ll offer him something to eat.

Your socked feet don’t make any sound as you dash up the stairs. You walk silently down the hall and you’re about to raise your hand to knock on the open door of your guest room when the voices you heard from the hallway form into coherent words and your hand freezes in the air. They’re talking about Hunt and his team…as if they’re working against them. As if they’re working together.

Walker’s stance goes rigid and he turns slowly to face you. He’s transformed from the subdued version of himself you met downstairs. Where before there was the potential for violence, now it is very much present, blazing in his glare and lurking under the surface of his tense posture. You watch a muscle in his jaw tick and he shuts his eyes in irritation.

“Fuck,” he hisses and his hand goes to the side arm at his hip. “Nothing is ever easy.”

Your eyes widen in terror as he unclips the gun from his side and points it at you. Everything is happening to fast for your brain to keep up. A minute ago you were thinking about making lunch, now a man is threatening you with a gun. You hold up your hands, palms out, and beg for your life.

“You don’t have to do this…I won’t…I won’t tell anyone anything!”

You’re backing away from him into the hallway, eyes dancing in every direction but always returning to the sight of his hands cradling the gun, finger tense on the trigger.

“No…,” you moan. Your back hits the wall and you feel your knees give out as you slide slowly downward. Your legs splay out before you and you feel suddenly, absurdly ridiculous that you’re not even wearing any shoes and you’re about to be shot.

Walker is standing over you. Your eyes are fixed on his feet and legs too scared to look up and catch sight of the gun pointed in your direction. You flick your gaze upward for an instant and see his face, jaw clenched in anger, eyes burning into you. He’s furious.

“Please don’t do this,” you whimper and pull your legs in to hug yourself into a ball–as if you can somehow disappear if you make yourself small enough.

Walker grunts and leans down, grabbing your right leg and pulling it away from your body. Before you can even begin to struggle he’s straightening it out along the floor and aiming his gun at your calf.

He looks up at you and you’re caught in his gaze again just like before, a lifetime ago, downstairs. The same blue eyes and dark lashes that you’d found so captivating. Now all you can feel is dull fear. His face is unreadable but he finally addresses you with soft words, “Sorry baby.”

And then he pulls the trigger.

***

You’re only out of the hospital for a week when he comes back. Agent Walker. The traitor. The man who shot you in the leg and left you bleeding on the floor and all alone.

When the bell rings you curse and struggle up from your position lying on the couch to hobble forward using the crutches you’ve only just been issued. The wound required two surgeries. The doctors tell you that your muscles may have been permanently damaged. You’ll require physical therapy and you may walk with a limp for the rest of your life. There had been questions–questions you didn’t know how to answer–when you first arrived at the hospital. And then, suddenly, there were no more people asking questions. You suppose Hunt and his team had something to do with that. You received a bouquet with a note in your hospital room. They thanked you for your service and wouldn’t trouble you any longer. The status of your home as a safe house was blown.

“Coming!” you call out as you reach the front hallway.

You struggle to balance on the crutches as you fiddle with the deadbolt. The lock finally cooperates and you swing the door open. You throat goes dry in an instant and you clench your fingers around the doorknob in a white knuckle grip. He’s standing on your doorstep just like he did before, looking hopefully expectant. But this time he’s wearing weathered tactical gear instead of a suit and tie and one side of his face is covered in fresh pink scar tissue. He holds his hands loosely away from his body as if to appear harmless. Ha! Like you could ever forget the danger lurking behind his beautiful eyes.

“What–,” you croak and your mouth closes entirely. You take a moment to clear your throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Y/N,” he pleas, hands outstretched, “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to talk.”

��Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” you reply, starting to shut the door in his face.

He steps forward until his body is in the doorway, preventing your movement, “Please, just hear me out and then, if you want, I’ll leave here and you’ll never see me again.”

You mentally curse Ethan Hunt and his stupid team for leaving you in this position. If you were to believe them then you were completely safe because the man before you is presumed dead and no one else should know your address or its significance. He’s wedged half inside, half outside and you’re standing uncomfortably close in order to keep your leverage on the door. It’s painfully obvious how easy it would be for him to overpower you. He’s over six feet tall to your paltry five and a quarter inch height. He’s twice as broad as you are at the shoulders. But he just stands there awaiting your reply.

“Fine!” you sigh and back up awkwardly, nearly tripping over the damn crutches.

You lead him back to the living room and collapse unceremoniously back into the nest of blankets you’d been cultivating before his unwelcome appearance. Walker perches awkwardly on the other end of the sofa and watches you with a guarded expression. You lift up your bad leg and rest it on a tower of pillows. There’s no cast as the bullet didn’t break any bones, but you’re wearing a brace to keep it immobile while the muscles heal from surgery. Walker has the grace to look ashamed as he sees you struggle to get comfortable, but he wisely makes no move to assist you.

When you’re finally done squirming you look at him expectantly and gesture with your hands for him to get on with whatever it is he came here for. Outwardly you look calm and collected. Inside your heart is racing and your thoughts are in a chaos of confusion. You’ve just allowed this man into your home, the same man who shot you in the *leg* with a *gun* only three weeks ago. Is he here to finish the job? Is he here to get information out of you? Why on earth could he be back here?

He briefly explains what’s happened since you last saw him. The bombs, the chase, the cliff. He’d landed on a ledge, miraculously surviving to terrorize another day, it would seem. And now he’s in the wind, off IMF’s radar and laying low. He has resources, allies, money. But he needs a place to stay. Someplace no one, including IMF, would ever expect.

You huff out an aggrieved sigh, “Why is my home a magnet for trouble?”

“No one will look for me here, Y/N,” he says, the look in his eyes is intense. “And I know you can be trusted.”

“If they think you’re dead won’t they not be looking for you, period?” you ask. “And why do you think you can trust me, Walker? You shot me…remember?”

Walker’s eyes are like chips of ice as he responds, “I can trust you because you know what I’m capable of…if you tell anyone.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you feel yourself shrink back from him into the cushions. So, he isn’t going to stick to the good guy act. Not when you have something he needs. You suppose it’s a relief, not pretending. But it leaves you little choice going forward.

“Y/N,” he goes on, voice softening somewhat. “I know Hunt was paying you. I have the resources available to continue that arrangement. I’ve looked into your background. I know you need the money…”

No, you think. No choice at all.

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!

@thorins-queen-of-erebor

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker imagine #mission impossible: fallout #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #chelsfic

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apparentlynotreallyfinnish · 5 years ago

Text

Morning After

Just a little silly AU fic that was crowding my brain. (A tiny trigger warning, there is a spiked drink in this but no assaults/attempted assaults.) Rhett and Link are working as engineers and have only met six months ago.

---

Link’s eyes flutter open and he stares at the blurry image of a slowly turning ceiling fan for a good long while before realizing that he doesn’t actually have a ceiling fan in his bedroom.

Where am I?

He attempts to get up and is immediately slammed back into the pillow by a wave of nausea and a piercing headache. His eyes close tight and he takes a few deep breaths.

Okay. That’s a clue if I ever felt one. Obviously, I’ve been drinking.

The bed is soft and the sheets are silky smooth; everything feels foreign. Link stretches his arms to his sides and doesn’t even reach the edges of the bed. Aside from pillows and blankets the bed feels empty. Link peeks from behind his eyelids and confirms the notion. He’s alone in someone else’s bedroom. He doesn’t need to look under the covers to know that he’s naked.

What have I done? I never get black out drunk.

The throbbing headache tells him otherwise and Link wracks his brain, trying to remember what happened last night.

The office Christmas party! Oh God, have I gone home with a co-worker?

The nausea returns in full force and Link buries himself under the covers. He remembers the gaudily decorated lunch room, the band playing overly cheery Christmas songs, the tables filled with booze and Christmas cookies and the dimly lit corners of the office filled with co-workers engaged in acts that on any other day would make them blush and run away. Link sighs.

Why did I even go? I don’t like any of those people.

Link has worked at IBM for a little over a year now and still feels like an outsider. No one is outright mean or rude, but ever since his preferences got out during the first month working there, everyone has kept a very obvious distance between themselves and Link. It’s annoying, but not bad enough for Link to try and find another job. The pay is good and the benefits are great. He doesn’t have to be friends with his co-workers to do his job.

But apparently, I’ve gotten quite friendly with one last night.

The idea of sharing a bed with any of his co-workers makes Link’s stomach turn. Well, all but one. Link doesn’t think he was at the party, though. He’s not the type to come to an office party. But then again, neither is Link. He scours his memory. He remembers talking with the new guy – Fred? – from accounting. He was nice enough but had been pretty wasted. Link also had to, more than once, politely decline the advances of Ashley as she kept trying to pull him into one of those dark corners. Link faintly remembers her saying something about kissing the gay away. Link shivers at the memory. Thankfully he doesn’t work closely with her. But nowhere in his memory is there even a trace of the man that has haunted Link’s nights for the past six months.

You are being ridiculous. It’s obviously not him. He doesn’t even know I exist.

Rhett had started at the company six months ago as a supervisor for another team and even though they didn’t work together Link had been instantly smitten. Rhett had that whole hot lumberjack vibe going on and just the sheer size of him made Link melt. The man was a tall glass of drink and Link ached for a sip.

Link had made a point to have lunch every day at the same time as Rhett. They didn’t eat together; Link had never gathered the courage to sit at the same table as the golden haired daydream. He sat at his lonely side table, pining for the man like a horny teenager.

Even if he’d come to the party, I would have never approached him.

The air under the covers had grown stale and too warm to breath and Link pulls himself free of the self-imposed prison. He spots his glasses on a nightstand and crawls to retrieve them, instantly feeling better as the room around him sharpens. A noise catches Link’s attention. He can hear a clatter of dishes from somewhere in the house and a cabinet door bangs closed. Link’s heart leaps.

Who the heck have I gone home with? I didn’t even know anyone else was gay!

Should he go? Maybe he should just slip out. Maybe that’s what they want. Maybe that’s why they’ve left them alone in their bed. But Link has to know. He can’t leave without knowing who to avoid come Monday.

Link slowly lifts himself up on his elbows and let’s his gaze sweep the room hoping to see his clothes on the floor somewhere. Unfortunately the floor is spotless. Link doesn’t have time to get up to look for them properly because suddenly he hears someone coming up the stairs. Panicked, Link decides to stay in the bed and pulls the covers all the way up to his chin.

Oh God, please don’t be Fred. Please, please, please! He was old enough to be my father!

A tall figure fills the door frame of the bedroom and the sight punches the air out of Link’s lungs. He stares at the man, wide eyed and jaw hanging slack.

“Hey,” Rhett says quietly. For a second it looks like his face lights up when he sees Link but the expression disappears before Link can be sure. Rhett’s holding a tray and wearing a black tee and grey slacks. He shimmies into the room, almost like he’s afraid of Link; his movements are jerky and awkward.

“You’re up. That’s goo– Um... You were quite… I – I guess I was worried,” Rhett stammers, sets the tray on the bed next to Link and backs away quickly. He hovers at the door looking like he might bolt at any second.

I’m in Rhett McLaughlin’s bed! Did we…?

Link is still at a loss for words. His gaze flits to the tray. The food smells amazing and his mouth instantly waters. There’s a cup of coffee, eggs and bacon, an assortment of fruits and few slices of toast. There’s also a big glass of water and a pill that looks to be Tylenol.

“Do you…? Um… That’s for you, if you’re up for it. I mean… you don’t have to. Obviously, you can just go. I just wanted to…” Rhett is mumbling and waving towards the tray. Link has trouble meshing this shy and floundering Rhett with the charming and confident man he’s used to seeing around the office.

What is going on? How did I end up here? With him?

“Thanks,” Link finally manages to say. He pulls the tray closer to himself and takes the pill, washing it down with the water provided. The water is ice cold and Link lets out a satisfied sigh. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Rhett’s lips.

��Oh! Your clothes are on the bench at the end of the bed. And um… I charged your phone, it’s downstairs. I can get it now if…” He’s suddenly speaking very quickly and turns on his heels to leave.

“Wait!” Link calls after him lifting his hand as if he could physically stop him. Rhett slowly turns back and tilts his head questioningly.

“This is a bit embarrassing but… How did I get here?” Link asks. Rhett leans against the door frame and gnaws his bottom lip in a way that makes Link’s heart flutter.

When did he get so fucking cute? Like shy and small somehow?

“You don’t remember?” Rhett asks and Link is certain he can detect a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“No, sorry.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s not surprising. When I got to the party you were… Let’s just say that you weren’t exactly dancing on the tables but it was close.”

Link buries his face into his palms and groans.

What the hell? I don’t remember drinking that much.

“Someone spiked your drink. I heard some folks talking about it,” Rhett says, anger hardening the edges of his words. Link reveals his face and stares at him, horrified. His stomach tightens uncomfortably.

“What?”

Fucking assholes!

“Yeah. I’m gonna figure out who they were and report them. Don’t worry about it, okay? What they did was... inexcusable. I tried taking you home but couldn’t get you to give me your address and I just… brought you here.”

“Oh.” Link feels himself deflating.

He was just being nice. Nothing happened between us…

“Wait,” Link says suddenly remembering his state of undress. “Why am I…?”

“Naked? Yeah. Um… when we got here I think you maybe thought you were at home? You just took all your clothes off and crawled into my bed. I didn’t look! I promise! And I slept in the guest room,” Rhett assures quickly. His eyes are wide and he’s swaying in place; radiating waves of nervous energy.

Link curses mentally. Of course, he’s worried; worried to be seen as gay; worried that Link is getting ideas. That’s why he’s being so awkward and jumpy.

“Sorry,” Link mutters, takes a piece of toast and stuffs it into his mouth. He should go. He should leave Rhett to wallow on the possibility that people are gonna gossip about them now. But he’s hungry and it would be rude not to eat something since Rhett has made it specifically for him.

A pity breakfast. Wonderful. I’ve just made a complete ass of myself in front of the only person whose opinion I actually care about. Might as well crawl into a hole and stay there.

“You really don’t remember anything?” Rhett asks quietly. Link turns to look at him and frowns. Rhett is looking down at his hands as he wrings them together. He looks flustered. Link swallows the dry toast with some difficulty and asks:

“Um… should I? Did I do something rude?”

Oh God! Did I come on to him? Maybe he’s lying about the undressing. Maybe I stripped for him or…

“Oh no, nothing like that. You were very polite,” Rhett assures and smiles a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Silence falls between them. Rhett rubs his neck and stares out of the room tapping his foot. Then he suddenly launches out of the room.

“Gonna get your phone!” he hollers from the stairs. Still feeling embarrassed and slightly confused Link stares at the space he’s left unoccupied. He takes another bite of the toast and sips from the coffee cup. The coffee is amazing; aromatic and smooth. Link sighs and closes his eyes.

I wonder if he does this to the women he brings home. Do they get the home-cooked breakfast as well? Does he get back into bed with them? Maybe he even feeds them grapes. Or kisses the taste of bacon off of their lips. Maybe things escalate from there…

Link coughs and shakes his head trying to stop himself. But his mind keeps running wild; thinking up scenarios where he’s a welcome guest not an intruder. Link rubs the silky sheet with his palm and imagines the feel of it under his back when Rhett moves over him. Rhett’s shoulder muscles pulled taut under Link’s touch. Rhett’s lips against Link’s neck. His teeth sinking into Link’s flesh as he gets lost in his pleasure...

Link knows it’s a bad idea to let himself indulge like this, but he’s in Rhett’s bed. He’s never gonna be here again and what does it matter if he wants to imagine a bit. He’s not hurting anyone. Rhett doesn’t need to know what he actually wants to do between his sheets.

It takes a while for Rhett to return and when he does he stops dead at the door and stares at Link looking confused.

“Oh,” he says and takes a step back.

What? Did he think I’d leave without my phone?

“Do you want me to give you a bit more time to…?” Rhett asks motioning towards the end of the bed. Link follows his gaze and the realization slams into him.

Oh for fuck’s sake. I am an idiot. He left so I could get dressed.

“I – I’m sorry. I didn’t… “ Link stammers flushing red with embarrassment. Rhett steps next to the bed and hands him his phone. Link grabs it and their fingers touch making Rhett jump visibly. Link’s mood sours further.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just let you… Take your time,” Rhett whispers and escapes the room.

Reluctantly Link leaves the breakfast – it’s been delicious – and gets up. His clothes are on a neatly folded stack on the bench just like Rhett said and Link quickly pulls them on. He’s gonna go. He’s gonna go home and bury himself under a pile of blankets and wallow.

Might be the time to start looking for a new job…

He quickly downs rest of his coffee and then descends the stairs. He can hear Rhett moving in a room that looks to be the kitchen. Link peeks inside.

“Hey. Thanks for – everything. I’m gonna go.”

Rhett turns with raised eyebrows.

“Oh.”

“So um… You know. Thanks again and bye,” Link stammers and hates himself for his shaky voice. He turns and rushes towards the front door, his stomach tightened into a painful knot.

His hand is on the handle when he hears the steps behind him.

“Link, wait!”

Link turns, wondering if he forgot something. Rhett strides up to him and stops at an arm’s length away. His mouth opens and closes. He sways back and forth. Link’s about to ask what’s going on but is cut short by Rhett blurting out:

“I’m not gay!”

Link sighs and fights the eye roll. The knot inside him tightens. He curses his luck.

Why do I always have to fall for the homophobes? I really have a problem.

“I know. Don’t worry. No one’s gonna think that,“ Link assures the man in front of him. Rhett looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s still teetering on his heels, tilting towards Link.

Well, they might. But that’s not my problem.

“I don’t care about them,” Rhett mutters. He swallows hard enough for Link to see his Adam’s apple bob. “What I meant is… I’m not gay. I don’t think so, at least,” he murmurs and takes a deep breath before stepping closer to Link. They’re toe to toe and Link has to lift his eyes to look at him. Rhett’s closeness is sucking all of the oxygen out of the air; suddenly Link is having trouble breathing.

God, he’s gorgeous. Those eyes… What even is that color?

“But for the last six months, all I’ve been able to think about is kissing you.”

Rhett’s words crash into Link with the force of a hurricane and he draws a sharp breath.

Rhett lifts his hand and caresses Link’s cheek gently. Link’s whole body quivers. His stomach flashes hot and he feels light-headed.

“Can I?” Rhett murmurs, brushing his thumb lightly over Link’s lower lip.

Fuck yes!

“Yeah,” Link breathes and careens towards Rhett.

Their lips meet, soft and searching at first, then more eager. Rhett’s mouth opens and invites Link’s tongue in with a quick flick of his own. The heat in Link’s belly roars. He melts into Rhett.

I could get used to this.

When they finally part to draw ragged breaths, both are flushed and beaming.

“Are you in a rush?” Rhett whispers as his arm wraps around Link’s waist. Link shakes his head slowly, feeling dazed.

“Stay a while?” Rhett asks. Pleads.

“Okay.”

Then Link’s being lead back upstairs towards the bedroom and suddenly the world has colors he’s never seen before.

#rhink #rhink fic #Appa writes fic #a bit of angst #a bit of fluff

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sweettoothshipperrotg · 6 years ago

Note

Arranged Marriage... SweetTooth AU?? :3

Well, this is what happens when I allow the plot bunnies (pun fully intended) to hold me hostage: y’all end up with a thirteen page fic. (sorry?)

Kinda long disclaimer: My brain setted this during victorian times in England, more specifically in the 1840′s London. Bunny is an army lieutenant that had been assigned to the British colonies of New South Wales (aka Australia), Toothiana is a princess from one of the many Indian states that were under indirect british rule (she still held her title as maharani but could not kick the dudes out of her region). Although I did as much research as I could to inform myself and provide argument for the fic, I apologize if you feel that I was disrespectful/misinformed in the way I depicted the characters and circumstances here. It was not my intention and I would appreciate if you can offer constructive criticism so I can improve. What I DID do is try to keep it as ambiguous as possible so although it does not directly mention anyone in particular, the idea still remains (don’t go around colonizing countries an being an asshat to people)

A/N: Whenever you see boldened and cursive text it’s because the characters are speaking a different language apart from regular English.

Ok, I’m done, I promise. ^^;

Hope you like it!

“I have been eagerly awaiting the day I could finallymeet you…and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.”

The words that came from her fiancé’s mouth would havesent any other young girl’s heart aflutter. To Toothiana…they felt completelyhollow.

Every fiber of her soul was begging her to turn back,ran to the closest port, and sneak onto a ship that would take her far awayfrom here and closer to her beloved country. Yet she remained rooted on herspot.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, silence stretchingand making everything worse.

All eyes were on both of them, sizing, judging, and losingno detail of the interaction among the betrothed couple.

Their dark clothes and pretentious faces wereunnerving to say the least.

They thought themselves above her and her people.Fools, the lot of them.

Toothiana kept her head held high. The people who hadaccompanied her and her younger sister had instructed her on how she wassupposed to curtsy and handle herself when she met her fiancé. She refused togrant him said honor.

She was the heir to the throne of Punjam Hy Loo,daughter of Haroom and Queen Rashmi. She bowed to those worthy of it.

Her disruption of protocol sent tongues wagging; awave of poorly concealed whispers filled the room.

The man in front of her seemed to tower above most ofthe attendees. His bright red uniform and medals pinned to his chest, proof ofhis prowess in battle, seemed obnoxiously loud and reminded her of howdifferent and apart they truly were. Of how men sporting the same uniform hadinvaded her country and taken by force what didn’t belong to them.

To look at him, to think of why she had to do this wasmaking her sick.

She had been taken away from her home with courteoussmiles and polite words that did nothing to hide how the invaders held all thecards and they had no quarrel with twisting her arm into submitting to theirwishes.

So they had shipped off across the ocean, away fromthe deep colors of the green jungles she loved so much, from the colorful lifeof her city, and from the comfort of being among her people.

She dearly missed the sun kissed bedroom she had grownup in, the morning chants and prayers of the devotees inside the temples, theair full of spices and the perfume of the flowers in bloom.

The trip had been horrific. Storms and rough seas madeher fear that she would die in the middle of the vast ocean without theappropriate rites, her soul becoming chained to the sea and not be allowed totranscend to the beyond and see her parents.

On those nights where it almost seemed that the shipwould capsize at any moment, she held tight to her baby sister (a merelythirteen year old girl who had tragically been roped into this voyage due tosharing the same lineage) and allowed a few rogue tears to trickle down her face.

The only comfort had been the kind young man thatstationed himself outside her cabin to make the sisters feel more secure,promising to keep them safe at all costs.

Jackson Overland Frost had been a true blessing duringher long journey, joining her at the port before they departed and using hiswits and charm to win her over. He had offered his services to accompany her,serve as her interpreter, and to help her navigate this new culture full ofstrange and different aspects.

He had proven a good, amicable companion. Since he wasthe only one who spoke to her in her language, it had initiated an almostinstant bond between them.

He treated her and her sister with the upmost respectand saw them as equals.

Although he did not share the same nationality as herfiancé, he had provided as a diplomatic envoy between countries and had quicklybecome friends with him.

In fact, Jack had provided her with far moreinformation about her intended than any member of her escorts.

Toothiana did not know much of Lord Bunnymund. He wasthe sole heir of his family’s titles at his 26 years of age, had ascended tothe rank of lieutenant during his military service but had been eventuallydischarged from the army (the reason of said discharge had not been explainedto her).

“How is he? Tell me about his real colors”,she had asked him while gazing at the miniature with the rendition of the manshe was to marry.

“Bunny? Well, he’s real annoying, realgrumpy, and really full of himself!” He said with a playful smile thathad made her little sister burst into laughter. “But in all seriousness, I havenever met a stronger, more honorable man than the likes of him. Truly, the lastof his kind.”

She was not able to get any more meaningfulinformation out of him. Any other pertinent details, he proclaimed, she wouldhave to ask the man himself.

Right now, Toothiana wished she had extricated moreinformation from Jack.

The small painting had not made him justice, of thatshe was certain.

Despite belonging to the upper class, his face did nothave the softness or paleness of noblemen his age. His features knew themerciless lash of the wind and the unforgiving rays of the sun, making himstand out from the sea of faces that seemed to quake at the mention of notbeing as white as snow.

His hands looked rougher than those of the pamperednoblemen.

The voice that had greeted her had sent a shiver downher spine: deep, calming, kind, instead of the monotonous plummy ones she hadheard since the beginning of her journey. It was the type of voice that shewouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of her days.

However, his eyes were the most striking of his attributes,two orbs of vivid green that sucked the air out of her lungs when she firstlooked at them.

Despite how pleasing he was on the eyes, she wasdetermined to not budge an inch.

They wanted to make her dance to their tune? Fine.

But she would be the one to mark the tempo.

“And I hope that you do not prove asconceited and vain as the rest of your countrymen”, she retorted with asweet smirk. Even if no one but Jack and her sister could understand her, shewas content with her words.

Jack snorted at her comment, barely covering hislaughter and trying to pass it as a fit of cough.

Although it was only for a moment, she could swear shesaw her fiancé smiling at her display of spirit.

His fiancé was nothing like he had expected.

The ones that had arranged their union had granted himlittle information about her.

Whatever he received should be taken with a grain ofsalt, anyways.

Their derisive remarks and snide commentaries againsther being a foreigner and from a different culture got on his nerves.

He hated this place.

Aster was certain of this once he had been forced toleave his post at the army and practically dragged back to his country to sitdown and submit to orders like a good puppet.

He had been received with a scowl by the ones sittingatop of the political playfield.

And, stars above, the almost unending procession fromone minister’s office to another just to receive the same lecture from stuffyold men with no idea of how real life was beyond their very noses, almost droveBunnymund mad.

They had no qualm of gloating about how lucky he was to not have been executedfor his seditious actions against the crown.

What did they knew of his motives? Absolutely nothing.

They had never gone hungry a day of their lives. Theyknew not of sore muscles and tired bodies after strenuous hours of labor underthe sun. They feared not the crack of the whip, nor the unkind treatment of strangersthat had no roots to their lands.

While stationed as an officer, he had tried to breakpeace between the locals and his countrymen. But the latter refused to give anyquarter to what they considered belonged to them.

The moment that he was demanded to comply withatrocities like the ones they had ordered of him had been the straw that brokethe camel’s back.

Bunnymund had taken action against those who commandedhim. Slowly and discreetly, he had aided local insurgent factions, providingresources, information and even shelter to those who were on the run.

Unfortunately, he was caught without any means ofescape.

The first month that he stayed in prison had beentesting.

His once fellow officers now treated him like thelowliest of criminals, spitting insults whenever they passed him by.

The beatings and punishments were administered withardent fervor.

When the infection had settled in, he truly thought hewould die in that filthy cell and not even be given a proper grave.

Those days spent at the camp’s infirmary – confined tohis bed not only by the fever but by the manacles to prevent any chance ofescape, and being look down by the doctors and nurses that kept him alive – hadcrawled by agonizing slow.

Illness decided not to kill him, and back to the cellhe went.

He was careless enough to lose track of the time hespent there, only when he was released he found out that his confinement had lasteda year and 3 months.

Out of nowhere, he was presented to the commander ofthe camp and informed that his family had pulled enough strings for him to besent back to his country to be dealt with by higher authorities. He was givenhonorable discharge of the army and was forbidden to return, the disdain in theofficer oozing from every word.

And throughout this horrid experience, Bunnymund hadnever uttered a word. He had not complained, nor begged, nor retracted from hisactions. It was a waste of time to try to convince them.

He was placed on the next ship back to his countryunder heavy scrutiny of two officers who had been assigned to police him thewhole trip. They did not engage with him, but the surly looks they gave himwere a dead giveaway of their opinion of him.

When the ship finally docked, he was not greeted byany better circumstances.

He had only seen his parents once. His father had donewhat he did best and berated and screamed at him, telling him what adisappointment he was to the family name.

His mother had stayed behind her husband, a silentlook of disapproval battling with the sorrow of seeing her only son in such aregretful state.

They had not allowed him to see his sister.

Days flew by. Although it was nothing compared to hisprevious accommodations, the room he was confined in told him that his ordealwas far from over.

He had been escorted to a fancy chamber, where theminister of foreign affairs was waiting for him with a reproving look and a litpipe that wafted its acrid smell all over the room.

That’s when his future purpose was laid in front ofhim.

He was to marry a princess from a small region of acountry he had never had the opportunity to see for himself.

She was the heir to the throne and her influenceweighted a lot on the hold his country had over hers.

There had been several rebel uprisings on neighboringregions and, if the princess allied herself with said insurgents, his countrywould lose an important trade point and area of influence.

They simply could not let it happen. And since theprincess and her sister were both too valuable to kill and yet too dangerous toallow to act freely, they had decided to extract her and ship her away so shecould not play her hand against them.

The diplomats had found the perfect excuse, too. Arebel war lord had threatened her throne, fully intending to kill her and takeover the region. Under a poorly disguised attempt to “guarantee her security”,they had taken her and her sister away and were on their way here.

In order to bind her to his country, they were forcingher to marry a complete stranger.

Since he had fallen from grace, he would pay his dueby playing said role. And the minister made it quite clear that Bunnymund hadno say on the matter.

He had dreaded their meeting since the man informedhim on their imposed betrothal.

What did she look like? Any description of women fromher country had not been favorable – the opinion of men who claimed to haveseen them not proper for polite society –, but Aster knew better than to trustthose pompous bigots.

What would she think of him? Arranged marriages werenot uncommon in their times but it felt like there was an ocean between themwith how different they were.

Would they get along? It almost seemed impossible thatthey would be able to find common ground.

But to his surprise, princess Toothiana had turned outto be quite a remarkable personality (at least to his standards).

Their first encounter was full of tension and statelyprotocol. The latter she broke with a confident smile on her face, clearlyletting all those haughty toffs she would not be intimidated by them.

Although he couldn’t understand her, judging by what ahard time Jack had had to try to conceal his laughter Aster knew the womanstanding before him had more fire within her than any other.

She had refused the dresses they had provided her with–thankfully, because Aster thought her own clothes made her absolutelybreathtaking, any intention of putting her into something more restraining andstifling a disservice to her person–, as well as stubbornly stuck to speakingin her own language . He liked how her rich voice traveled through the room,the unknown words twisting and wrapping around him in a pleasant sensation.

Although she had never made any acknowledgement of thefact, Bunnymund knew princess Toothiana could understand his language. Thespark of understanding gave her away, despite how everyone else considered herand her sister as uncivilized and inferior creatures.

She couldn’t have easily traversed among the wolvesthat surrounded her had she not been a bright and confident woman.

Even though they had not spent much time together, hedid find himself thinking of her: her warm smile when talking or watching overher sister –which reminded him so much of his own–, her bubbly and melodiclaugh when she and Jack shared a secret joke, even the grace she carriedherself with.

Her entrancing eyes followed him around and he couldnot deny the effect her beauty had on him.

But it was more than just that. Her strength anddetermination had quickly casted a deep sense of admiration within him.

She had left everything behind and was facing thisabysmal uncertainty head on.

He truly felt grateful to be by her side, especiallywhen she managed to irritate diplomats and nobles the way she did. And despiteenjoying what an interesting woman she was, he knew there was a whole lot moreto find out.

His fiancé definitely was a mystery, but one he didn’tmind to unravel.

Their wedding came sooner than expected.

Suddenly, Bunnymund found his garments a tadconstricting around his throat. His reflection stared back at him paler than hewished.

He was not ready for this.

Meanwhile, Jack was leaning back against his chair andhaving the time of his life. He had a smirk hanging from his lips and a glassof strong liquor on one hand, claiming that just because Bunny was going towaste such a fine kind of liquid courage didn’t mean he had to.

The young man had always liked to crack jests at hisexpense, which got them into extensive verbal banter. His carefree naturelacked the discipline and method the military service had instilled into Bunnymund.

Bunny found it rather amusing that despite not likingeach other in the beginning they had ended up friends.

It was good to have him around, a friendly face amongthe sea of pampered halfwits who were attending.

Several diplomats and ministers were there to gloat atwhat a good idea had been to match two of the empire’s greatest headaches.

Aster’s family was nowhere to be present. His fatherand mother had been outraged at the news he was marrying a foreigner theyconsidered beneath their status.

His only regret is that he hadn’t been able toproperly talk to his sister. Not even his letters had been answered, probablyintercepted by his father and now serving as tinder for the study’s chimney.

Luckily, Jack had stayed by his side, refusing todepart until his friend was in more stable grounds.

Aster could only imagine how his fiancé might bedealing with the situation from her end.

The wide open windows didn’t feel like they wereletting any air in. The walls were starting to close in on him.

He needed to leave the room, he needed to move.

Without any further explanation he was out the doorand into the corridor before it all became too overwhelming.

A sliver of light from a door slightly ajar caught hisattention.

Peering in, he was surprised when he saw his futurewife and sister in law sitting by the window sill.

The princess was no longer using her colorful clothes.She had been forced into a white wedding dress that constricted her movementsand truly did not complement her dark skin the way her usual garments did.

Although she did look beautiful and any woman from hiscountry would have been raving at the soft satin fabric and the delicate pearlsand crystals embroidered into the dress, it was clear to see that this was notwhat she wanted.

She had had no say in any of the wedding arrangementsand no one had been sympathetic enough to try to make her more comfortable.

His fingers brushed something small that had beenburning the inside of his pocket since Jack had handed it to him (his quips atbeing tired with being an errand boy due to Aster’s house arrest ignored) andwatched the two sisters, wishing he knew what they were saying.

“Our parents would be proud of what a strongwoman you are”, the younger girl commented while trying to put a bravefront for her sister.

“I think they would be proud of the both ofus”, Toothiana cupped her face and stroke her cheek with her thumb. “Youhave been through so much because of me, but I’m glad I have you with me.”

These words filled the young princess’s eyes withtears. She had been doing her best not to cry, to try to be strong and carryher family’s name with dignity. But everything had been possible thanks toToothiana.

A deep sense of fear took over her at the idea ofbeing sent away from her or that her sister’s husband would not allow them tostay together.

“I won’t feel brave if they take you awayfrom me. I don’t want to be alone.” She couldn’t keep her voice fromquivering; tears threatening to break lose in any moment.

Toothiana pulled her close to her chest and squeezedtight, almost to make sure that what remained of her family was truly there.Tears started to form in her eyes. “Do not worry, little sister. I will notallow anyone to separate us.”

They remained like that for a few moments, wishingthat the clock would stop counting down the seconds.

Eventually they separate.

“Why don’t you go with Jack for a while andask him to tell you about sledding through the snow again?”, Toothianasuggested, knowing the young man always managed to cheer her little sister up.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I want some time on my own before I have togo.”

The girl smiled and nodded, quickly exiting the roomin search for the fair haired boy that had swiftly had become their friend duringthese testing times.

Toothiana would have to thank him for being so kindand staying until everything had settled down – although she was certain thathe was also hoping to catch a particular black-haired girl’s attention before allwedding celebrations were over. She didn’t know much about Emily JanePitchiner, but knew that her friend would never fall for a shallow woman andthe girl seemed to have a sensible head on her shoulders.

If Jack had chosen her, she was bound to be special.

The memory of the pair made Toothiana focus on theview before her, thinking at the same time of her own parents and how in lovethey had been.

Nothing of these was related to love. Not even asingle aspect of her wedding was truly hers.

In her home her engagement and wedding would have beenone of the greatest events of the region.

Suitable men would have been called from far and wideto attend the ceremony where she would choose her own husband. There would havebeen exchange of gifts, prayers at the temples, celebrations.

She would have used a beautiful red dress and adorned herselfwith jewelry and flowers, like other brides from her culture.

She would have her family and friends join her groomand her in the joyful yet solemn occasion, clapping and cheering when thenewlyweds exchanged garland as a symbol of acceptance.

There would have been demure side glances, nervouslaughter at being caught watching, a rush of excitement while holding hands.

Toothiana forced herself to cast away those images,looking down at her hand and tracing the delicate and intricate traces of hennathat her sister had painstakingly drawn onto her hands.

It had been the only aspect of her culture they hadmanaged to have, mainly because the sister had done it at night when everyonewas asleep and then it was too late to do anything about it. The princessesrelished on how the maids and instructors assigned to them fussed on howuntoward it was.

A choked sob escaped from her throat and tears rolleddown her cheeks before Toothiana could hold them back. She made no movement towipe them away.

She had been hiding her emotions to both not givethose bastards the satisfaction and to not worry her little sister. But now shewas alone, she could allow herself to cry a little.

The door slowly creaked open and she turned aroundexpecting her sister or even one of the annoying ladies that had done nothingbut pester and nag at her.

She quietly gasped when she saw Bunnymund lingering atthe door, as if considering if he should pursue this course of action.

Turning around, Toothiana wiped away her tears and triedto swallow down the feeling of embarrassment at someone seeing her crying.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered courteously, sounding a tadashamed. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you, princess.”

She gave him no answer.

“I know that you wished not for this union.” Bunnymundcleared his throat. “And I would not do you a disservice by saying that this isthe way I wanted my marriage to unfold.”

Well, at least they were being honest.

“But…”, he paused to gather strength. “Despite thecircumstances, we find ourselves together in uncharted territory. I know nothow to be a good husband and I’m sure that Jack has made you aware of my manyflaws.”

Toothiana smiled, wanting to turn around and poke funat him about the fact that no matter how much they bickered, Jack had a trueappreciation of him as a friend. Yet she remained quiet.

“We may not know much about each other. But in whatlittle time we have had, I have realized that I’ve never met a braver, more strong-willed,and kinder woman I would wish to marry.” He slowly and carefully approachedher, letting her know he meant her no threat or harm.

Her heartbeat accelerated the way it always did whenhe looked at her with those green eyes of his.

Despite her cautiousness around him but she hadmanaged to see that he was nothing like the noblemen from this country.

He had always been gentleman towards her and hersister, his presence making her feel safer. Whenever they sat with Jack andinteracted he showed true interest in what she had to say, curiously askingquestions and wanting to know more about her and her country.

And, through enough persuasion, she had found out ofwhy he had been discharged from the army and forced to come back to hishomeland.

Jack had only explained the general details, insistingthat it was better for her to hear it from Bunnymund himself, but she wasgrateful that now she knew what an outstanding man her future husband was.

Toothiana had found something she never imagined shewould find in him: kindred of spirit. Despite the differences, they shared alot in common. Their passions and ideals did not clash with the other’s, butthey burned brightly with the same intensity.

She was starting to want to know more about him.

“What I’m trying to say is…you’re not alone,princess.” He stared at her with meaningful intensity. “I promise I will carefor you and protect you to the best of my ability, til death do we part.”

Aster kneeled down while pulling a small box from hispocket and offering it to her.

Uncertain, she took it and cautiously opened.

Tears prickled at her eyes and a wave of emotion swepther as she stared at a delicate necklace with black beads on the chain and agolden pendant.

A tradition among her people was that the groom wassupposed to tie it around her neck, recognizing her as a married woman.

“Jack told me that it was customary in your countryfor the groom to gift these to the bride.”

Silence stretched as Toothiana took the necklace toadmire it in its full splendor.

Noticing the lack of verbal response and the way hisfiancé was crying, an instant feeling of panic gripped at him. Had he offendedher? Had he ruined an important custom from her country? Had Jack lead himalong just to make him look like a fool?

“I… I apologize if I have offended you, princess. It wasnot my intention to…” His face started to feel redder by the second as hespluttered.

She chuckled and shook her head to let him know hisfears were unfounded, a couple of tears still trailing down her face due tobeing moved by such a sweet gesture.

He took that as a good sign. Standing up he extendedhis hand towards the piece of jewelry. “May I?”

Her beautiful smile when she nodded made his heartskip a beat, while he inched closer so he could put the necklace on her.

It felt strangely intimate (yet not unwelcomingly so).They had never been so close, and thus never felt the heat radiating from theother’s body.

Toothiana could finally appreciate the finer detailsof his features, while Aster was finally able to let her perfume tickle theback of his nose.

Once he was satisfied with how it looked he slightlystepped to fully gaze at the enchanting woman, now looking even lovelier withthe smile that graced her lips.

He was as bold as to take her hands in his, but wasrelieved when she didn’t pull away.

“From now on, you are my path, and I choose you.”

Toothiana couldn’t be happier that they agreed.

*****

THE END, my lovelies!

Also, three cheers for Jack being such a good bro

I hope you liked it and that my writing did justice to the topics that were depicted here. See you soon and don’t hesitate to send me prompts! :D

P.S.:

I add bellow the links that I used as reference/inspiration to write this piece:

https://www.britannica.com/event/Indian-Mutiny

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/victorians/indian_rebellion_01.shtml

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/empire/g2/cs2/background.htm

https://australianstogether.org.au/discover/australian-history/colonisation/

http://cbhsyearfivehistory.weebly.com/aboriginal-lifestyle-after-british-colonisation.html

http://www.britishempire.me.uk/page102.html

https://museumsvictoria.com.au/longform/journeys-to-australia/

https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/article/2016/12/01/10-things-you-should-know-about-slavery-australia

https://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/history/australia-has-a-history-of-aboriginal-slavery

https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/australia-needs-to-own-up-to-its-slave-history-20150427-1muhg3.html

https://www.quora.com/In-Ancient-India-a-woman-chose-her-husband-in-Swayamvar-true-or-false

https://www.manhattanbride.com/insights/indian/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swayamvara

https://www.kuberbox.com/blog/mangalsutra-different-states-india/

#sweettooth #bunnymundxtooth #bunnymundxtoothiana #bunnymund #toothiana #rise of the guardians #ROTG

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