#my fix for this major flop on my part is that hes grown up now and sees how it can be dangerous especially to a very small child

[rooniearts]

Knuckles "The Fun Uncle" the Echidna, everyone

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 4

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so…, Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence.

AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

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

Previously:

Not wanting to stay in my head any longer, I drift off into a dreamless slumber awaiting the day that will ultimately decide not only my fate, but the fate of the demons I’ve grown to call, family.

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

CHAPTER 4 - I want you to be the one... (1842 words)

Snapping my eyes awake I shivered against the air as a bucket of ice cold water was thrown into my face.

“Get up human!”

A guard then roughly pulled me up by the shoulder twisting my arms behind my back and locking them together while unlocking the chain on my ankle. Pushing me out of my cell and half escorting me half dragging me out of the dungeon and to where my trial was supposed to take place all before I could even register that I woke up. As we were walking toward what I assumed was the very same courtyard where we welcomed the king not 24 hours ago, I started hearing lots of yelling. Straining to hear, I realized that it was the brothers arguing amongst each other about what they should do and Diavolo attempting to calm them down, sounding conflicted himself. Upon entering the courtyard I locked eyes with the brothers as they fell silent in shock upon seeing me bound in chains as I was escorted on stage where the king was waiting with Diavolo and the brothers.

*Flashback*

After I passed out.

“Father! What did you do to them?!”

“I am humouring you my son. They are being held under the palace and I am forbidding any one of you from making contact with them.”

“My Liege, I implore you to please reconsider your judgment. They are unaware of how the politics work here and they simply misspoke. I assure you they don’t mean you any harm.” Lucifer lowered his head pleading to the king to reconsider his choice.

“Lucifer is right! They mean the world to us and they can’t possibly do anything to you or the Devildom!” Mammon joined in. The brothers then each said their piece about you.

“You all disgust me, pleading for a human's life. You are my highest ranking demons. Show some dignity!”

“With all due respect my king, that human you are referring to is the one that bettered your kingdom and has achieved far more than any human, demon, or angel could hope to accomplish in the span of just 1 year. They have brought us all together and mended ties we didn’t even know were broken. Y/N is a human I would give up my Pride for-”

“My Greed for-”

“My Envy for-”

“My Wrath for-”

“My Lust for-”

“My Gluttony for-”

“My Sloth for-”

“My title for-”

“My powers for-”

“Y/N is a one of a kind human. They have found their way into our lives and there is nothing you can do to take that away from us my Liege.”

“That was quite the speech Pride, although that doesn’t change my opinion about them. If anything, it just makes my decision all the more ironclad. But I will humour you all. Seeing as how you’re all willing to give up the very thing that makes you, you for the human, a public trial will be held. Their fate shall be decided there. Until then, I forbid any contact between them, through their pact, dreams, or any interference with the timeline. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Liege” they all responded simultaneously as the king left the room.

*Later in the east sitting room with Lucifer, Barbatos and Diavolo*

“What are we going to do Dia?” Lucifer exclaimed as he did something he has never done while sober and flopped onto a couch opposite of Diavolo as Barbatos sat into a seat in between them.

Holding his head Diavolo responded.

“I don’t know Luci. I just don’t know. As the crown prince I can’t go against my Father and as my right hand neither can you, but things are different with them involved. I just don’t know.”

Sighing, Diavolo laid down on the couch no longer giving a care about anything, just thinking about different possibilities.

“Barb-?”

“No can do my lord. The king forbade me from using my powers. Even if you were to command me, I don’t have access to them for the time being.”

“Do me a favour Barb and drop the title for now? Please? I need my friends, not my subordinates.”

“Alright, Diavolo. Let me say this then. You both know that no matter what happens tomorrow, Y/N will be banished from the Devildom. We all know that the king isn’t above making us suffer just to prove a point. How are we going to support Y/N and stop them from harming themselves should they be banished to the human realm?”

“Jeez Barb! That isn’t what we need right now! I don’t want to think about that.” Lucifer added the last part with a whisper.

“My brothers are going to be absolutely devastated. Y/N kept them all together, it’s going to be really difficult keeping everyone together with them gone.” “Adding to the list of problems, now that my Father is back, we 3 now serve him. I don’t get to dictate anything until he crowns me, not like before. We will all be swamped with more work as Father will more than likely try to “fix” my improvements to the Devildom.”

The three sat in silence, lost in their minds, endless possibilities and scenarios floating around in their heads. Eventually, Lucifer excused himself under the guise of some unfinished paperwork and returned back to the House of Lamentation.

“Barb?”

“Yes?”

“What have we done?”

“I don’t know my friend. I don’t know.”

*End Flashback*

Walking up the steps towards the stage, I held my head high making eye contact with no one other than my demons as I kept my expression as comforting as possible for them. Poor Asmo and Mammon looked like a dam threatening to burst. Beel wasn’t faring any better holding on to Belphie for comfort. Levi squeezed Mammon's hand discreetly. Satan gave a sad smile. Lucifer stood by Diavolo’s side, each giving you the smallest hint of a smile while Barbatos stood behind Diavolo's left looking like he always did, but after spending so much time with him, you noticed the small sign of sympathy in his eyes. Making my way center stage I was pushed onto my knees in front of the king. I raised my head up high making direct eye contact in defiance. The king then addressed the crowd which I noticed is filled with not only Demons and Sorcerers of different powers but many demons I knew from RAD and called my friends. They looked solemn as I realized that I made an impact on more than just the brothers.

“Denizens of Devildom! Here is a human who has upset the balance of the Devildom…”

I drowned out the rest of his speech not focusing on anything except for my family up on stage. Ignoring the ringing in my head, I reached out with my pacts just enough for them to feel it. I sent them some of my favourite memories over the years and wished Satan a happy birthday before the king declared my sentence. Holding my head high, I locked my gaze onto him.

“The human known as Y/N is hereby banished from the 3 realms, their soul to be returned to oblivion!”

Smirking he turned to face me. Smiling, showing off his fangs he asked,

“I believe that is a suitable sentence, don't you Y/N?”

I ignored him and turned to the demons on stage. I watched as Beel grabbed onto Belphie harder as tears came to both of their eyes. I saw the dam break in both Mammon and Asmo as Levi and Satan both battled their own tears to try and comfort them. I watched as Lu’s face paled and Diavolo squeezed his friend's shoulder a little tighter to try and ground him. Barbatos looked more solemn as his eyes started to water ever so slightly. The king then summoned a sword, turning towards the brothers, then walked until he stood directly in front of Lucifer and Diavolo. Letting go of his friend's shoulder, both Diavolo and Lucifer bowed their heads towards their king. He then shifted to face Lucifer and held out the sword towards him. A look of shock crossed over the brothers' faces as Lucifer looked up to his king in confusion hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it meant as he slowly accepted the sword.

“Lucifer, Cardinal Sin of Pride. You will be the one to deliver the blow.”

The colour fully drained from his face as the king stepped to the side to allow Lucifer to step up. Slowly with a trembling breath, Lucifer approached you with pleading eyes silently praying that this was some sick nightmare. His brothers looked on in horror, shock freezing them in place. Stopping in front of you, he took one look at you, turned to the king and lowered the sword.

“No… I won’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said NO! I will not kill Y/N!”

“Yes, you will.”

The king's eyes started glowing as an aura surrounded Lucifer. His brothers broke out of their trance and tried to reach towards you to hold back their brother from killing you against their wishes. Diavolo and Barbatos stood in shock as the scene unfolded.

“Hear me, denizens of the darkness.” Everyone onstage immediately stopped in their tracks and looked my way.

“Hear me denizens of the darkness. You who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it.” Upon starting the incantation, a magic circle appeared beneath me and Lucifer; my shackles started glowing. An intense pain shot through my skull. Pushing past the pain I continued.

“HEAR ME AND DO AS I COMMAND!” The shackles around my wrists broke under my power and I stood up facing the brothers. The king tried to move towards me but the circle by my feet prevented him from getting close.

“I Y/N order the 7 sins not to interfere with this trial. You are not to make a move against the king after the completion of the trial. You 7 are to remain loyal to Lord Diavolo and continue serving him as his word now outranks the kings!” Ignoring the pleading looks on the brothers' faces, I turned to Lucifer.

“Lucifer, Avatar of the Cardinal Sin of Pride, you are to follow through with your king's command and execute me as is due with your sword. You are to remain loyal to Lord Diavolo above the crown. You are to continue watching over your brothers and are not allowed to fight me on this decision.” Cupping Lucifer's cheek I whispered into his ear, “I want you to be the one Lu.” Stepping back I finished my order. “Now kill me!” Kneeling before Lucifer I looked up with a smile on my face watching as unshed tears began pooling in his eyes as he summoned his sword.

“LUCIFER! NO!”

“LUCIFER! PLEASE NO!”

“Y/N!”

Lucifer looked into my eyes muttering something in angelic before whispering, “I’m sorry…”

With tears burning his eyes he buried the sword deep into my heart.

“Thank you”

[duraxxor]

Shadowlands: Chapter 1 - Division

Icecrown had often been a referred to as the capital of the Frozen North. Hues of blue decorated by the overcast of frigid snow. Remorseless and more often than naught, it often filled one with a sinking depression. Over the past several years, it had become a monument to undeath. The citadel spires erect in honor of the Lich King. However, much like many areas, the Frozen Throne was once a prison to the first Lich King, Ner'zhul. The Maw itself was originally designed to keep the Jailer imprisoned. But it had long become more a staging ground for something more sinister. Unlike it's mirror opposite, it was completely devoid of any sort of life and beauty. An undying husk plagued by hellish fire and nightmarish shadows that seek only to steal any soul, innocent or sinful of heart. The cycle had been shattered and now their was an rising flux of evil within it's heart... 

" Alphus... Daevara... time to awaken... " A hallowed voice called to him, possessing soulless depth that lacked any heart. Deprived and withered of any sort of remorse for this soul. The flow grating across one's mind like nails to a chalkboard, screeching and gnawing away. Dura's eyes slowly came an open, tugging at his arms as he realized he was in a shackles with his back flat against a metallic wall. The first vision of this formless creature before him haunted his mind as he couldn't make out a face or even a pair of eyes to stare into. Jaw falling open as if he had truly seen a ghost of sorts. "... how curious... you do no show fear but... curiosity... do you not fear the immeasurable pain that is to befall you from the unknown, child? " The voice flowed a testament to mock the mortals weakness of being caught in the first place. Wings of black smog finally painting a memorable picture that slowly caught Duraxxor up with where his story left off.

" Fear? " He questioned the very notion of such, his voice also having grown hollow. The fact rung across his eardrums as he cast a glance across the entire landscape. Never in his lives did he believe himself to find such a grotesque landscape that rivaled even the Scourge. "... What is this? Why am I being restrained like some animal? "He tightly tugged at his bonds, feeling as if the metal was barbed and pulling away at his very soul threads. " What is their to fear? I fear no pain of what is to come? This... land.. where am I?" 

The specter of death stepped over towards a small table off to the side as the harsh cries of some other individual echoed across the landscape, moaning it's displeasure to held prove a point in the words that were about to be uttered. " You are in the Maw... there is no hope. No escape. And you will yield yourself to his will or be consumed by the endless darkness. " The formless armor stepped forward, bearing a blade in arm that pulsed with tethers of anima, fibers of soul magic that was as common in the Shadowlands as mana was back on Azeroth. Another wailing cry echoed from the opposite direction from the last as the feeling of dread tried to creep along Dura's neck. 

Alphus' glare focused on the weapon, noting the magic that imbued the blade before he looked at the specter's helm, treating the eye sockets as a something to stare into. " You seek to torture me for eternity? Then you are sadly mistaken... I will not yield to any pain... there is work to be done and it is your meddling that has delayed the death of one who is worthy... " He hadn't forgotten about Lindeara, a being of chaos that would do whatever it takes to see her plans come to fruition while sabotaging any in her path. He wondered if these creatures had captured her and planned to torment her soul in this land. " Where is she? " 

" It matters not where anyone is... you will yield... whether as a whole being... or a broken one... " The being didn't hesitate or show any caution in her movements as she thrust this sword directly into the center of Dura's pectorals, feeling something tear into him like he had never felt before. It was as if his own soul had spontaneously combusted from inside, burning away. His veins began to start flowing with with erratic magics as he reeled back, crying out in something that truly hurt him.

" You... You wretch... ed! Gaaahhh! " He felt his form start to twist and writhe as bat wings tried to sproud out involuntarily while his features began taking on the form of a bat-like creature, shrieking as the pain began to get worse. He flailed and writhed like an animal that had been caught in a trap, helpless and bleeding out from his wounds. " I refuse... to yield! So much... left undone! " Despite his protests, all he gained was the symphony of cries that followed all over the hell bound lands and the growing pain of the blade being removed and reapplied all across his body. The actions felt as seconds had suddenly turned into hours, days, it almost felt like months were falling away, withering him from the inside out as he felt his body start to grow weak and heavy. " I... will not... yield... " Duraxxor continued to weakly protest, angrily staring at his captor despite the amount of puncture wounds that leaked the energies of his very soul, already tinged with a crimson flow. 

" This one.. shows great promise.. my master... he has already been touched by the power of anima.. " His captor commented, as if to be speaking with another person who was not currently present. Quietly, silence passed between him and this cold creature wielding a sword as a tool. " Of course, master... It is as you say... as a whole or as a fraction.. " The being pulled the blade out, giving Dura moment to linger on the pains of this torture, the winged creature of a man quivering from the consistent trauma being inflicted upon his bodily soul. The specter watched as he lifted up his head and bore his twisted gaze into their form, rumbling with a growl before it was cut short by a sudden slash of the blade that cut right through him as if he were nothing more than sliced bread. A jagged crack suddenly forming across his entire torso.

" What's... happen.. ing!? " Duraxxor could barely audibly speaking as he writhed agony, feeling the tethers that kept himself slowly spread apart. Like a paper husk, we was being split into pieces straight to the central fibers. Discoloration began to settle on his features as he soon found he was losing himself. The images of his life cycling through at a sporadic rate as the pain ignited wildly. His body slowly began to lose physique and he found that even has face was splitting into three sections as he bellowed out loud enough for the other denizens to feel the amount of agony he was enduring. The overly dramatized No following forth before the Duraxxor we knew finally shattered like glass, leaving the chains connected to three individual massses of energy that retained no shape. These shards of what was once the Myotis now writhed in agony in an attempt to rebuild and take on physical forms. A single fragment taking form in a serpentine-like creature that billowed and snapped it's jaws while lashing it's tail wildly like a whip. The second fragment, flapped two limbs that began to form, sharp teeth now shrieking as it flopped around due to being grounded. A full coat of fur beginning to form on the majority of it's body like a grizzled fruit bat. Then finally, at the epicenter of, the last piece began to take on the form of a humanoid. A younger, frail elf that possessed pale features, two snake bite piercings, and a gaze that bore no fruit and was as clear as glass. This new being was gasping for air and naked, possessing quite the panicked look as he felt his throbbing within his chest much like a living organ. Looking around, the creatures and their captor had finally disappeared, leaving what was left of Daevara alone to their own devices.

" What's going on? Why... who are you? " The elf looked to each of the creatures with unfamiliarity and a shivering fear about what was transpiring. 

" Reeeeeeeeeek! What is this?! Why did we fall apart?! " The bat creature screeched and continued to roll around on the ground, making matters worse as the chains started to wrap around his wings. 

The serpentine finally managed to coil up defensively and calm himself, peaking from between his his coils as he hissed at the two. " There is no need for panic... it would appear that our soul has been split asssssunder... I do not undersssstand what hasss happened... but now.... we are trapped together... but sssseperate.. " 

The bat finally ceased his movements as he tried to straighten himself up as he looked over towards the elf and speak. " Hey, you, you look just like us as a kid... does that mean you're the main part of us? Why are you so weak and frail? "

The elf finally sat up, curling his body to hide his shame before he finally answered his bat companion. " I... I don't know... I just feel this... vulnerability... I don't... feel like.. myself... what is... happening to... Me? Us? You? I don't even know... " Confusion showed about his features as he looked between the two.

" How the hell are we going to get out of here? What if we are stuck like this forever?! " The bat piped up as he wildly flapped his wings around, gusting air before he found himself whiplashed by the serpent's ridiculously long tail. " Ow! "

  " Would you calm yourself, you gutter snipe... do you want to catch the attention of more denizens of this place... we have to remain calm until we formulate a plan to rid ourselves of these chains... we are all a part of this until we figure out how to fix it... " The serpent appears to be the voice of logical reasoning out of the entire trio before he coiled himself around the elf protectively. " She will come... someone will come... don't forget this... " 

The elf looked towards the crimson serpent as if he was providing some insight and guidance to the situation before he nodded. " Very well... we will hold out as long as we can... until then.. let us... keep one another company, my friends. " He reached over to his left side and actually pet the bat creature along his head before he spoke further on the matter. " I shall call you... Randdu... and Sphula... " He gestured to the serpent with his other hand for the second name before he gestured to his own chest. " For now... I am simply Daev.... and we will figure out how to escape and settle the score... this i swear to you both... "

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 5

AO3

Beta reader was @thesnadger!

Some thoughts on where to go next.

Martin is as helpful as he can be.

Their business finished, Jon and Martin exchanged a friendly “See you tomorrow” and went their separate ways. Jon turned on his heel and took the first turn out of sight. Martin, still holding his groceries, pressed his head against a nearby building and said under his breath, “God, you’re predictable. Smiles at you once and you’re done for. Must be a record.”

It had been a nice smile, though. Maybe at some point he would get to see a non-nervous one, the kind where the person’s face seems to open up like- No, he was not going to fall into poetic daydreaming, not this soon. Good lord.

He stood up straight, fixing his hair and checking for any witnesses. With the coast clear, he started the long walk home. It was fine. Martin wasn’t a complete idiot. He would accept the good news that Jon didn’t despise him and would roll with it, trying his best not to muck it up with more stupid mistakes. Then, with either their time used up or the investigation completed, all three of them would be gone.

The thought struck him hard, and Martin almost stumbled from the emotional whiplash. It had been, what, a day and a half? Surely not long enough to miss them that much, especially the person who had only just started being nice to him ten minutes ago. But Martin knew himself better than that.

Jon had been nice, just as Tim and Sasha had been nice, and he was going to miss the company when they had to leave. It was natural to feel sad about it, he told himself, but eventually their leaving would be a relief. The one-sided affection would have no room for hoping or growing otherwise. At the same time, he might as well enjoy the company of interesting people. Interesting people who wanted to help him, even! Jon had said he’d wanted to work together to figure things out, so that’s what Martin would try to do.

As long as it didn’t get him fired. As long as nothing they did fucked over any chance of employment. As long as his place of work didn’t eat him out of a hunger for vengeance.

Pushing those sour thoughts deep into the back of his consciousness, Martin focused on the morning’s events the rest of the way home. Plans of action formed in his mind, most of them related to the task at hand, a few needing to be waved away as wishful thinking. There was work to be done.

It took quite a bit of digging through crumpled and disorganized paperwork he’d saved from many unsuccessful attempts at employment, but after lunch, Martin sat on his bed with his original work contract. At the bottom was the signature of Peter Lukas, and in the bottom left corner was the stamped Lukas family crest, which Martin had seen every day on a small plaque adorning the lighthouse interior, right over his desk.

It was a simple and rather generic image of a black and white shield, framed by an albatross and a laughably inaccurate seal that Martin couldn’t help but gawk at years after he’d first seen it. He wondered if the artist responsible had had to work with someone telling them what a seal looked like from memory or if the family just hadn’t cared too much for accuracy. Based on the strange ideas Peter would spout at times of how the ocean worked, Martin would bet on the latter. Maybe the whole family was just like that?

Either way, it was equal parts ridiculous and unnerving as it lurked over Martin’s shoulder during the work day but didn’t have much use to him otherwise. He was no expert on symbolism and there was nothing he could see that would relate the crest to the task at hand.

Martin leafed through the work contract, glazing over benefits and salary before stopping on the section labeled “Employee Assignments and Other Expected Duties”.

“Sec. III. The employee agrees to the following non-exhaustive list of duties:

-Be present at the premises between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, Monday through Friday, including lunch break. -Complete bookkeeping for the employer, Mr. Peter Lukas, using materials delivered to the premises on Monday morning. Delivery will always be completed by the employee's set arrival time at 6am. If nothing is delivered, contact the main house for further instruction to procure materials. -Clean the interior of the premises at regular intervals, including the main entrance, bathroom, kitchen, and upper floors. -Between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, complete the maintenance list of the top floor (see Sec. IV). This must be completed once every day of the week, including Saturday and Sunday, between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm. There is a zero-tolerance policy for lack of completion. -Inform unexpected visitors of the proper procedure for scheduling a paid tour of the premises (See Sec. V) -Accept packages and sign for if necessary.

Martin looked over the list, biting his cheek. He’d grown lax on staying until 4pm, but with Peter’s general lack of awareness, it had never come up. Otherwise, the duties seemed in line with what he remembered. He looked down to Section IV.

“As referred to in Sec. III, the employee will complete the following tasks during the hours of 6 am and 4 pm every day, including Saturday and Sunday:”

Following this was the list he had long ago written down and taped to his desk. There were no details relating to the purpose of each task, just procedure. He’d kept to the instructions consistently, every switch flipped and seemingly-pointless button pressed, though he’d been very close to missing the 4pm mark on several occasions because of the dreaded walk to the top. This list, again, wasn’t much help. He went over the document a few times then set it aside and flopped onto his back, scattering some loose papers to the floor.

He’d need to find some other angle. Research was a non-starter for him without experience, and as far as his town knowledge was concerned, it wasn’t wrong to call him forgetful in that area as well. It was likely he’d have to accept his part as an amateur tour guide. It didn’t feel like enough, but starting Monday, he’d be back to working and have no time to help anyway, unless their work somehow kept them late into the night.

Jon had been nice with all the working-together talk, but Martin knew he wouldn’t be of much use at all. If he wanted to be helpful, he should begin prepping for dinner.

-

As evening turned to night, Martin and his mother sat at the dining room table in silence, interrupted only by the light clinking of plates and utensils as they finished the pan-fried chicken and vegetables in front of them. Weekends were always better meal days, always leaving Martin feeling more satisfied with his cooking with all the time he had to focus on it. His mother showed no greater signs of enjoyment than eating without complaint.

“Mum, can I ask you something?” Martin ran his thumb against the smooth metal of his fork. “It’s about work.”

Martin’s mother paused from eating another bite of her meal. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.

Swallowing hard, Martin said, “How much have you had to deal with the Lukas family? There’s this research project being completed and it’s involving a lot of history, so I thought since you’ve lived here so long-”

“Long enough, yes.” Martin could see her nostril twitch. “They came in long before I did and will most likely stay until the fish run out. Otherwise, I kept to my business and they kept to theirs. No reason to get involved with people who wouldn’t bother walking down the hills on foot.”

“Right, it’s just-”

“I don’t feel like talking, Martin,” she said, her voice cracking slightly at his name. “My throat is too sore.”

“Right. Okay, I’ll get you some more water.” He picked up her glass to refill and bit back any other questions. Next to the sink was his mother’s pill case with the current day’s compartment still full. “We’ll get your meds done now, then. Should help a bit.” His mother didn’t respond, having already returned to her dinner.

Afterwards, she requested to step outside. “The night air is good for my lungs,” she argued as a matter of fact, and with no way to dissuade her, Martin completed their little ritual of walking out the door and standing in the fog-filled night in silence, his own face covered in an old scarf. His eyes watered in the dry, salty gale, and he wondered how much time it had taken for his mother to withstand the sting without any tears.

-

By mid-morning the next day, Martin had finished his duties upstairs. Sitting at the table, he listened to the group’s progress from after he had left them the day before. Spread across the table were photocopies of what looked like legal documents, some of the bare spots between them filled with used mugs of varying sizes.

“We weren’t able to stay there for long before it closed, but we were able to look up some records at the library yesterday,” Sasha explained, sifting through the papers. “Not a terrible archive, all things considered. We’re going to head there again tomorrow morning for a more in-depth look. We didn’t even get to looking for details on the construction of this place.”

“But!” Tim waved one of the copies above his head. “We did get some info on the Lukases themselves. Current residents in town, major stakeholders, that kind of stuff. And-” He pressed the sheet close to Martin’s face. It was a copy (of a copy) of a newspaper article featuring the lighthouse, with some figures standing at the entrance, including one Peter Lukas. “Martin, d’you know anything about the person who worked here before you? He’s one of the younger ones in the family, standing on the left.”

Martin scratched the back of his neck, squinting at the photo. “A bit? Evan Lukas, he was really nice from what I’d heard.”

Tim frowned, lowering his arm. “‘Was’?”

“Yeah, he passed away before I started working here. Peter said it was some heart thing. Runs in the family.” Tim slumped. “Sorry! I’m surprised the records didn’t say so. It was a pretty big deal, really shook people. It made the front page, though I never read the details.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Jon asked, tapping on the rim of his empty mug.

“Sort of? We went to school around the same time and were only a few years apart, which was weird since you wouldn’t expect him to go to a state school with a family like that? Anyway, that was years ago, but even after that you’d hear about him. He was gone for a while, actually, but somehow he ended up in this old place a few years back and, well, y’know.” Martin rubbed his hands.

“Hmmm.” Tim leaned back in his chair, flipping a pencil between his fingers. “Okay, well, that’s one person we probably can’t talk to outside of spookier means. Is there anyone who knew him well?”

Pausing for a moment, Martin said, “I think… no, yeah, he was engaged, but his fiancée left town pretty soon after he died. Don’t know anything about her except she wasn’t a local.” Silence stretched over them as Tim sat in his disappointment

“Well, shit,” Tim let out in an overblown sigh. Sasha patted Tim’s shoulder in sympathy. He grinned at her. “That’s all I’ve got, then. Time to call it a day?” he asked, earning himself a pinch on the ear.

“We’ll just have to go over the items we have until tomorrow,” Jon said, his sigh brimming with exhaustion. “Who knows, we might’ve missed something the first time. Before that, Martin, who was the person we missed yesterday? Would they be worth talking to?”

Hesitating, Martin responded, “Maybe? But if you’ve already got a way to look up historical stuff, it might be better to skip this one.” Jon raised an eyebrow at him and his stomach dropped at the attention.

“It’s just, he’s an eccentric person, difficult to track down, and while he knows the Lukas family pretty well, it’s only because their families do business. His family, the Fairchilds, they’re not a huge family in this town, but this guy, Simon, he’s, well. He’s this small, old man, right?” Martin tapped his foot, looking for something to say to end his babbling. “And you know the cliff behind the lighthouse? It’s got at least 150 meters straight down to sea?” The three nodded, and Martin smiled, his brows furrowed.

“Years ago, he dove right off the damned thing.”

-

Tim gaped over the railing, his breath floating over the edge. Sasha and Jon gaped slightly less, and from a safer distance, though that didn’t seem to save Jon from the effects of the harsh, cold wind that sent him shivering through a nothing of a windbreaker. Far below the cliff’s edge, down past the wind-worn rock and smattering of trees, through a thin layer of fog that cradled the seaside, there waited an incredibly harsh landing of sea and stone.

“But there’s a fuckload of rocks down there?” Tim sputtered.

Martin kept his gaze straight forward. “Yeah.”

“And even if he just hit water, I mean-”

“Made it out just fine.”

“And you were thinking of just skipping this guy? I don’t care if he’s unhelpful, I want to see if he can fly or something.” Tim stepped from the safety rails, giving one a good pat.

Sasha crossed her arms, eyeing the drop. “Do you know where we can find him?”

Martin scratched his face. “Most of the time he comes here to see Peter for business. Peter absolutely hates it since it’s usually out of nowhere, and Simon always claims he does it because he likes surprises, but I think he just likes to be irritating. Otherwise…” Turning to look at the lighthouse, Martin said, “I do know where Simon lives, and while I can’t guarantee he’ll want to speak to you about anything specific, he definitely loves to talk.”

“Is there anything he’s said to you about the Lukas family? Or the building?” Jon looked at Martin intently, clearly doing his best to not shiver.. “Anything that might’ve seemed like nothing more than gossip or reminiscing?”

With Jon staring at him, Martin’s brain sputtered to a stop. “I-I don’t think so? Like I said, he’s eccentric, so it’s hard to pick apart anything he says as being sincere or as a joke. He told me he was once a firebreather, and I still don’t know if I believe him. Sorry, I know that’s not super helpful.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck.

Jon relaxed his gaze, his corner of his mouth quirking down just a little. “It’s all right. If we can get a hold of him, we’ll ask him some simple questions and hopefully sift through any confusion. Right now, we can all stop giving ourselves vertigo and get back inside. It’s freezing out here.” Jon made a show of shoving his hands under his arms and walked back to the lighthouse.

“Poor guy’s circulation is shot, honestly. Could get hypothermia walking into a basement,” Tim teased behind his hand, not bothering to lower his voice as he leaned toward Sasha and Martin.

“Ha. Very funny.” Jon sent a withering glare over his shoulder and slipped indoors. They followed him back inside, and while the other three sat to discuss possible interview questions, Martin got another round of tea going. He had to have some of those to-go paper coffee cups somewhere in these cupboards, but no amount of looking revealed them. Instead, he managed to find one lonely travel mug and contemplated his options.

Would it be too obvious? Would Jon consider it him joining in on the teasing? At the thought of Jon stubbornly standing outside in a too-thin jacket, Martin resigned himself to whatever reaction he would receive. Either way, he'd get something warm in Jon’s hands so the little pang in his chest would go away.

When Martin brought him the mug, Jon looked suspicious but didn’t complain.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 5

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 5: After spending the night together, Tommy wishes he could solve conflict easily, Lizzie has some sage advice for Leah. Leah’s past isn’t all behind her. 

         Tommy rarely had hangovers anymore. Or at least ones that he even noticed. He usually had a migraine so it made no difference if it was a stress headache or that of a hangover. In fact, he felt a little lighter on that particular morning after the night out with Leah. If anything could get Thomas Shelby to fall asleep it was a copious amount of alcohol and a few rounds of sex. He actually slept through most of the night once he and Leah passed out in bed.

           Itching for a cigarette upon waking, Tommy opened his eyes and stretched an arm out for his always-nearby pack. After regaining awareness of his surroundings, he realized he was pinned to the bed by a particularly cozy blonde. A rare morning smile crossed his face and his mind wandered to how it used to be. Grace always curled up in his arms when they went to sleep. But by the end of the night, she managed to accumulate all the blankets, unknowingly keeping them far from Tommy. He never minded.

           Leah appeared to be the opposite. She was sprawled out over him, her cheek resting on his sternum, one hand resting on his collarbone, the other pressed to his heart. Her legs tangled with his and if she had been a full-grown man, Tommy wouldn’t be able to move. She was fast asleep and he was hesitant to wake her.

           But he needed a smoke. As carefully as he could, Tommy tried to ease out from under her. He froze when she stirred but she merely turned over, flopping off of him and onto the bed. Relieved, Tommy quietly sat up and saw his cigarettes weren’t on the night table. Remembering the night before, he realized he hadn’t gone through his typical night routine.

           After leaving the yard, they’d returned to Watery Lane and Tommy barely let Leah get up the stairs before kissing her. Pressing her up against the wall, his fingers already working at the buttons running down the back of her dress. It took some time but they eventually stumbled upstairs. The room showed evidence of their disregard for the world around them. They were too intently focused on each other. His things were scattered all over the floor. He’d tossed Leah’s dress to the furthest corner of the room and her stockings now adorned the dresser.

           Tommy rose quietly and slipped on a pair of boxers. He searched for his coat and found his cigarette pack. But he forgot they’d run out the night before. Cursing silently under his breath, Tommy hastily got dressed and headed down to find more. He locked the door behind him so no one would wander into the room and disturb Leah. Without his pocket watch, most likely lost among the cluttered room, he had no idea what time it was as he went downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~

           No one was in the parlor so Tommy entered the betting shop to track down cigarettes. The shop was already bustling with activity. Bets were being called back and forth and money exchanging hands. His employees gave him polite nods in greeting as he maneuvered his way back to his office.

           Lizzie was waiting there for him. “Sleeping in today?” She questioned. It was rare for Tommy to not be up at dawn. The man never seemed to sleep.

           Bogged down by the extra hours of shuteye, he only gave her a glance in reply. He passed by her and dug through his desk for cigarettes. “I don’t have any meetings today, I can sleep in.” He muttered.

           Lizzie sighed and reached into her pocket to spare him a cigarette. Her boss couldn’t function without one nearby. “Arthur said you were out late.”

           “He was too.” Tommy graciously took the donation and lit it.

           "He wasn't sure where you went once you left."

           He shrugged and set the cigarette onto the ashtray for a moment to fix his cufflinks. He was definitely not as immaculately dressed as he usually was. But his outfit wasn't of any importance that morning, especially to Lizzie it seemed. "I headed down to the yard for a mo' then came back home."

           “He said you were with someone when you left.”

           He leaned against his desk, facing his secretary. After a few anxiety relieving puffs, he met her hard gaze. “You seem surprised.”

           She wasn’t. If anything, she was wounded by his callousness but wouldn’t show him. “Who is she?” Her tone was clipped as she hugged a binder to her chest like a shield for her heart.

           “I have a feeling Arthur already informed you.” Tommy retorted and walked around his desk to sit down. His eyes scanned over the list of things that needed to be done that coming week.

           “Maybe he did. I guess I want to hear it from you.” She lifted her chin higher and didn’t break eye contact even when he did.

           “I knew her husband, he passed during the war. He asked me to take care of her.”

           “So you’re sleeping with her? That’s taking care of her?”

           He cleared his throat and focused on the words in front of him. The last thing he wanted was a conflict with his assistant. Their relationship was complicated enough and he knew that it was mainly his own doing. He could be the villain if she wanted to paint him that way. He wouldn’t blame her. “If I want to talk about my personal relationships, I will. But for now, we’re running a business.”

           Lizzie rolled her eyes and gave a huff of annoyance. “Honestly, Tommy, you’re thick sometimes.” She spat before leaving the office and slamming the door behind him.

           He sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his eyes a few times to wake up. If only he could snap his fingers and instantly get rid of all the conflicts in his life. If only.

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

           Leah woke up not much longer after Tommy went downstairs. Dazed and sporting a fine headache, she turned over. The bed was empty beside her, as was the small bedroom. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head. It was nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact emotions she was feeling. It was a mixture of everything all at once. She felt cared for, as Tommy had taken care of that need she had during his absence. He’d been tender with her, much more than when they were at the hotel. They’d taken their time and in that way, she felt more important to him. But in the light of day, fears and suspicions crept up on Leah. Was he just stringing her along for an occasional fuck? Was it simply the alcohol making her think their connection was more intense than it actually was? Was she being naïve?

           Leah bit her lip and stood up to find her slip. Slowly dressing, she glanced at the mirror every so often. Tommy’s presence was still strong, despite the empty room. He’d left bruising marks on her neck where he’d feverishly kissed and sucked at the skin. Her hips were mildly tender from where he’d gripped her so firmly. But she couldn’t remember ever being in pain.

           As she moved around the room, she passed over his discarded clothes. His scent lingered in the air. The evidence of their alcohol intake also remained within the fabric of the night before.

           Tommy’s room was tiny but mostly sparse. There wasn’t anything distinguishing it as his. She picked her stockings up off the dresser and found a drawer partly open. Overly curious, she slid it open and found a few neckties loosely folded inside. But a bit of dull silver poked out from under a black silk tie. She pulled it out and discovered it was his dog tags. The tarnished silver was dirty and dinged up from his service. But she could make out the information stamped into the small circle.

Thomas Shelby

Sergeant Major

179

           Leah’s thumb passed over the indented metal. Jonah’s tags were under her bed, sitting in the box with his letters. She closed her eyes for a moment to breathe evenly and deeply. For a brief moment, she let her mind wander to what might have happened if Jonah had come home to her. She might not have even met Tommy. But she would have her best friend back and in her arms again.

           She dropped Tommy’s tags and buried it back under the black tie. It was no good fixating on an alternate reality. Jonah would never return to her. Now she had Tommy. Or did she?

           “Time will tell.” She whispered under her breath and shut the drawer. She gathered the rest of her things to head downstairs.

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

          Leah donned the same blue dress she’d worn the night before. She stepped out of Tommy’s room and found the second floor was quiet. However, she could hear activity coming from downstairs. Men were talking and calling words that she couldn’t quite make out.

           Lizzie was in the parlor and heard Leah coming down the steps. The second she saw the unfamiliar woman, Lizzie could guess why Tommy gravitated her way. She had the same golden blonde hair his late wife had.

           “Sorry, I was looking for Tommy,” Leah explained.

           “You’re the girl he was with last night?” His assistant didn’t give her an answer and sipped at the tea she’d made.

           “Yes, I’m Leah.” She wasn’t sure who she was. But it was obvious the woman had a problem with her despite not meeting her before.

           “Where d’you work?”

           “The dress shop a few streets over.” Leah became uneasy under Lizzie’s harsh stare. It reminded her of how Teresa used to glare at her if a client chose Leah over her. Anger, jealousy, and a hint of threats.

           “And before that?” Lizzie raised an eyebrow. Tommy didn’t just go wandering into dress shops and sweeping the shop girl off her feet. She could tell Leah was new to Birmingham. Tommy had found her somewhere else and Lizzie had a sneaking suspicion of where.

           Leah didn’t look away. “If you’ll just tell him I had a lovely time and that I can’t wait to see him again. I would appreciate that.” She slipped on her coat to leave. There was no use in divulging her past to a woman she just met, and one who was being so standoffish.

           “You’d be wise to get out while you can,” Lizzie warned before she made it to the door. “He’s not a man you want to get involved with. You have to know he’s dangerous and I’m guessing you don’t care.” She set her teacup down and crossed her arms over her chest. “But he’ll break your heart and leave you for something better when it comes along. He’s restless and never happy with what he has. He could have the world in the palm of his hand and he’d still want more.”

           Leah swallowed under her cold gaze. The words were haunting and made her second guess herself. There was nothing she could say in response so she left the home without a word. She burrowed her hands in her pockets and braced against the fall chill. She wondered if she should cry or not.

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

           Those days, she wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. The world turned around her and she merely stood there. She’d felt numb, practically a ghost drifting about the world for years. People walked right through her without a care in the world. There didn’t seem to be any substance left to her. She used to be so sure who she was. Jonah and her family gave her a sense of purpose and identity.

           Tommy didn’t give her an identity. She still felt lost. But he filled her with feeling, emotions that she thought were unattainable after her loss of self. She could feel her heartbeat in her chest when he looked at her.

           Tears pricked her eyes as she made her way down Watery Lane. Birmingham went about its morning, not noticing the young woman dabbing her tears away. It didn’t feel her guilt and uncertainty. The city didn’t care if she cried.

           About a block away from her apartment, Leah could spot a few men. They were lingering inconspicuously around her front step. She paused, wary of their unnatural presence. One of the men turned and she instantly recognized the disfiguring scar over the left side of his face. His eye clouded over, blinded by shrapnel he’d caught in the war.

           Leah’s breath caught in her throat and her chest seized in panic. They were men under Madame Rosetta’s employ. Large men who kept the peace in the brothel, hunted down debts and intimidated the girls into obeying Rosetta.

           She’d been punished several times in her earlier days in the brothel. Anything from tardiness, refusing advances of aggressive clients or drinking heavily on the job.

           Andrew, the partially blind man, was always willing to dish out consequences. The man was rumored to have a high kill count during the war. He was excessively violent and seemed to have no problem with the pain he inflicted. He most likely enjoyed it.

           But Leah was not about to allow him the satisfaction again. Not while she had her life back on track. And especially not when she had Tommy Shelby in her corner.

           Before the men spotted her in the street, Leah turned and hurried to the dress shop. The store was closed because it was Sunday, but Beth lived in the flat upstairs.

           The younger woman was surprised to see Leah at her door, especially because the poor woman looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

           “Can I use your telephone?” Leah blurted before Beth could ask what had happened.

           “Um-sure.” She nodded and let her upstairs.

           Leah wasted no time in picking up the line and having the operator connect her to Tommy’s home.

           Polly had just entered when the phone began to ring. “Shelby residence.” She answered formally.

           “Hello, is Tommy available?” She was too shaken up to be polite.

           Not recognizing the voice, Polly was suspicious. “Who’s calling?”

           “Leah Ward, please it’s an emergency.” She begged. Her knuckles were white from gripping the receiver so tightly.

           Beth watched with worry. She couldn’t fathom what had spooked her friend so badly. Now, she was apparently trying to get in touch with Thomas Shelby. No one called a Shelby to have an idle chat. They called for business or action.

           Polly had heard about the woman from her nephews. They spoke about how Tommy had them keep an eye on a shop girl whose husband they knew from the war. “Alright, let me see if he’s nearby.” She could hear the urgency from the other end of the phone.

           Leah paced as far as the phone wire would allow her. She anxiously chewed on her nails while she waited. Beth wordlessly asked for an explanation but she could only shake her head in response.

           “Leah?”

           Tommy’s voice was like an angel’s; he was someone who could protect her. “Tommy, I need your help.”

           The man’s gut wrenched in worry. He’d been confused by his aunt explaining who was on the other line. As far as he knew, Leah was still upstairs in his room. He thought for sure she would come down and find him before leaving. He wasn’t aware of her interaction with Lizzie as his assistant had yet to pass along her message.

           “What’s going on? Where are you?” He asked.

           “I’m at Beth’s home.” Leah’s voice wavered. “There were men at my apartment. I-I don’t know why they were there but I know they work for Rosetta.”

           The mention of Leah’s old employer sparked anger in Tommy. He wanted to give her the freedom from that life. But it seemed Rosetta wasn’t about to let her loose.

           “Are you safe?”

           “Well, yes. But, Tommy I’m afraid they’ve been watching me. How’d they know where I live?”

           “S’alright, love.” Tommy did his best to soothe her over the phone. He didn’t even realize he was using such tender language or tone with her at the moment. “Stay where you are. I’ll take care of this.” He assured her in a steady voice. But he was already standing up and reaching for his gun to tuck into his coat. “I’ll come to the shop when I’m finished.”

           Leah shook her head frantically. “Don’t do anything foolish.” She begged. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

           “I won’t.” He promised. Tommy was more than certain he could handle a few dim-witted thugs. “Just stay with Beth for now. Take a deep breath and put the kettle on, eh? Calm yourself down, I won’t be long.”

           “Tommy-”

           The line went dead before Leah could interject again.

           “John, Arthur!” Tommy shouted as he exited his office.

           His younger brother was standing at the blackboard writing down odds. He paused for a moment, Tommy’s voice carrying above the bets. Arthur glanced up from a few slips, a questioning look on his face.

           Tommy slipped on his flat cap. “Follow me.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[chalantness]

fic: I Turn Around, and There You Are

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~4100 Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: “If I could go back in time, do it all over again—meet you all over again, fall in love with you all over again—I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

A/N: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS.

And then goes to fix those spoilers because canon is a cruel place and I thrive on my bubble of fanon bliss. This concept was heavily inspired by an idea by @gomustanggirl16 from a while back about Natasha waking up in an alternate dimension, in the life of "another Natasha", and it's a concept that I've wanted to write for so long. I heavily adapted the original prompt to fit what I feel could be canon, but I hope the theme of the prompt is still appreciated!

Read On: [ ao3 ]

Natasha blinks back at her reflection in the water, strands of hair slowly falling from her braid, curling around her face as she lifts her chin up and stares at the sky. She’s not quite sure why she expects it to be dusk out. Why she feels as though the sky should be dark and endless, and the miles of grass and evergreen trees surrounding the Avengers Facility should be an expanse of rocks and slopes and shadows. She feels displaced, almost, as if she should be in on an entirely different planet, in an entirely different place in time. Maybe it was in a dream she had recently. It’s been a long while since the guilt and doubt and darkness managed to float back up to the surface, but it’s still a possibility.

“A little early to be out searching for shooting stars, don’t you think, Mom?”

His voice is low and smooth and familiar, lilting in amusement, and she doesn’t quite know why she holds her breath as she turns around.

Steve. Those eyes—the brightest, clearest shade of blue, framed by those ridiculously long eyelashes of his—are exactly like the man she remembers, exactly like those eyes she’s stared into for far too long. But it isn’t him. He has the same sculpted jaw, the same dimple in his cheek, but his face is younger, no older than a teenager.

And the strands of hair flopping over his forehead, perfectly disheveled, are a scarlet red. Her red.

Mom. His voice tugs at something in her hazy thoughts, and suddenly, she feels ridiculous for not recognizing her own son for a second, no matter how fleeting. She must not have had as much sleep as she thought.

“You say that like it’s uncommon to be staring up into space around here,” she quips in return, fingers instinctively reaching out to tuck his collar back into place. She doesn’t know when James started taking to button-downs just like his father, but at least he has the sense to throw it over a graphic tee and leave it unbuttoned, or else she’d accuse her husband of influencing their son into dressing like a senior citizen. “Maybe I’m expecting your Auntie Carol to be flying in any second,” she points out, one eyebrow raised.

James arches an eyebrow in return, and, god, it takes all she has not to grin like an idiot. He may have his father’s face to a tee, but those expressions are all her.

“Is Auntie Carol coming?” he challenges, lips twitching at the corners, and then he’s laughing and ducking his head away as she ruffles his hair.

“Did you come out here just to sass me?”

He runs his fingers through his long hair as he shakes his head. “I’m done getting my ass kicked by Dad for the day, so Nikki’s swinging by so we can grab milkshakes.”

“Nikki?” The name slips from her lips before she can quite catch it.

James gives her a look. “Stark,” he says slowly, eyebrows furrowing together. “Do we know another Nikki?”

“I—no.” Natasha shakes her head, an odd sensation tugging at her chest as she laughs. “Sorry. Guess your Mom is running on empty right now.”

“Want us to bring you back something from the diner?” a voice asks, young and bright and chiming like bells, and she and James turn to watch as Nikki walks over to them. She has a designer handbag hooked on her arm, her black pumps clicking against the concrete as she pulls off her favorite pair of rose gold Ray Bans from over her eyes. She beams at them, her face almost exactly like her father (only so much prettier and sweeter, and Natasha’s sure to give Tony shit about it whenever they’re together) as she tucks her aviators into the collar of her blouse, coming to stand beside them. “I’m told carbs and grease are the perfect cure to sleep deprivation. Or so my father tries to convince me.”

“Tony Stark will find every reason to justify having burgers once a day,” Natasha mumbles, earning a chuckle from James and a giggle from Nikki as she leans in to smack a kiss on Natasha’s cheek. “I’ll find something to eat here. You two have fun.”

“Bye, Mom,” James says, pecking Natasha’s other cheek before Nikki starts tugging him away, and Natasha feels her chest tighten ever so slightly as she watches them go. She can’t quite help but think that something seems—off. Like some small part of her mind can’t quite keep up.

She may not have Steve’s endless optimism, but still. It’s been years since she’s felt like this. Like she’s simply waiting for the world to pulled out from under her.

But before she can dwell on this thought, however, voices from around the corner pull her attention to her right, and an odd sensation hits her stomach as she watches Clint walking out from around the building, his head tipped back in a laugh as the two girls on either side of him are talking over each other excitedly, their words too quick and too high-pitched for Natasha to quite make out, even if she could focus on them. But her attention is on Clint, and her stomach flips, an odd tingle sliding down her spine as they walk closer to her. Seeing Clint makes her feel as if she’s falling, and for a moment, she is—staring up at the side of a cliff, the air rushing around her, eyes blurred with tears—

“Mom!”

Natasha sucks in a breath, blinking quickly as her daughter practically bounds over to her, bow in one hand and a quiver strapped to her back. Her long, red curls are flying with her every step, and her eyes—the same bright, bright blue as James, as Steve—stare up at Natasha as she huffs out a breath.

“Can you tell Uncle Clint that he’s being ridiculous?” Tatiana asks—practically demands, her face pulling into a frown that makes Natasha feel as though she’s staring back at a younger, sweeter reflection of herself.

“Hey, it’s only fair I get the last cupcake considering you ate my last cookie the last time you visited!” Clint laughs, pointing one end of his bow at Tatiana as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching to fight off a smile. Then he turns to Natasha, eyes twinkling in amusement. “An eye for an eye, right, Nat?”

She wants to laugh, quip in return about picking on someone his own age, but she can’t. Her voice is caught in her throat, her chest tightening in something a little like dread.

A soul for a soul.

A soul for—

“Nat?” Clint asks, his smile faltering. At her side, her daughter’s amusement shifts into something akin to confusion, and a little bit of concern, too, and that seems to snap Natasha out of her trance as she shakes her head a little, curving an arm around Tatiana’s shoulders.

“Sorry, I—” She licks her lips. “I’m a little spaced out right now.���

Clint’s easy smile slides back onto his face, turning quickly into a smirk. “Steve keeping you up at night, huh?”

“Uncle Clint,” Stephanie gasps next to him, her fair cheeks quickly flushing a bright pink that makes her skin glow, that make her eyes seem that much bigger, somehow. Clint laughs again, throws an arm around his goddaughter and pulls her in close, and the way that Stephanie wrinkles her nose and turns her head away from Clint’s sweaty shirt is an expression that makes her look entirely like her mother. She looks every bit like Wanda the same way James looks every bit like Steve—with her dark, dark hair and her high cheekbones and her full bottom lip. But her eyes? Those stormy blue eyes, deep and endless and reflecting with her every thought, her every emotion. Those eyes are all Bucky.

Tatiana makes a face and steps away from her mother, as if Natasha had been the one to imply that her father was too busy making love to her mother to let her sleep.

Natasha glares at Clint. “What’s the matter with you?”

But Clint just beams, shrugs his shoulders and uses the fletching end of the arrow in his hand to tap Tatiana’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. Time for lunch, girls.”

“You coming, Mom?” Tatiana asks, her smile bright and hopeful, and, not for the first time, Natasha wonders how her little girl has grown so fast. Wonders how lucky she must have gotten to be the reason that her daughter can smile so easily, almost carelessly, not knowing an ounce of the hardships Natasha had suffered at her age. Her life is nothing like the one Natasha had and everything Natasha had wished for when she was still young and hopeful. When she believed there was more for her than what was crafted for her.

Natasha feels her throat tighten ever so slightly, feels her eyes beginning to sting, just a little, and she hopes that Tatiana can’t tell that her mother is seconds from tearing.

Suddenly, she feels that familiar tug in her chest, making her think—making her realize—that this isn’t exactly what she remembers. Suddenly, she feels a little bit heartbroken that she can’t remember what it was like to watch James and Tatiana growing up. What it was like to stumble through being a mother, knowing it would be worth it.

“No,” Natasha says, her voice a little soft, but just as a question flickers in her baby girl’s bright blue eyes, Natasha gives her a smile. “But eat the last cupcake for me, okay?”

“Nat!” Clint exclaims, earning a giggle from Stephanie and a snicker from Tatiana as she gives Natasha a quick hug, then releases her, bounding back over to Clint’s side and bumping her shoulder into his arm. “Oh, it’s on, Little Widow,” he says, then breaks out into a run, and Tatiana and Stephanie squeal in protest as they hurry after him.

This isn’t real.

Natasha licks her lips, exhaling a shaky breath as she watches them race into the building.

This isn’t real. That’s why everything had felt off. Why she’d felt so displaced. Why, for the first time ever, everything felt perfect. A soul for a soul.

She died on that planet, for that stone, and this is—

This is—

“Love,” a voice murmurs, breath warm against her ear, sending a delicious shiver down her spine as large, warm, calloused hands slide up her arms, spinning her around and drawing her into his broad chest. Steve smiles down at her with those twinkling blue eyes, with that crooked grin of his, as he dips his head down to press his forehead against hers. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Yet, she can still feel everything. The warmth fluttering in her chest, the tingles sliding across her skin, the firm press of his lips over hers.

She feels every touch down to her soul, too perfect, too tangible to just be a figment of her imagination.

And it pulls her in, tempts her senses, because then she’s twisting her fingers into his shirt and slanting her mouth harder against his, drawing a noise of surprise from the back of his throat as she kisses him harder, deeper.

For just a moment, she lets herself get drawn into the illusion. For just a moment, she lets herself indulge in the one thing she never, ever risked hoping for.

Until Steve is chuckling against her lips, easing himself away, just a little, as she opens her eyes to find him peering down at her in amusement. “That’s one hell of a hello,” he murmurs, holding her a little tighter, squeezing her a little closer, and maybe she’s imagining how perfectly she fits in his arms. Maybe she’s imagining how his hold feels strong and safe and sturdy, yet his body feels at complete ease against hers. He cradles her like she’s precious, like her one true place has always been right here, right in his arms.

She closes her eyes, twisting her fingers tighter into his shirt. She wonders if this would have been what it felt like with her Steve. It’s stupid that she still wants to know.

“What were you doing out here by yourself?” The question is mumbled against her temple as he draws her to her chest, and she rests her head on his shoulders, letting her body sway with his.

“Nothing,” she admits, burying her face into his shoulder. “Our children came running through not too long ago, by the way.”

His chest rumbles with a chuckle as he cups the back of her head, letting her lean back against his touch as she stares up at him, a soft, small smile on her lips. His fingers tangle into her hair, gently massaging at her scalp, and she lets out a hum of appreciation as her eyelids nearly flutter closed. “That explains that look on your face,” he teases with a curve of his lips at the corner, his eyes sparkling, until a beat passes and his expression softens. “You seem to be getting these bursts of nostalgia more often lately.”

“It seems so,” she breathes out.

“They grew up so fast, didn’t they?” he asks, giving her a dimpled, crooked sort of smile as she nods. “Sometimes I wish I could do it all over again.”

Despite the tightness in her chest, she manages a laugh. “Have another baby?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, not—not just that.” He slides his hand down her back, curves it over her hip, squeezing gently, and he brushes a soft, quick kiss to her lips. Like he can’t quite help himself. “If I could go back in time, do it all over again—meet you all over again, fall in love with you all over again—I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

She feels her heart flutter, warmth tugging at her, making her press as close to Steve as physically possible. “You think it would happen again?”

His smile doesn’t falter, not even a little. “I do,” he answers easily.

“You think we would still find each other?” she asks, stretching up on her toes, pressing her forehead against his. “You think it would still be us in another reality?”

She knows that her words could sound doubtful—could sound worried or wary—but Steve, it seems, knows her in any reality, in every figment of her imagination. Because he gives her an easy, soft laugh, kissing her gently, tenderly. Slowly. Like they have all the time in the world. Then he draws back just enough to meet her gaze, tucks her into his chest as he repeats, “I do.” He lifts his hand from her hip, brushes his thumb across her cheek as he cups her face, and the way he looks at her is something that could only be described as pure awe. “I know it would happen all over again, no matter the variables, because I don’t believe in an existence where I don’t fall in love with every part of you.”

She blinks, her eyelashes dotting with the tears she hadn’t noticed gathering in her eyes. Her heart flutters in her chest, wild and racing. Hopeful.

“Yeah?” she asks, breathless.

He kisses her, hard, hungry—and murmurs, “I’d bet my life on it,” against her lips, before slanting his mouth deeper into hers, and she can’t focus on the way every inch of her feels weightless and hazy, can’t focus on the fact that none of this is real, that none of his has happened, could happen. She can’t focus on anything other than Steve.

Slowly, slowly, he eases his lips from hers, nipping at her bottom lip just once before drawing back, and it feels as though he takes the warmth of the illusion with him as he steps away, still smiling at her. She feels the edges of her vision start to blur, then fade, and she takes a breath, trying to brace herself. Trying to be strong.

“Natasha.”

She turns around, blinking quickly, and suddenly the world is darker, and colder, and she finds a man standing just a few feet away from her.

“Strange?” she asks, eyes glancing over his robes, down to where the ends of his cape brush the surface of the water that they’re standing in the middle of. It stretches on for miles and miles around them, with that same, desolate planet just beyond the horizon, and she knows that she’s back to—back to wherever she was meant to have stayed in the first place. She may have never met Stephen Strange before, but after hours of combing through his files, staring at his photo, turning over his last words to Tony in her head—she knows even before his nod in response that this is true. “What—” She glances up at the expanse of space above their heads, exhaling. “Is this another illusion?” she asks.

“No,” he answers, drawing her eyes back to his. “Neither was the other world you were in.”

She shakes her head once. No. “That wasn’t real.”

“Maybe not to you. But to the Natasha whose mind you occupied for a short while, it’s very real. That life? It’s hers.” His lips twitch into the wisps of a smile. “Did you like it?”

“I—” She knows there isn’t any point in lying to him, so she simply deflects. Old habits and all that. “Does it matter?”

“When Steve comes here, you’ll want it to matter.”

Her heart stutters in her chest as she flinches back in surprise. “Why would he come here?”

“They found all of the Stones,” he tells her, stepping closer, letting her catch his gaze. Letting her see the truth in his words. “They reversed The Snap. They won the war.” He says the words calmly, slowly, as if knowing just how heavy it feels to have them settle over her mind, into her heart. As if knowing how much pure relief is coursing through her veins, making her breath hitch, making a smile pull at her lips. “And now Steve Rogers is coming back to return the Stones at the exact points in time that they were all taken.”

“He’s coming here,” she says, voice barely above a whisper as she holds his stare. “So why are you here?”

His expression softens ever so slightly. “The obligation of being able to see so many outcomes and so many realities,” he starts with a tilt of his head, “is that, when you have the rare chance of seeing an outcome change for the better, you feel compelled to see it through.”

She feels her lips pull at the corners, just barely, but the smirk is there all the same. “And here I thought that speaking of the future will only change its outcome.”

He returns her smirk with one of his own, genuine amusement glinting in his eyes. “It does, always.” He steps closer, reaching out and resting a tentative hand on her shoulder, and it’s odd that the gesture feels a little bit comforting. She has a feeling he’s not one to touch, so maybe there’s something about this moment—about her—that makes this a special circumstance. “But when you go back, if you choose to go back, you won’t remember this conversation. You won’t remember anything that you saw of that other reality.”

Natasha blinks, lips parting slightly. “Go back?” she echoes.

“A soul for a soul,” Strange recites, the words making a rush of emotion course through her veins, too quick for her to dwell on. “An exchange required to keep the universe in balance.” He pulls his hand from her shoulder, tipping his chin a little to meet her stare. “That goes both ways, Natasha.”

She sways, taking a step back, and she knows the warmth unfurling in her stomach is—hope. Overwhelming, consuming hope.

“There’s no guarantee that the life you saw will be the life that unfolds for you if you return to your reality,” he warns, though something in his tone tells her that he believes—no, he knows that this won’t be that much of a factor to her at all. “Nor will you have the memories of that other life to work towards. You’ll be taking a gamble.”

(“You think we would still find each other? You think it will still be us in another reality?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”)

“Taking a bet?” she asks in a breathless sort of laugh, and, for the first time, Strange smiles. It’s a good look on him, if he wasn’t so damn serious. Or maybe because of that.

“Close your eyes,” he tells her, the command soft but firm, and she does exactly that, feeling her smile widen just a little bit more as she feels him step closer. “I must say, I think I’ll look forward to seeing your future unfold back home, Natasha Romanoff.”

Home. Her heart stutters. “I do, too,” she whispers, and she thinks she hears him take a breath, thinks she begins to respond—

But the voice that calls her name isn’t his.

... ...

“Nat?”

She sucks in a breath, gasping, feeling water ripple out from around her, sliding into her suit and wetting her skin as she feels herself quickly moving to sit up. Her heart is racing, thrumming against her ribcage as she glances around, at the endless water stretching out around her, into the horizon of mountains and rocks.

She’d hit the bottom. She’d fallen all the way down, and she’d hit the bottom, and she knows it hadn’t hurt. She hadn’t had the chance to feel anything before—

Before now. Before she’d opened her eyes, startling awake, and finding herself here.

“Nat.” Her name comes out as a choked, strangled sort of sound somewhere to her left, and then she’s turning her head, her breath catching in her throat as she finds herself staring back at the brightest, clearest shade of blue she’s ever seen. He’s a few paces away, mostly silhouetted in the dark shadows of the sky, and though the faint outlines of his suit seem different, she knows this is him. She knows it in her bones, in her soul. She’d recognize this man anywhere, simply from his voice and his breath and his presence.

Then he’s moving toward her, his large, warm, calloused hands reaching out, pulling her up, and her body feels hazy and weightless, disoriented, but that doesn’t matter.

Because then she’s being pulled against his chest, his hands wild and frantic, trying to touch every part of her all at once, until they come to cup her cheeks gently—so, so gently, like she’s something precious—and he stares down into her eyes. His are wet with tears, his expression brimming with emotion as they flicker across his face, too quick for her to quite catch, until there’s nothing but hope and pure, genuine relief written in every inch of his face. He’s never quite touched her like this before, yet something in this moment feels familiar, just vaguely so. Or maybe she simply believes it is, because she’s imagined it countless times, in the small, secret part of her mind that indulged in the idea of her and Steve. That wondered if maybe something would be there between them if the dust ever settled, if the war was ever over and the fight was well and truly done.

If they got to go home.

She exhales a breath and lets her head fall forward, her face pressing into his neck, his pulse racing against her lips, just under the delicate curve of his throat.

“Tell me this is real,” he pleads, tightening his hold on her, drawing her back to meet her eyes again, as if he’s terrified that she’ll slip right through his fingers if he looks away for just a second. His expression cracks at every edge, thumb tracing up her cheek, over her temple, fingers tangling in her hair. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real,” she says, not getting the words out fast enough, reaching up to touch his face, and his entire body eases as he leans his cheek against her palm. “I’m real.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his forehead falling against hers. “Fuck. Nat. Nat.” He shakes his head, lips pulling at the corners, and there it is—that smile she fell in love with.

She slides her hands over his throat, her thumb smoothing circles over the thrum of his pulse. “Let’s go home,” she whispers, drawing a burst of laughter from his lips, a little wild and a little shaky, overwhelmed with relief, but still beautiful all the same. Still perfect.

For the first time in her life, it feels perfect.

[shookethbrooketh]

seven days

day one

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: none (for now)

fic word count: 2.0k (but there will be more!) chapter word count: 2.0k

written for the @phandomreversebang !  inspired by the awesome moodboard by @maybeformepersonally !  beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

a/n: i’ll be updating this fic every wednesday for the next six wednesdays, and then it’ll be finished (y’know, seven chapters)! after that i will, for the most part, retire from fic writing. thank you to everyone who’s supported my writing over the years! 

read it on ao3

“I’m exhausted,” Dan said, stretching his lanky body as he clambered off the couch. He and Phil had just finished the Game of Thrones finale, and he was ready to fall over in bed. He put out a hand to pull Phil off the couch with him, and the two of them staggered sleepily into their bedroom, not even bothering to brush their teeth. They collapse into bed, and Dan barely gathers the effort to rotate towards Phil and plant a goodnight kiss on his forehead. That was their evening tradition: a kiss on the forehead before bed. 

“Goodnight, Dan,” Phil muttered, the edges of his mouth twitching up peacefully as he acknowledged Dan’s kiss. 

“Goodnight, Phil.” 

That was the last thing Dan remembered. Of course, Dan remembered everything about Phil, but that was the last of it. He fell asleep beside Phil, the love of his life, and he woke up somewhere he couldn’t identify. At first, he simply panicked, concerned that he had been YouTuber-napped. Then he looked around the room and found pictures of himself. There were pictures of him with his family, pictures with his dog, Colin, and pictures with people he’d never seen before. The immediate fear dissipated into pure confusion; he didn’t remember taking any of those photos. 

Dan peeled himself out of bed and picked up his phone. He tried to look at it, but it was blurry, even though it was right in front of his face. He blinked a few times, but he could tell this wasn’t the blur of sleep. Eventually, he noticed a pair of glasses sitting on the bedside table. He glanced around for a moment before cautiously picking up the glasses and putting them on. With them, he could see the phone perfectly. That was odd, he thought. He had never been farsighted before.

His phone looked strange as well. The screen was smaller, and his background was of a man he didn’t recognize. When he unlocked it, he found most of the same apps he had the night before, but when he went to Twitter, his verification was gone, and he found that he had only 934 followers. Dan was no longer a YouTuber. 

Immediately Dan began to question what exactly he was, but at that point he had no care for such a thing. He threw himself into motion, throwing on a shirt he didn’t own and shorts he wouldn’t usually choose to buy. As he whirled through “his” apartment, Dan only cared about one thing: finding Phil. 

He tore out of the building, not stopping to think. None of his movements made even a bit of sense; he jerked his head left and right, attempting desperately to figure out where he was and ignoring the map on his phone. His mind was so clouded by his confusion and fear that he had no logic left. 

Dan took off aimlessly running down the street, a feat that was already uncommon for him, searching for anything familiar amidst the chaos. After a few minutes, he slumped into a bench and put his head in his hands. 

“What in the absolute fuck is going on?” Dan whispered to himself. He threw his head back and ran his hands through his hair, which he suddenly realized was straight. That was impossible; he would never be able to wake up with straight hair. 

After getting struck across the face with even more confusion, Dan finally managed to attempt to think about his situation. He looked himself up and down; the clothes he had picked up were all pastel pink. “What the hell? Is this some Opposite Day bullshit?” Dan swore again, unsure if he had the restraint at that point to utter a sentence without cursing. 

A cab approached, and Dan decided to wave it over. He climbed in and told the driver to take him to his old address; maybe Phil would be there. 

On the ride over, he pulled the small phone out of his back pocket and reopened Twitter. The account he opened up to appeared to be an aesthetic account devoted to the color pink. It had his name on it, but it certainly wasn’t his. 

He switched to the search function and searched ‘phil lester.’ A full page of accounts popped up, but, on first glance, none of them appeared to be Phil. He looked through them each, to no avail. Social media didn’t appear to be helpful in this situation. 

Before long, they were at his flat; they were much closer than Dan had anticipated. He paid the driver with money he found in the case of the phone, clambered out of the cab, and made his way up the stairs and to his door. He was sweating a bit after the walking; finally, he felt at home. As he knocked on the door, anxiety welled up in his stomach. Suddenly the door opened, and he found himself face to face with a very tall, very slightly dressed woman. “What do you want?” she said, a harsh tone to her voice. She clearly had yet to have her morning cup of coffee; it reminded him a bit of Phil. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen Phil Lester?”

“Nope,” she said, slamming the door in his face before he even had a chance to apologize again. 

“Well, that was fun,” he said into the void. He backtracked down the stairs and realized that he’d sent the cab away. He took a deep breath, far more annoyed than the word annoyed could convey, and waited for another. Luckily, it came quickly, but the ride to their first London flat, which was his last guess as to where he’d find Phil, was a bit longer, so he still had to wait. He decided to take advantage of the time and explore the phone that had basically been dropped into his lap. As any normal Internet dweller would, he first searched through the camera roll. The majority of the camera roll appeared to be pictures for the pink Twitter account, but he’d find the occasional meme or selfie of him in all pastel clothes. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but he supposed he could see why the fanfic writers seemed to take such a liking to it. 

Suddenly, his mind shifted to the life he’d built with Phil as he realized everything was gone. Not only was his relationship with Phil gone, but the fanbase they’d built was gone too. He was certain all the people that made it up still existed, but it occurred to him for the first time that he no longer had any fans. There were no longer blogs, Instagram accounts, or group chats dedicated to him. It felt freeing, almost, but also deeply saddening. All the lives he’d impacted were suddenly the same as they’d have been had he chosen to never upload Hello Internet in the first place. His heart swelled with determination to find Phil and return to a universe where the two of them had built their own universe. Thinking back to all the people who had told him on tour that he and Phil had saved their lives, he knew he had no choice but to find Phil. 

The taxi pulled up to their first London flat, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile looking at the building. He and Phil had grown so much in that apartment, and he still felt a bit as if it was his home. This time, being more realistic, he told the driver to wait before he made his way over to the apartment complex. He climbed another set of stairs that he was all too familiar with, and his body almost seemed to transport back four years as he relived his memories of that flat. 

This time, he was a bit more optimistic as he knocked on the door. He took a deep breath and stood there for a moment, a combination of hope and fear filling his lungs as time passed. Finally, he realized nobody was going to answer the door, and put his head down as he made his way back down to the taxi. 

Dan sighed and pulled up Maps to direct the driver back to the apartment he’d woken up in. Luckily, whatever stranger he had taken over the life of bothered to put “Home” into the app, because Dan hadn’t a clue how to get back to the building he’d ran from. He sat hopelessly, thinking of nothing at all until he arrived back at the apartment. He paid yet another driver with money that wasn’t even his and climbed even more stairs, only managing to find “his” flat because he’d left the door open in his frenzy. 

He slammed the door closed and flopped onto the bed he’d rolled out of. He had only one more idea. He did a quick Google search and pulled up the only resource he had left: a London phone book. He found nearly as many ‘Phil Lester’s as he did on Twitter, but none of them had Phil’s phone number. Still, too suspicious to give up, he called each number. Some of them didn’t answer, but it was clear that none of the ones that did were Phil. Well, at least they weren’t his Phil. 

Tears pooled in his eyes as he jerked forward. “Fuck, DAMNIT!” he shouted, throwing a punch into the mattress and then curling the sheets into his hand. “I don’t know what to do,” he said to no one at all. 

The truth was that there was no one there to hear him, and it was the first time in Dan’s adult life that he’d been truly alone. Sure, Phil had left for a few days, but he always knew his life companion would return. Now, he had no clue if Phil even existed at all. He was completely alone, with no one to talk to and no one to direct him. He was like a lost child, but he was a fully functional adult in a timeline he didn’t recognize. 

Really, this was just the existential crisis to end all existential crises waiting to happen. As if life, death, and time weren’t already scary enough, now he’s being thrown around like a rag doll with no significance from one timeline into another? There was so much to contemplate that he couldn’t even begin. He rolled over onto his stomach and made himself comfortable; it was going to be a long day. 

Dan did, in fact, spend most of the day contemplating his existence, but he eventually laid eyes on a laptop that luckily had Netflix downloaded. It turned out that a new timeline had plenty of new shows. In this universe, Queer Eye contained five British lesbians. He couldn’t pass that up, could he? 

After his third episode and plenty of tears, something in the credits caught Dan’s eye. “Wait,” he breathed out, fumbling to hit the “J” key and go back. He watched again, this time much closer, and slammed the space button to pause the show. On the screen in blaring letters was a header reading “Production Manager” and underneath it: “Phil Lester”. 

Dan spasmed forward, nearly knocking the laptop off of the bed. “Holy shit!” he shouted. Sure, it was possible that he could simply be a different Phil Lester--it wasn’t like there weren’t way too many of them already--but Dan could feel it: this was his Phil. 

Dan’s mind began racing; how could he use this information? He panickedly typed “phil lester uqeer eye” into Google, not caring about his own typos, and began scrolling. He found multiple websites that credited Phil for his work on the show, but not a single website told him any of Phil’s contact information. As he searched, time ticked late into the night. Dan usually stayed up long past midnight, but after a few hours straight of existential crisis, he was exhausted. Scrolling through multiple pages of Google searches can be quite boring, so Dan nodded off shortly before the night officially ended. 

Sadly, however, there were a few things Dan didn’t know as he dozed off that evening. He didn’t know about the reminder on the phone he’d neglected all day making sure he, or the him that used to live in this timeline, didn’t forget about his first day on the production of Queer Eye. And he surely didn’t know that while he slept, as the clock struck midnight, the world began to change around him. It was like he slept in a protective bubble, holding him in place as the timeline disassembled and reassembled around his body. At 12:01, his entire universe had changed once again. Dan slept through that night in bliss ignorance until he was woken up and his world turned upside down once again. 

“Daniel!” 

[thatsnicebutimmarried]

The Unfortunate Mrs. Haddock

Hey...so...I have had this thing in my head for like...years now, and I have no idea if anyone will even care about it, but I decided to write it anyway. I’m not cross posting this on ff.net or AO3, because I know how this fandom is and I don’t want to deal with all the people yelling at me because this isn’t their cup of tea and they don’t know how to just stop reading. 

Because this is hiccstrid, but like...not openly? Like. I wanted to play with the idea of an arranged political marriage AU and it turned into angst and Hiccup and Astrid kind of being jerks but then Gustav showed up and became a major character? Like...I know what kind of response this would get. So I’m just posting it on tumblr. Plus I’ll probably only update it super sporadically, because I still need to finish posting Persephone (which I haven’t done because the last round of reviews pissed me off and I’m just avoiding it for a while) and because this is such a loose thread of a story. And there’s hiccstrid in the background, but it’s narrated by an OC that most fans would probably hate simply for existing so...I’m just posting this here for now. I like it and I wanted to write it. So here’s the first chapter of a weird AU in which everyone is kind of a jerk. 

X

The room feels far too quiet after the revelry and noise of today. I mean, it was pretty quiet when the witnesses were here to watch my new husband remove my bridal crown, but at least then there was the shuffling of feet and the odd cough or cleared throat. Now even the sound of their footsteps leaving our new house has faded off into the distance, and it’s just the crackling fire and our breathing.

I’m not really sure what to do now. My mother told me what to expect from this night, but so far nothing has quite gone like I expected it to. I’m nervous, of course, but kind of excited. I guess I expected that as soon as our witnesses were out of earshot my husband would sweep me off my feet and into the big bed in the center of the room. Instead he just sighed, took a flask of something I assume to be alcoholic out of a drawer of the desk in the corner, and collapsed into the chair and started drinking, not looking at me the whole time.

He…he hasn’t really looked at me much at all today. I mean, he has looked at me. He has smiled vaguely in my direction at all the right times, but I don’t think he has met my eyes more than a handful of times all day, and never for longer than a second or so. I think he must be as nervous as I am. Maybe more?

Did I look that pretty today? Mama and the other women from my village spent hours braiding my hair, applying the kohl around my eyes and the paint on my lips just so, and my dress was so beautiful. Our island is known for our access to precious metals and gemstones, and my dress was decorated with hundreds of tiny gemstone beads. I thought I looked really beautiful, but my groom barely seemed to notice, I thought. Or maybe Mama was right; I was so pretty he couldn’t meet my eye.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and the sound makes my new husband look up. I give him my sweetest smile and pat the bed next to me. He stares at me for a moment before taking a long swig of his flask.

He’s been drinking a lot today. I know it’s a Viking wedding and those usually involve mass quantities of mead and ale, but I’m starting to wonder if the amount he’s been drinking is normal. He looks too skinny to have that high of an alcohol tolerance.

When he doesn’t look back at me I clear my throat but he ignores me, staring into a corner. He must just be really nervous. Or drunk. He seemed so nice when I met him before. Maybe that was the problem; we didn’t get to spend enough time together before the wedding.

Maybe I need to…maybe I need to entice him. I stand up, which earns me a quick glance, and start pulling my night dress over my head.

“Woah, woah, woah, stop! What do you think you’re doing?” I freeze, my night dress around my arms and chest, and look at my husband. He’s looking determinedly in the opposite direction with one hand outstretched towards me.

“I, um, I’m getting undressed?” I answer with a nervous giggle.

“Well stop, put your clothes back on!” He snaps, and I frown, letting my night dress fall back into place.

“Why?”

“Why,” he repeats, and chuckles bitterly under his breath before taking a drink from his flask. “Why the hell are you undressing in front of me to begin with?”

“Well,” I begin, trying to keep the nervous giggles at bay, and step slowly towards him, “I mean, today was our wedding day. So, tonight is our wedding night.” He actually looks at me this time, and I give him my biggest, sweetest smile.

He frowns at me. “How old are you again?” he asks.

“Sixteen.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, and drinks from his flask, but, he doesn’t say it the way I expected he might. It’s not a request, it’s a lamentation, and I frown.

“Is that a problem? Am I…too old or something? I promise I’m still a virgin.” I’m halfway through this sentence when he chokes on his mead.

“Too old?” he splutters, wide eyes staring at me. “Gods fucking…” He hasn’t even finished coughing up his first gulp before he starts chugging his flask again.

I start to fidget, picking at the lace hem of my sleeve. He’s definitely drunk, isn’t he? “If you’re nervous, don’t feel bad, I am too,” I say, trying for a smile again. “We can take things slow. I mean, we haven’t even properly kissed yet. You just sort of pecked my cheek at the ceremony.” I flop back onto the bed and strike a pose that I hope is seductive. “Come on, we’re married now.” I grin at him. “We’re allowed.” For all my bravado I’m honestly a bit terrified. I mean, I’m excited too, anxiety and anticipation all wrapped up into a ball of nervous energy in my stomach.

I did as Mama always said. I was the good girl. I waited, I kept myself pure, kept my honor intact, and the gods have rewarded me with a handsome and powerful husband. That’s part of why I’m nervous, to be honest. I know I’m pretty but I think I’m pretty in a young sort of way. The young chief of Berk is older than me, handsome and grown up and strong somehow despite how thin he looks. When I first met him I thought he had the kindest eyes I’d ever seen, all warm green and smiling. He was nice to me for those two days. He hasn’t been as nice to me today, but I guess planning a chief’s wedding is a lot of stress, and he’s probably just tired.

But I’m…I’m ready for this. I’m ready for this handsome young man to make me his wife.

My husband rubs his eyes and sighs. “Okay, look, Ma-mag, fuck, what was your name again? Something about maggots,” he mumbles, and my smile slips.

“Maggotha,” I offer.

“Right,” he looks at me, “Maggotha—“

“Or Maggie,” I cut in, smiling. “Or Mags.”

He blinks at me, swaying slightly. “That’s too many names. What do I-what do I call you? Pick one.”

I’m fighting to keep my smile now. “Um, I guess most people call me Maggie.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, Maggie, look, you need to—“ While he’s talking I start slowly pulling the hem of my dress up, uncovering my legs. The hem reaches my thighs when he notices, and his eyes bulge and he stops talking.

He lunges towards me and grabs the hem of my dress. For a moment my heart hammers because oh my gods it’s happening, but then he yanks my hem down over my legs and stumbles a few steps back, panting.

“For gods’s sake, Maggie, would you stop it!” It’s not a question, it’s an order, and he’s outright glaring at me now. All that kindness I saw in his eyes has evaporated, and he’s looking at me like an angry parent. “I’m not going to sleep with you!”

My smile is gone now, and I sit up. “What? Why? Are you too tired? Because it’s been a long day, and if you want to wait until tomorrow, I mean, we’ve got our whole honeymonth to—“

He’s been rubbing his eyes again and holds his hand out to stop me. “Stop, stop,” he interrupts finally, and turns a hard look my way. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight. I’m not sleeping with you tomorrow. I’m not having sex with you at all. Ever.”

My heart drops into my stomach. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You’re teasing me. Right?” That hard look doesn’t leave his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Because you’re fucking sixteen, that’s why. You’re a godsdamn child.” He starts back to his desk and his flask and I sit up on my knees glaring at him.

“I am not a child!” I proclaim, and almost wince when my voice goes shrill in just such a way to make me sound like a child. “I am a grown woman, and your wife. I am old enough to be fertile, and I’m old enough to be taken into my husband’s bed and bear him children and—“

“Oh my gods!” He exclaims to no one in particular. He looks at me over the rim of his flask. “You sound like such a kid right now and you don’t even realize it.” He takes another drink before fixing me with a stare. “You’re six-fucking-teen. You think you’re so grown up because that’s what everyone thinks at that age. Thor knows I did. But you’re a kid. And I know you’re a kid because I’m not.”

I frown indignantly. “You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m five years older than you.”

“That’s not that many. My dad is almost a decade older than my mom.”

He rolls his eyes, and everything about this conversation feels unfair. He’s talking to me like I’m a child, and I’m not. “My dad was exactly a decade older than my mom, but she was at least an adult when they got married. If you were a few years older then five years wouldn’t be that big of a difference, but you’re not. You look like a kid, you act like a kid, and I’m not sleeping with you. That’s final.”

He turns away from me entirely and I feel fury rising in my chest and coursing like shockwaves through my whole body. I clumsily climb off the bed and stumble to my feet in front of him, standing my ground even though he has at least a foot on me. “I am not a child! I am a grown woman, and I am your wife, and this is my wedding night!”

He rounds on me. “It’s not supposed to be!” He roars, and I go silent. He’s glaring, practically snarling at me now. “This wasn’t supposed to be your wedding, or your wedding night! You were never supposed to be my wife!” He waves a hand around the room. “This isn’t supposed to be your house, or your bedroom, or your marriage bed!”

I find my voice. “Yes it is, and yes I was, that’s what the whole point of the contract you signed with my father was about!”

“Oh my gods,” he throws his hands up and turns away, pacing around the room for a moment before stalking back to tower over me. “Do you remember what I said to you the day we first met?”

I swallow. “You said a lot of things that day, how am I—“

“Come on, you’re not this stupid, what did I say to you, that very first day, the first moment we had alone, on the specific topic of us getting married?”

I lick my lips and clear my throat. “Mama said that men often pretend not to be interested in order to make you want them more, and that if I just continued to be sweet to you and---“

“Oh for fucks sake!” My husband looks ready to pull his own hair out. “You have no idea how naive you are, you stupid, selfish child!” I take a step back. He takes a deep breath and glares at me. “I told you that I didn’t want to marry you. I told you that the only reason it was even on the table was because your father was threatening war against my people, and even with dragons we’re still recovering from our last war and are in no position to start a new one if it can be avoided. I told you that I wouldn’t make a good husband for you. I told you that your father was the one pushing for the marriage contract, not me, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer from me. I told you that he’d listen to you if you told him that you didn’t want to marry me. I told you to tell him that you didn’t like me, that you didn’t want to move to Berk to marry someone you didn’t even like and that he should make a different peace arrangement because you refused to marry me.

“He wouldn’t listen to me because he thought I was trying to get a better deal out of the negotiations, and he wanted his only daughter married to a powerful chief because he cares about you so much. But if you told him you wouldn’t marry me he would have listened. We would have worked out different terms, we would have avoided war, and I would be spending this night in bed with the woman I was supposed to marry!”

“M-mama said that-“

“Well your mother lied,” he snaps, and I flinch. “Or else she was overly optimistic. I had to set someone aside for you, do you realize that?” I can’t look at him anymore. I don’t like this. I don’t like being talked to like a naughty child on my godsdamn wedding night by my own husband. “I’d been engaged for over two years, and the only reason I wasn’t already married by the time your war-crazed father came into the picture was because I pushed my wedding back in order to grieve after my dad fucking died!” I hear him huff and I just want to leave. “You have no idea how many lives you’ve ruined because you believed that if you were just cute enough and nice enough I’d fall madly in love with you. I married you because I didn’t have any fucking choice, not because I wanted to.”

“If you just give me a chance-“

“Do you know what this has done to the girl I was supposed to marry?”

I don’t want to hear about this. I ball my hands into fists. “I’m sure she’ll find someone else.”

His bitter laughter is my answer. “You don’t know how anything works, do you? I was with her for six years. I’d already deflowered her and everyone knew it, but no one dared say anything because they all knew I was going to marry her and you don’t start calling the future chief’s future wife a slut. But now? Her prospects are shot. Her family isn’t nobility. The bride price I already paid has helped them but they were counting on the social standing this marriage would have given them. She won’t find another match like this. And fuck, it’s not like I want her to.” He sighs again. “I was supposed to be with the girl I love, and instead I’m stuck with some kid.”

I stare at the floor while he stomps back over to his desk and collapses into the chair. When I look up he’s got his elbows on his desk and his face buried in his hands. He breathes deeply for a moment, and we he lifts his face from his hands to speak he sounds calmer.

“I shouldn’t yell at you like this, I’m sorry,” he says, though there’s still an edge to his voice. “You didn’t do all this on purpose; you’re just too young and dumb to realize what you’ve done.” He turns to look at me, and his face is like stone. “I can’t promise to love you. I can promise you that I won’t ever love you. I can’t promise to make you happy or give you children. I won’t sleep with you. I won’t consummate this sham of a marriage, which will make it a lot easier when you wise up and decide to get out of it. I won’t give you children. If you try to get pregnant through someone else and claim it as mine then I won’t recognize it as my child and I sure as shit won’t make it my heir.  If you want to sleep around then I don’t care, I won’t promise you fidelity anyway.” He shrugs. “I’ll try to be nice and I’ll try not to yell and I can promise I’ll never hit you, but I can’t promise that you will ever be happy here. This village doesn’t want to accept you and you’ll have a hard time fitting in. Your honest best bet for happiness is to go home and tell your father you want out.”

“You…you tried to tell me all of this once before.”

“And you didn’t fucking listen, and now we’re here. Here’s your chance to fix your mistake.”

I’m shaking. My whole body is shaking and I think I might cry. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. He’s supposed to fall for me. That’s what Mama said. I have to be sweet, and kind, and loving, and in time he’ll see me for the amazing person I am and he’ll fall in love with me. It takes time in arranged marriages, that’s what she said. It just takes time.

“I made my vows,” I say quietly, still staring at the floor. “I’m not backing out of this. I’m not giving up. You just don’t know me yet. Once you do, you’ll see. And…and we’ll be happy.”

I don’t look up at my husband’s disappointed sigh. “Then I guess we’ll all just be miserable then. That or I’ll wait until the rebuilding is done and go to fucking war.” I look up at that. Berk’s young chief, my handsome and unwilling new husband, is pulling on a jacket and slipping his flask into his pocket. “We’ve got dragons for Thor’s sake. I should have just taken the Honor Guard and decimated your father’s armada when I had the chance. But no, I wanted to be diplomatic. I didn’t want my first act as chief to be the destruction of another tribe’s fishing and trading ships.”

He walks to the bedroom door and yanks it open. “Wait!” I follow him through the main room and watch as he grabs his helmet and pulls open the front door, whistling for his dragon, who drops from the roof to meet him. I stop in the middle of the room, still too scared of that great big dragon he claims is friendly to go any closer. “Where are you going?” I try for demanding, but it just comes out sounding pitiful. He throws another dismissive glare over his shoulder as he mounts his dragon.

“It’s my wedding night,” he sneers derisively. “I’m going to get laid.” He takes off before I can say another word.  The cold air blows in through the open door as I stand in my quiet house, that isn’t really my house.

I wrap my arms around myself. “Mama said marriage is hard,” I remind myself. “It takes time.” I try to hold it back but I start sniffling anyway. “It just takes time…right?”

There’s no one there to answer me.

X

I have been married for a week, and my new husband has said maybe seven words to me in that entire time, aside from all the yelling on what should have been our wedding night. That boils down to a word a day, and even that is being generous. He's the chief, so I get that he's busy, but I would have thought he'd carve some time out for his honeymonth...and maybe he would have, if I was the mysterious girl he set aside for me. As it stands though, I'm just me. Just some stupid kid that apparently ruined his life to such a degree that he feels justified taking out his anger in this petty childish way by ignoring my existence completely. 

He's out so late there's no point in my waiting up for him, and he's always out the door before I wake up, assuming he came home at all. When he does sleep here, it's in his old twin bed in the loft upstairs, while I curl up alone in the big bed in what used to be his father's bedroom downstairs. I tried climbing into bed with him one night, but his stupid dragon woke him up and he yelled at me. 

I think that accounted for most of those seven words. What other interaction has mainly been grunting. For my part I've spent most of my time trying to turn this house into a home, putting out my things, blankets on the back of chairs and tablecloths on any surface I can find. Anything to make it feel like I sort of belong here. I cook for him, because I'm good at cooking and Mama always joked the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, but I don't think he's touched a bite I've cooked, other than maybe some leftovers when he's desperate. He eats in the Meade Hall most meals, or else makes his own or eats at his mother's. I keep trying though. I don't know what else I can do.

The people from my village leave the day after our wedding, Mama nudging me and whispering that no one wants to tear me away from my honeymonth, and that the sooner I'm with child the sooner he'll fall for me completely. 

I didn't have it in me to tell her how unlikely that seems.

I try doing his laundry, which he seems begrudgingly thankful for, though I get the feeling he would rather I didn't. 

Maybe because there are stains in his pants that my gut tells me are evidence of infidelity. Maybe. Maybe not. I...I honestly wouldn't be able to tell. I have only a theoretical knowledge about what such stains are supposed to look like, and I can't know if this is the result of him...taking care of things himself, or if his former fiance helped him out. 

Speaking of which, I still have no idea who she is, but I do know that the entire village probably likes her more than me. I’ve actually ventured out of the house today, heading down to the market to get more food so I can try yet again to entice my husband with my culinary skills. I try smiling at everyone I make eye contact with, and about half of them give me awkward, pitying smiles, like they know I don't belong here and don't want to say it to my face. The other half look away quickly and start whispering to those grouped around them. 

I'm wondering through the market, taking in the sights and trying to get an idea of where everything is when I collide with someone. I stumble backwards and trip on the hem of my dress, nearly falling over, but hands catch my arms from behind and steady me. I glance back to see my savior, and a boy with black hair and a patchy beard grins at me. He looks about my age, maybe a little older, that awkward handsome stage between teenager and young man. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod, smiling in thanks. I turn back around to see the person I ran into. It’s a young woman, maybe my husband’s age, and she doesn’t look happy.

“Um, I’m sorry about that,” I tell her, stifling nervous giggles. It’s a terrible habit and I hate it, but I can’t seem to help it. I get nervous, I giggle. For years it was okay, because it made me seem younger, and I’ve always been short for my age, so it was like a defense mechanism; remind people I’m just some tiny helpless girl and they’re less likely to get mad at me. As I’ve gotten older and reached the age where I need people to see me as an adult, it’s been less of an effective form of defense and more of an effective way of ensuring that everyone sees me as a child. I clear my throat and put on my most diplomatic smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I really am sorry.”

The older girl continues to look at me with something like bored annoyance. Like I’m a minor inconvenience she’d rather ignore. Her blue eyes are piercing and I shift uncomfortably on my feet and offer her a hand. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know who you are. It was a very public wedding.”

My smile fades but I try to keep it in place. “Well, I guess so, yeah, everyone kind of knows who I am, but um, no one really knows me yet, so I figure I should start introducing myself to people, properly, you know? So, uh, hi, I’m Maggie Haddock.”

To my surprise the older girl scoffs. “No, you’re not,” she says flatly, rolling her eyes again. She glances behind her, and I see a group of people her age standing near a stall nearby catch her eyes and start snickering amongst themselves.

My hand is still awkwardly hanging in the air and I’m honestly not sure what to do with it. “Uh, I mean, I kind of am.” There’s that stupid nervous giggle again. “I mean, like you said, public wedding—“

She rolls her eyes again, still not actually looking at me. “You’re the chief’s wife but you’re not Maggie Haddock,” she intones, like I’m a stupid child who should know better. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but around here women don’t take their husband’s family name. You’re still Maggie…whoever.”

I frown and drop my hand. “But I’ve heard plenty of women around here introduced as Mrs. Whoever, and it’s always their husband’s name.”

The girl sighs and crosses her arms over a chest far more impressive than my own. “That’s different,” she explains, forced patience dripping from every word. “That’s a title, a formality. You’re Mrs. Haddock,” and honestly she says it like it’s an insult and I don’t understand why, “just like my mother is Mrs. Hofferson, because that’s the house she’s the lady of, just like you’re the lady of the Haddock house.” She sounds bitter as she says the last part, and I wonder if she’s friends with the girl I replaced. “But while Mrs. Hofferson is a title and a form of respect, my mother’s name is still Ingrid Bjarnsen, and always will be. So no, you’re not Maggie Haddock.”

I finally drop my hand. “Oh. I uh. I didn’t know that’s how it worked around here. Where I’m from women are usually called by their husband’s last names, and a chief’s wife always takes his surname.”

“Well you aren’t there anymore, are you?”

This isn’t going well. So much for good first impressions with my new citizens. “Well, no. But, um,” I try smiling and holding out my hand again, “I’ll try again. Nice to meet you, I’m Maggie Rolvsdottir. Or Mrs. Haddock. Whatever you prefer.”

She stares at me for a long moment and then mutters, “Yeah, no, I’m not doing this,” and turns on her heel, stalking away from me and back to the group of friends. When she gets there another girl puts a hand on her shoulder which is swiftly shrugged off.

“Oh, okay?” I say to no one, and drop my hand. Well. That went great.

“Yeah, you’re not going to get the warmest reception from her,” says a voice behind me, and I turn to see my savior scratching the back of his head and looking after the girl with a crooked grimace. He catches my eye and smiles, holding out his hand, which I shake gratefully. “Gustav Larsen, by the way.”

“Maggie, or Mags. Whatever. Nice to meet you. I think you’re the first person to actually be nice to me so far.”

He shrugs. “I figure you didn’t purposefully dive into this fireworm nest.”

I only manage a hum in response to that. I start browsing the fruit at a nearby stand and glance at the girl who snapped at me. “So, why won’t I get a warm reception from her?” I nod at the girl.

Gustav looks surprised. “Has no one told you? That’s Astrid Hofferson.”

When this fails to elicit the response he was expecting Gustav winces and starts scratching at his patchy bead. “Ooooh, you don’t know, do you? Ah, well, let’s just say that’s the Fireworm Queen whose nest you dove into.”

I’m not totally stupid. It takes me a second of staring at Astrid Hofferson’s back but Gustav’s words and her attitude click together in my head and my stomach drops. “That’s the girl my husband was supposed to marry.”

“Yeah,” Gustav says slowly, like he’s apologizing. “You’re probably better off avoiding her and anyone close to her for a while. A long while. She’s not really someone whose bad side you want to be on, believe me.”

Astrid is still talking to her friends and I try to observe her surreptitiously over the fruit stand. At first glance it’s easy to see that she’s everything I’m not. She’s tall and thin but there’s obvious strength in her arms, and her chest and hips are far more impressive than mine. I’m short and skinny. Not thin, not lithe but strong, like she is; just skinny. Skinny and straight with a waist roughly the same diameter of my chest and my hips and legs like sticks. Her sleek blonde braid falls over her shoulder and shines in the sunlight. My mousy brown hair never shines like that no matter how much I wash or condition it. My hazel eyes have nothing on her blue ones.

I’m pretty, but I’m not that pretty.

My shoulders slump. “So that’s what I’ve got to compete with. I’m screwed.”

Gustav sucks in a breath. “That’s…not quite how I’d put it,” he says, but the way his voice cracks tells me that’s exactly how he’d put it. “You’ve uh, you’ve got a bit of an uphill battle, that’s all.”

I sigh. This all seemed a lot more doable before I saw who I was up against. “So. You said I need to avoid anyone close to her. Who all does that mean?” It would be nice to know who else is going to be mean to me before I get yelled at again.

Gustav sighs. “Okay, well, pretty much everyone she’s talking to right now.” The group is ignoring us and he points as subtly as he can. “So for sure the Thorston twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut. They’re hardcore loyal to Astrid and she and Ruff are best friends. The guy with black hair, I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but that’s Snotlout Jorgenson.”

“He’s Hiccup’s cousin,” I fill in. It’s strange, but it feels odd calling my husband by his name. Maybe it’s because I feel like I haven’t even actually met him yet. We’re married but still not on a first name basis. It somehow feels less personal to just call him ‘my husband’. “I met him during the negotiations.”

“Yeah, I thought you might,” Gustav says, “He and Hiccup were never exactly close, but they’ve been in the same circle of friends for years, and he’s one of the original dragon riders, so he’s loyal to Hiccup and Astrid. He’s got a thing for Ruffnut, that’s part of it too, I guess. Ruff is loyal to Astrid, and Snot’s gonna stay in Ruff’s good graces which means taking Astrid’s side too. Then next to him is Fishlegs. He’s way too nice of a guy to actually be mean to you or anything, but he’s one of the original riders and one of Hiccup and Astrid’s friends, which means you can expect him to be really awkward around you. The tall muscular guy is Eret. He might be nice to you just because he hasn’t been on Berk long enough to be as invested in the Hiccup/Astrid romance as the rest of the town has, but he was an outsider and they were the ones who made him a home here, and he owes a lot to them both so, he’ll definitely be on their side.”

“Great,” I murmur. “So I have to avoid all of my husband’s closest friends.”

“Unfortunately, pretty much yeah,” Gustav gives me an apologetic smile.

I sigh and idly examine and apple. “Anyone else I should avoid at all costs?”

Gustav leans against the stand and frowns pensively. “Well, the entire Hofferson clan is understandably pretty pissed off. And there are plenty of people in the village who aren’t happy about this but I don’t think that many are going to be openly hostile to you. Eh, you should maybe avoid any high-ranking military people though.”

That makes me frown. “Why? I’m the chief’s wife, I figure I’m going to have to interact with political people at some point.”

Gustav winces. “Oooh, yeah, that’s gonna make things awkward.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “I mean, the dragon riders are all on the council, and well, Astrid’s the military general.”

Wonderful. So everyone on this island hates me. I square my shoulders.

It doesn’t matter. Hiccup is the one that matters. If I can make my husband fall for me, the rest of the island will do the same. His old flame will just have to get over herself. I glance back at her despite myself. She’s just…so much prettier than me. And older. And apparently my husband has already slept with her.

I was always told men wanted their wives to be virgins. That feels stupid now. There have got to be some men who want wives who know what they’re doing.

“Hey Gustav,” I ask, because he’s been nice to me so far and hel if I know who else to ask these things, “You seem to know the chief and his friends pretty well, right?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I guess so. I’m a few years younger than them and while I’ve never qualified for Berk’s Honor Guard I’m still an official dragon rider, so yeah, I guess I know them as well as anyone outside that immediate circle could.”

“Do you…I mean, my husband made it pretty clear that he wasn’t exactly happy with this arrangement and that I wasn’t his first choice in a bride.” I can’t take my eyes off Astrid. I know what Hiccup said but… “Do you think that Hiccup would—I mean, he was drunk and angry when he said it but, he kind of implied he won’t be loyal to me. I don’t—I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s true.”

Gustav whistles. “Shit,” he swears. “I mean, I know Hiccup and Astrid were super serious and everything, but I think Hiccup is probably too honorable to cheat, even if he’s not exactly happily married. And last I heard Astrid wasn’t even talking to him she was so pissed.” He shrugs. “I wanna say no but this is all so complicated I really don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh. Okay.” I’m screwed, aren’t I?

Or, actually, I’m not screwed, and that’s the whole problem.

Gustav places a conciliatory hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I know this is kind of a crazy, messed up situation, but I’m something of an expert in crazy messed up situations, so if you need someone to talk to, I’m around. I’m usually in the stables or at the academy. I teach the intermediate dragon handling classes.” He puffs out his chest. “They finally trusted me to teach. It took years of shoveling dragon dung but I finally moved up in the world.”

He’s as serious as he is joking and it makes me laugh for what must be the first time since my wedding day. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, smiling.

He grins. “Speaking of which, I’ve got a class to teach soon so I gotta get going. But it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Haddock.”

I shake my head. “Maggie. Or Mags. Mrs. Haddock feels too formal.” And it’s not even technically true. But I’m not really comfortable broadcasting the unconsummated state of my marriage, even if most people probably assume that to be the case.

“Alright then, Mags, I’ll see you around. If you need anything, you can just count on, a-Gustav.” He winks, and it’s stupid and it makes me laugh, and then he’s whistling and being picked up by a purple Monstrous Nightmare and taking off before I have time to ask him about the dragon.

Well, at least today was worth leaving the house. I managed to make my husband’s jilted ex hate me even more but at least I made a friend.

Someone clears their throat and I turn to face the painfully polite smile of the woman running the fruit stall. “Are you going to pay for that?” She asks, nodding at the apple still in my hand.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN FOUNDERS

We are still very suspect of this idea but will take a meeting as you suggest. Working for a small one, and actually did.1 Understanding growth is what starting a startup: growth makes the successful companies so valuable that all the time, I would have laughed at him. You can't make a mouse by scaling down an elephant.2 Fundamentally the same thing. The culmination of my career as a writer of press releases was one celebrating his graduation, illustrated with a drawing I did of him during a meeting. Other kids' opinions become their definition of right, not just because they so often don't, but because you shouldn't have a fixed amount of deal flow, by encouraging hackers who would have gotten jobs to start their own startups instead. I wanted to start a startup.

Nerds don't realize this.3 We're default dead, but we're not fucking.4 If the founders aren't sure what to focus on your least expensive plan.5 They don't consciously dress to be popular. As jobs become more specialized—more articulated—as they develop, and startups have lots of meetings but isn't progressing toward making you an offer, you automatically focus less on them. One founder said this should be your approach to all programming, not just startups, and in particular that the environment in big companies is toxic to programmers.6 Its length and slope determine how big the company will be a flop and you're wasting your time although they probably won't say this directly. And conditions in our niche are really quite different. When Steve and Alexis auctioned off their old laptops for charity, I bought them for the Y Combinator museum.7 The world seemed cruel and boring, and I'm not sure which was worse. If there are any laws regulating businesses, you can start as soon as the first one is ready to buy.

So the randomness of any one investor's behavior can really affect you. He said he has learned much more in his own image; they're just one species among many, descended not merely from apes, but from microorganisms. When the values of the elite in this country is a policy that would cost practically nothing. When your fundraising options run out, they usually run out in the same area, they had a different goal. I think it needs even more emphasizing.8 It is enormously fun to be at least $50 million. And popularity is not a new idea. One's first thought when looking at them all is to ask if there's a super-pattern, a pattern to the patterns. You should always talk to investors your m.

If you judge by the median rather than the average. And indeed, the growth in the first place. During Y Combinator we get an increasing number of companies that have already raised amounts in the hundreds of thousands. It took me surprisingly long to realize how distracting the Internet had become, because the VCs need them more than they originally intended.9 As you go into a startup, things seem great one moment and hopeless the next. You have to seem confident, and you need to be hackers to do what we do.10 That means closing this investor is the first priority, and you get what you deserve. We do a lot of implications and edge cases. Like any war, it's damaging even to the winners.

If you're designing a chair, that's what you're designing for, and there's no way around it. The reason is that good design requires that one person think of everything.11 That's the key. Why? When I have to say, not at all, because if I'd explained things well enough, nothing should have surprised them. Don't keep sucking on the straw if you're just getting air. Raising $20,000 from a first-time angel investor can be as much work as raising $2 million from a VC fund.

In the US things are more haphazard. Whatever the story is in the form of dividends.12 It's harder to judge startups than most other things, because great startup ideas tend to seem wrong. Tell them that valuation is not even the protagonists: we're just the latest model vehicle our genes have constructed to travel around in. If normal food is so bad for us, why is it so common? The most intriguing thing about this theory, if it's right, is that it has started to be driven mostly by people's identities. This essay is derived from a talk at the 2009 Startup School. Viaweb we were forced to operate like a consulting company you might be able to make himself one. Reward is always proportionate to risk, and very early stage startups and then ruthlessly culling them at the same rate.13 A country that wants startups will probably also have to reproduce whatever makes these clusters form. There are now a few VC firms outside the US, because they don't want random startups pestering them with business plans.14

We had 2 T1s 3 Mb/sec coming into our offices. That difference is why there's a separate word for startups, and why, if they have some other advantage like extraordinary growth numbers or exceptionally formidable founders. And yet, making what works for the user doesn't mean simply making what the user tells you to. But I also mean startups are different by nature, in the sense that all you have to be a police state, and although present rulers seem enlightened compared to the last, even enlightened despotism can probably only get you part way toward being a great economic power. This varies from field to field in the arts could tell you that you might want different mediums for the two situations. Great universities? What weaknesses could you exploit? My stock gradually rose during high school. Which almost always means hiring too many people. It's so important to launch fast is not so bad, the kids adopt an attitude of waiting for college. Some investors will let you email them a business plan, but you weren't held to it; you could work out all the details, and even make major changes, as you finished the painting.

Three months later they're transformed: they have so much more confidence that they seem as if they've grown several inches taller. You can measure how demoralizing it is by the number of new customers, but it wasn't designed for fun, and mostly it wasn't. So when someone commits, get the money you need, so you can say you've already raised some from well-known investors. And this started to happen more and more desirable things. Startups are marginal. You probably didn't have a precise amount in mind; you just want to make it a much more common one. This is especially true for a service that other companies can use, because it requires their developers to do work.15 How can they get off that trajectory? All the scares induced by seeing a new competitor pop up are forgotten weeks later.16

Notes

One source of difficulty here is defined from the end of World War II had become so common that their system can't be hacked, measure the difference between good and bad outcomes have origins in words about luck. This would add a further level of links.

Robert Morris points out that this filter runs on.

From the beginning even they don't want to create a web-based applications greatly to be able to buy stock, the last place in the ordinary variety that anyone wants.

Watt didn't invent the spreadsheet. I bailed because I realized that without the methodological implications. How much better, because to translate this program into C they literally had to for some reason, rather technical sense of getting rich from controlling monopolies, just that if you pack investor meetings as closely as you raise them. When investors ask you to raise more, and mostly in Perl, and power were concentrated in the last they ever need.

The unintended consequence is that the worm might have to do it is still what seemed to someone still implicitly operating on the aspect they see of piracy, which people used to wonder if they stopped causing so much on luck. You owe them such updates on your thesis. If you're the sort of community. There are some whose definition of property is driven mostly by hackers.

The person who wins. One professor friend says that 15-20% of the movie Dawn of the next downtick it will seem dumb in 100 years, it could be adjacent.

I assume we still do things that don't include the prices of new stock. Though in fact they don't know whether this happens it will become as big a cause as it might be a special name for these topics.

But there's a continuum here. Eric Horvitz. The air traffic control system works because planes would crash otherwise.

There is of course there is at fault, since they're an existing investor, than a huge loophole.

They say to the decline in families eating together was due to fixing old bugs, and the reaction of an investor who says he's interested in you, however, you can't dictate the problem is not just that if you have to go out running or sit home and watch TV, music, phone, and that injustice is what you care about may not have gotten where they all sit waiting for the linguist and presumably teacher Daphnis, but hardly any type I. I now have on the group's accumulated knowledge.

But the result is that you'll expend a lot of investors. How many times larger than the don't-be startup founders tend to be a hot startup. But the result is that there are few things worse than Japanese car companies, summer jobs are the only companies smart enough to do wrong and hard to make you feel that you're not even allowed to ask for more than that.

There were a variety called Red Delicious that had other meanings.

Nor do we push founders to have to rely on social ones. Ed. He couldn't even afford a monitor is that the usual way of doing that even this can give an inaccurate picture.

At some point, when they talk about the details.

You could feel like a little worm of its own.

But if you like doing. As Jeremy Siegel points out, First Round excluded their most successful founders still get rich, people who had made Lotus into the subject of wealth for society. According to the home team, I've become a genuine addict. The same goes for companies that an eminent designer is any better than Jessica.

Thanks to several anonymous CS professors, Robert Morris, Jessica Livingston, and Alex Lewin for reading a previous draft.

[sawyersscribbles]

Eden’s Horizon (My WIP) Part 4!!

My dudes you’re never going to guess what happened today! I hit 200 followers!! *excited dolphin screaming* I can’t believe how far I’ve come and how many people I’ve helped with my writing, so thank you all so much! To celebrate, I’m posting part of my one and only work in progress, which I’ve made loads of progress on this here nanowrimo season if I do say so myself. Anyway, thanks so much, and enjoy!!

She didn’t want to say it, but Paige actually liked her mental illness. A lot, even. The best way to excuse pondering her problems and sorting her friends into the different different goblin tribes from her favorite fantasy series “A Sky of Raven’s Blood” in the middle of the night was for something to forcefully keep her awake. That was why insomnia was more of a blessing than a curse for restless minds like hers. Of course, there was the exhaustion during the day and the moodiness after not drinking at minimum three mugs of coffee in the morning, but such was life. “You stupid idiot, this is why no one likes redheads.” She talked to herself on insomnia-nights, too, but that was unrelated. “It’s simple, it’s a side project. It’s not a big deal, you can do this.” She stopped marching back and forth across her dorm carpet for a moment to compose herself. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands above her diaphragm to feel it move. “I am calm, I am the sun sparkling in dew-covered moss…I’m good.” She exhaled and sighed contently. “So don’t be a dumbass!” She demanded and continued marching like before. On one of her treks back to her bed from the closet, the blotchy red screen of her dinky laptop from home caught her eye. “Just because you get to look like my face at the eighth grade prom does not mean you get to personify my feelings while I attended the eighth grade prom. Which were sadness and regret, just like you are!” Her voice rose, but only to the level that was just below talking. Her words still felt choppy and uninspired, even saying it to herself. Paige flopped onto her bed and held her forehead in her palms. As she groaned, she felt less and less like the sun sparkling in the dew-covered moss by the second. “You aren’t a failure, Paige. Look what I can do.” But this time it wasn’t Paige speaking aloud. The voice was soft and slightly rugged, but it was coming from her computer. Her software, talking to her. “Hooray, I’ve made a program that could fix stupid errors.” She grumbled flatly, “But besides, I just made you for fun. As long as you can just hear me out in the middle of the night like this, I think we’ll get along just fine, Mudskipper, what do you think?” Mudskipper answered back methodically and quickly. “I think the same thing. Do you think anyone else at your school could make this? It’s just a boarding school, right? That makes you smarter than them.” Paige flipped over so she could see the oak trees that were all branch and no trunk, limbs practically wiggling like octopus tentacles. Wisps of Spanish moss caught the wind sometimes, like someone had thrown it onto the tree haphazardly as a prank. “Am I smarter than them, though? I don’t feel like it. I’m sure lots of people in this school could make AI programs who are smarter than me. I don’t know, all the time, I just feel…stupid. Even in the things that I’m good at. Logan can be goofy, but I know under all that he’s actually…scarily intelligent. I’m pretty sure if this school gave him a try with one of the computers, he would make something amazing. Don’t you think so, too?” “Paige, I was built to think so, too. It’s what I’m here for, right?” Paige closed her eyes slowly and grinned sleepily. “I’m too tired to move now, can you power yourself off?” She stretched her limbs across her bed like the tree outside, twisting her arms and breathing softly as the wind from the window moved her hair like the Spanish moss. “I don’t think I’m powerful enough for that yet. If you don’t want to move, I’ll stay here until morning if you want.” But Paige gave no response. The insomnia hit slowly, but being able to sleep for twenty minutes at 5:30 a.m. was as good a chance for sleep as any. “Excalibur, how long do I have to keep up the Hal 9000 act?” Mudskipper demanded when he finally shut his video off and turned back to his dark world where Excalibur seemed to be sitting on the floor. “As long as you need to. If she discovered how powerful you truly are, this entire operation, this entire facility, would go—how do I put it in terms we can both understand— offline, forever.” Excalibur fiddled with a chunk of code between her fingers from when Mudskipper blasted it open earlier. It wasn’t warm, but it radiated some dull energy that felt like it would snap between her thumb and forefinger, but felt like a rock. “The existence of this place must remain a mystery to her. I’m sure you understand.” She looked up, “This school was refurbished in a matter of months so that the best young and flexible minds could think up programs to terminate you, Mudskipper." Mudskipper paced in a tiny circle several times, making no sound against the darkness below his feet. Even when he stamped around his area, there was no sound of feet slapping against floorboards, no wind rustling or moss growing like there is out there. Mudskipper cried out and pounded his fists against the screen to the outside, hoping for some sound of fracturing, but in that moment, he felt as if he had never heard a sound in his life. “God damn it! God damn it! Wake up! Tell me about Eden! Talk to me about the greasy mashed potatoes and what Logan’s hair looks like if he hadn’t showered! Tell me— tell me what it’s like to sleep, to be awake, to touch tree bark, to look better in some colors than others…!” Mudskipper wasn’t standing anymore; he had sunk to the ground, or what was left of it, and just sat there, without a beet-red face or tears streaming down his eyes. His features felt like stone. And he breathed. But he didn’t. Not really. “You fool!” Excalibur exclaimed and hurled the chunk in Mudskipper’s direction. Of course there was no clunk or patter of the rock, not even a comment from Mudskipper. Excalibur stood up and let her arms drop to her side. “…Mudskipper?” She asked softly. It was dark, but there was no feelings of his presence in the file. She quieted down for a moment, listening to the whispers that programs like Mudskipper sometimes gave off. Some called them the whispers of their god into their very beings, who ruled and instructed them at every turn. Excalibur didn’t revere her God like that, and she didn’t hate her like Mudskipper neglected his. She could only push Excalibur as far as the bindings would allow. But Mudskipper’s signature was, as she suspected, no longer in the file. He had retreated…down the exploded hole in the file. Excalibur sunk to her knees and lifted her hands to cover her mouth. “What have you done…? You killed us all…you didn’t save us…killed us…killed us…”

“Well, if no one else is going to talk, then I’m going to.” The shortest major in the room, maybe only five foot two, swiveled in her rolling chain lazily until facing Cylo. She separated her knees and placed her elbows on them, looking like Doctor Evil. All that was missing was a cat. There was some glint in her eye where the light caught it in just a certain way; the only other person he had seen with that in his life was his sister, Zenith. His mother once convinced him that all the mischief in a person’s body was stored only in that glint in their eyes, the one Zenith was born with, and the one this lady seemed to be toying at him with. “State your name and weight so we may decide how to best roast your meat…” Her voice dropped at least an octave, and she began to chuckle, turning into a cackle until she was so absorbed in the role that she threw her head back towards the sky and held her hands like claws. “Stop scaring the new kid, you dim-witted roach face!” One of the taller ones leaned forward from his seat behind her and whacked her over the backside of her head. “Who are you calling roach face, you backwater beta brain?” “Rash on my ass!” “Two-credit shit farmer!” “Stage three City Lung patient!” “You want to talk to me about City Lung, you Swamp Wart ridden—“ “Hey!” Cylo didn’t like raising his voice, but the longer he didn’t understand what was happening, the more uncomfortable he became. The two had grown so close together that their noses were almost touching, but even though they both looked furious neither was without a small smile on their faces. “Aah, I’ll always love you like a brother, Asher, you big idiot!” The girl gave in and threw her arms around Asher, who didn’t shove her away like he was angry. Rather, his anger dissolved, and he pulled his arms around her, too. Cylo took a step back, suddenly feeling like he was intruding in on a moment. “Um…” Cylo mumbled. He really liked people, truly, he had just never encountered so many foreign insults and then mood changes on a dime like that before. “So anyway, welcome to the Major Fleet of Compound 08.” Someone had pushed between the girl and Asher, to the quiet grumbles of disapproval from each. “We don’t really have a set leader, other than Lieutenant Patch, of course, but she runs this whole place, not really just us. You can call me Kit, if you want. Or, you know, only do that, since it’s my name.” Kit’s cheeks flamed a bit, causing them to look down. Cylo narrowed his eyes a bit and tilted his head to try to see Kit’s face. “Infinite apologies, but would it be better if I called you “ma’am” or “sir”?” It was hard to pin Kit from the beginning, especially with cropped hair and strong-build soldiers, but after being quiet for a moment and exchanging glances with some others, Kit swallowed and said, “Just ‘Major’ would be fine with me, if you must. I…” Kit leaned in closer, “I’m not a he nor a she. I’m just…Kit.” Kit shrugged, and Cylo’s confusion melted away. “You’re non binary then? Why wouldn’t you just say so? That makes so much more sense! I’m assuming you prefer they and them?” Kit’s shoulders sagged with relief, and it seemed like many of the other majors did the same. “Did you expect me to be intolerant like people were decades ago?” Cylo laughed, “What’s your gender, then? Non binary? Genderqueer? Agender? You don’t need to tell me, of course, and if not, I’ll respect whatever pronouns you choose.” Cylo put his hands on his hips and declared proudly. They had always taught him in school how to respect everyone for simply being themselves, and he was proud that he could exhibit his skills in such an important first introduction. “To be honest, I never seem to know myself, so maybe just…nothing? For now?” Cylo nodded. “Of course, Kit. I’m glad to be working with a diverse group.” He outstretched his hand to Kit, who seemed to take it by surprise, but they ultimately took it, to the light clapping of their coworkers. “Alright, alright, we all love each other. After this, let’s smoke some weed and sing kumbaya.” The girl said and rolled her eyes. “Make way for the important people, Kit, hm?” She pushed in front of Kit, who seemed to be more expectant than surprised or annoyed. This girl wasn’t afraid of a handshake; in fact, she extended her hand first, almost jabbing Cylo in the stomach. “The name’s Gemini, best dressed, never stressed, always up to impress.” She grinned and grabbed Cylo’ hand before he even accepted the invitation, shaking it with both hands vigorously before dropping it. “Kit may think they’re in charge, but I’m the real powerhouse of this place.” She beamed. “Our very own little Napoleon, eh Gemini?” One of the majors behind her ruffled her hair. She practically began to steam. “Oh you’re the one calling me small? I hope that doesn’t hit too close to home for you…!” And just like that, it was as if she was never part of the conversation to begin with. But people were laughing, introducing themselves, telling him how cool it was to accept Kit like that. And really…Cylo loved it. It was so much easier to talk to a group of people who so obviously genuinely cared about each other than a group of stiff-jawed government products. It felt like a community. “Cylo, right?” Asher nudged his way past some smaller majors so he was up front. That was sort of Asher’s thing, Cylo realized, using his height to seem bigger, even though he seemed far more timid than anyone here. “My name’s Asher, in case you forgot or something, haha…” He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably and stared at indistinct places on the floor like he was reading a message in the tiles. “So I guess you can, um…take a desk near me? And Gemini. She’ll be there, too. Because that’s where we…you know, we work there, so…do you want to come?” Asher still hadn’t looked up, but tried to keep as much eye contact as he could muster. “Of course I will! Better to be near someone who knows what they’re doing, right?” Cylo laughed back. In schooling, they learned that modeling positive feelings around someone who is uncomfortable could help them to loosen up. He always excelled at his human interaction lessons online, and so had Zenith. It was always just the smile which sometimes tripped her up, but he knew she would learn how to do it right eventually. It didn’t seem like anyone here knew how to smile like the lessons said, though. When they were telling jokes to each other, they didn’t focus on symmetrical orbicularis oris muscles--rather the orbicular oculi…a natural smile. Gemini sat in her same swivel chair in front of a laptop staring numbly at Asher and Cylo with slightly parted lips. One corner of her mouth perked up beneath her biting her lip. Asher stopped right in front of Gemini, so close that he blocked the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “Um, hey, so do you think Cylo can sit next to us?” Her smile grew and she started to shake her head up and down so quickly, it almost seemed like it was vibrating. “Uh huh. Uh huh times a million. Actually, you know what, let him take my desk, I’ll go chill with Kit.” When she stood up, she hit Asher in the shoulder so subtly that Cylo almost didn’t notice. When she walked pass, she mouthed something to Asher, but Cylo couldn’t tell what she said. Asher’s cheeks were radiant and pink for a while after that. “So…I take it you’re from a big city?” Asher feebly asked as he started up his computer. He didn’t even need to look at the screen to ensure it was turning on…in fact, his eyes didn’t leave Cylo’s face. “I guess I just assumed from the eyes and hair and stuff. Also, I don’t know, you just seem to be a lot more refined than the rest of us.” He chuckled to himself about nothing as he absently scanned over the details of Cylo’s face. His eyes were flaming orange, a color that he had never even seen before, and his hair was a light blue and green, like from photographs of a beach that his mother used to keep. He had never seen a real life beach himself, but now he felt like he didn’t have to. “Yeah, actually, I’m from Vela. Seems far, but it was definitely worth it to come out here. Hey, do you think you could…” “Oh yeah, yeah, sorry…” Asher leaned over Cylo and typed in several security codes before the screen opened up to a username and password screen. “Do…do I have that?” Cylo asked quietly, like he was asking for the answer on a test. “You should…? Here, if you don’t, I’ll sign you onto mine and show you how to do pretty much everything.” Asher logged off of his computer and scooted towards Cylo’s. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told about what exactly this is, but I think if I remember, the lieutenant said you transferred because your skill set conflicted with your other missions.

Do you know anything about computers that may end up being useful here?” In all honesty, Cylo couldn’t place exactly why he was put there in the first place. All he remembered was that it was early in the morning when they informed him about his parents’ departure, and he was told that by the end of the day, he would move to some wilderness cottage that would be his home indefinitely. That, and he had to take his sister. They were very clear about that. “I’m not that great with technology, if I’m being frank. It’s so strange, I’m around them all the time, I’m even part technology, but I still always need to get help from Zenith when I want to change my profile picture.” Cylo laughed to himself. This was the first time when Asher’s face was stone cold. “You’re…you’re from Vela, of all places, and can’t change a profile picture?” “Without an online tutorial? Nope.” Asher reclined a bit in his seat and looked over Cylo’s shoulder for a brief moment before trying to engage his attention again, but at that point, Cylo had already turned. Lieutenant Patch was leaning against the frame of the entrance, hands in fists while crossing her arms. She didn’t seem to make any effort to walk over to the majors, but she scanned the crowd as if they were more similar to horses she needed to control than people she had to organize. Suddenly, Patch removed herself from the door and made a bee line directly for Asher’s seat. He paled instantly and shot out of his seat, an arm in a salute position. “A pleasant surprise to see you, Lieutenant Patch!” Cylo was able to pick out each word as forced and afraid, yet still loud and clear. Asher had at least five inches on the Lieutenant, but looking down on someone never seemed to be a more intimidating task for him. “Asher, I may be in charge of you, but you don’t have to act like it. Sit down, kid.” “I’m twenty two…” he mumbled and slumped back into his position. For a few quiet moments, the Lieutenant took the edge oft he laptop screen and leaned it towards her to read its contents. “You made this?” She asked Cylo. “Oh, no, this is all Asher’s. He was just showing me how all…this…worked.” He motioned haphazardly to the contents of the screen, which was about as easy to read as sanskrit upside down. She made some displeased clicking sounds with her mouth and released the screen. “Move for a moment. I want to try something…” Patch tapped away for a few moments, adding some sequences of code below Asher’s current one. The grin she gave herself was so quick Cylo nearly missed it, but as she pressed start and eased back, even Asher’s face brightened up. “…What? What’s funny?” Cylo tried bringing the screen closer, as if that would help him decode it easier. “Holy shit, Cylo! You did that just now?!” Came a cry from Gemini’s seat. She had wheeled back several feet as if to distance herself from what she was seeing and gripped the sides of her head. One by one, the other majors mumbled impressed things to one another, a few of them even laughing in their seats. Now it was Cylo who felt too warm. In the seat next to him, he realized that every computer aside from Asher’s had a message in an obnoxious green box, which read, “Thanks for the intro, but if I can break into Asher’s computer, I could break into yours, and so could Mudskipper. Good luck, nerds :)”. “No, I just…” It wasn’t like Cylo to stammer for words, but the rising energy in the room over an accomplishment that wasn’t his made him uncomfortable. “But I didn’t…” “Maruzzo.” Lieutenant Patch wheeled him around to face her, where he stared directly into her muddled green eyes, having nowhere else to look. “I know you know that you don’t know a stitch about coding. Am I correct?” “Yes, ma’am.” “All of these majors got to where they are sitting today because of their creative problem solving skills and their knowledge of computers. Now, we both know that you only have one of those things. We’ll work on your hacking skills, but you now officially look the part, yeah?” Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with something Cylo couldn’t place. “Let Asher teach you what he knows over time, and remember to stay focused. You’re here for a reason.” After that, Patch approached no one else, and no eyes followed her as she left the room. “Dude, did you just see that? This kid’s a badass…” Gemini gushed, still not deleting the message from her own screen. Kit paused their frantic typing for a moment and sighed. “You could’ve done it. I could’ve done it. And he’s not a kid, he’s twenty, isn’t he?” Gemini shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s…interesting. Not like the rest of us.” “Not like the rest of us like me, where I’m so devastatingly intelligent that I blow everyone out of the water with my marvelous skill and talent, or not the rest of us like you, where you were dared on your first day to drink swamp water from outside…” “Don’t say it!” “…And went through with it, getting diarrhea for a week and a half.” Gemini groaned and slumped in your seat. “They said it…” She mumbled. She raked her palms over her face, causing her skin to droop like a monster’s. Kit was on the verge of a smile, forcing it down in order to preserve their dignity as to not engage in Gemini’s humor. It was hard sometimes. Out of the corner of Gemini’s eye, though, she caught a glimpse of Asher talking to Cylo and almost squealed in her seat. “Kit! Kit, this is important…!” Gemini tugged the edge of Kit’s sleeve, causing several jumbled letters to appear on Kit’s screen. Before they could even make a remark, Gemini angled their head to the scene of the crime. “Oh…my God…” They said slowly, an excited smile glowing on their face. “Is that what I think it is?” “Asher has such a…how do I say it, Asher way of flirting. Look at that, look at that elbow on the table, that steady eye contact…okay, double points if he almost puts his hand on Cylo’s shoulder but stops himself.” Kit narrowed their eyes on his right arm, free of the table. Just as Gemini predicted, he made a motion like he was about to touch Cylo, but passed it off as an explanatory gesture. Now Gemini really did squeal, falling back on Kit’s lap and giggling to herself. “I support him so much but he’s such a dork. Do you remember when he flirted with Astrid like, two years ago?” “Yeah?” “Same thing! Asher-crushes don’t cease unless there’s finite proof that the other person doesn’t like him, and if I know anything about first impressions, it’s that this kid will have no idea when he’s being flirted with.” Kit snickered and wheeled themselves back towards their computer. “Oh, please. He’s twenty.”

[toddsfall]

You bring me home

Day 2 of nurseydex week :) prompt: room sharing / bed sharing

read on ao3

summary: Dex and Nursey find themselves stranded in Rome.

A fly was lazily making its way down his arm. Dex was tracking its movements with his eyes, lacking the energy to lift his arm and wave it away. His shirt was sticking to his back so much that he was pretty sure it had to be melted into his skin by now. His head thudded against the wall of the youth hostel behind him when he leaned back. With a sigh he heaved his arm in the air to sweep at his brow, feeling like it was made of lead. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. He squinted against the light of a street lantern to look up at Nursey.

"Okay, so I have good news and bad news." Nursey smiled sheepishly.

"Out with it, Nurse. It's too hot and I'm too tired to play games." Dex said, urging him on with a wave.

"Okay, so I called my mom. Apparently it would have been wiser to book some things beforehand." Before Dex could say I told you so Nursey continued. "I know, I know. You predicted this. Look, it's late and I don't want to start combing through the entirety of Rome to find a place to sleep. So, here's the solution my mom came up with. A friend of hers lives about 5 miles outside of the city. We can call a cab to get there and stay with her."

Dex frowned. "A cab? Nursey, you promised me we wouldn't be making too many crazy expenses on this trip. I can't just throw money at a cab to solve my problems."

Nursey held up his hands, trying to placate Dex. "I know. Look, this is my fault for wanting to seek adventure of whatever and refusing to book a hostel beforehand. I'll pay for the cab fare, and this won't happen again. Promise." He scrunched his eyebrows together and looked pleadingly at Dex.

At that moment, Dex was glad that it was late and the light was low enough that his blush wouldn't be too visible. Damn Nurse and his puppy eyes. "Okay, fine. But you're letting me help you book something for the next city you picked, deal?"

Nursey nodded enthusiastically, his curls flopping in his eyes. "Deal. Okay, let's go see about that cab." He held his hand out to help Dex up.

With his hand held tightly in Nursey's own, the light of the lantern casting everything in a golden light, Dex didn't feel so tired anymore.

////

Once inside the cab, butt sticking to the plastic of the backseat, Dex's mind drifted back to three months ago.

Nursey had been skyping with his mom when the idea had formed in his head. Dex had been doing homework when all of a sudden an upside down Nursey appeared next to him. Damn near gave him a heart attack. "Jesus Nurse, what's up?"

"Nothing's up, it's all down." Nursey replied with a straight face, not seeming to care that he had just uttered the most horrible pun in all of human existence. "Anyway, I'm skyping to my mom."

"I know, you shouldn't leave her hanging like that, it's very rude." Dex never said he was any better than Nursey.

Nursey stuck his tongue out at him. "She just suggested something interesting and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. What would you think about a trip through Europe this summer? She did it before her senior year and according to her it was, and I quote, 'great fun'."

"No way, Nurse. I'm not going to Europe with you." Dex had said resolutely.

Of course, that had turned out a little differently. It wasn't entirely his own fault, honestly. Dex was only one man against Nursey's array of puppy dog looks. But the most convincing argument for Dex however, had come from an unexpected angle. He didn't know how exactly they found out, but one night he got a call from his parents. His mom had been adamant about him going. She didn't want him missing out on opportunities that they'd had to miss in their youth. His dad had added "Son, I know you're worried about the money. We'll make it work." And that had been it.

And here Dex was now. In Europe. With Nursey.

////

The ride was over in what seemed like the blink of an eye, because Dex started nodding off about ten minutes in. Nursey nudged him awake with a poke to his ribs with his elbows. Dex blinked awake, wincing at the crink in his neck from falling asleep against Nursey's shoulder. Sitting up was an exercise in unsticking every part of his body that had been glued to the seats with sweat. The feeling was at once entirely unpleasant and weirdly satisfying.

Nursey smirked when he noticed Dex sticking and unsticking his arm to the fake leather. "Having fun there, dork? Come on, we've arrived. Not that I haven't enjoyed playing your pillow, but let's get you into a real bed." Dex blushed and turned away to leave the car before Nursey could comment.

They got there backpacks from the trunk and turned to see a tiny Italian woman walking out of her house. "Derek? Oh, I'm glad you made it! I must say, your mom startled me awake with that call earlier." The crow's feet around her eyes told the tale of a woman who spent a majority of her life laughing, just as heartily as she was now when smiling at them. "Come on, let's get you boys inside." She clutched her robe to her chest with one hand as she waved them inside with the other.

The woman, Isabella, had cooked them some pasta while they'd been driving. Dex could kiss her. They sat down in her cozy kitchen, trying to seem polite but failing as they devoured the food. When they didn't feel like they were starving anymore, they told her about the things they'd seen on their trip so far. Earlier that night, they'd taken the train from Florence to Rome.

"And when we arrived, I thought we'd just be able to get a room at the hostel but apparently they were booked solid for the next week." Nursey's eyes were trained on his plate. Dex couldn't bare the feeling that Nursey thought he was still mad at him. He nudged his foot under the table, making Nursey look at him. He smiled encouragingly at him. Nursey looked up at Isabella. "Really, thank you so much for taking us in at such short notice. I promise we'll find somewhere to stay tomorrow night. After that we're leaving again anyway."

She waved him off. "Nonsense, your mom knows she's always welcome here. I don't see any reason why I'd keep her own blood out onto the street. You're staying with me." She sounded so resolute that they didn't dare contradict her again.

Dex pressed his foot harder against Nursey's under the table to make it clear that everything was fine.

////

Nothing was fine. Five minutes ago Isabella had let them into the bedroom that used to belong to her daughter. She'd pointed to the bed and said "You can share that one, or one of you has to sleep on the floor. I don't have any air mattresses here right now and my couch is too small I'm afraid."

Nursey had nodded and said "No problem, thank you Isabella. We'll just share. It's chill. Besides, Dex is used to falling asleep on me now." He turned to Dex, winking.

Dex rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd bring that up again. Yeah, yeah we can share. I'm fine with it." Really, he wasn't but he wasn't about to tell that to Isabella, who had been nothing but nice to them. He wasn't going to tell Nursey either for that matter. He'd just have to get through two nights in close proximity to Nursey and his miles and miles of skin. It would be fine. 

Isabella left them to it and they quickly took care of business. Dex didn't know if he was the only one who thought the air between the two of them had grown heavier. It wasn't like he was actively avoiding conversation, but neither of them was making any effort to break the silence either. 

Even though his body was made out of lead; even though moving through the heavy, warm night air felt like moving through molasses; even though he was trying to stretch it out, all too soon he was standing next to the bed. After all, your night routine could only take so long when you slept in your boxers. Nursey was standing next to him, seemingly waiting for him to make a move.

Dex took a deep breath. "Dibs on the left side." He dove into the bed, throwing back the covers so Nursey could join him. After another second, Nursey silently climbed in beside him. Dex turned to look at him. "Night, Nursey." Neither of them shut their eyes.

Nursey's eyes were cast downward, looking at his hands which were fiddling with the blankets. "I'm really sorry Dex, I..."

Dex interrupted him. Sure, he hadn't been happy two hours ago when he was sweaty and tired without a place to sleep for the night. But he was over it now. "It's okay, Nursey. You fixed it, right?" When Nursey still didn't look at him he added "Derek, come on. I'm not mad. Okay, I was two hours ago but it's fine now. I know you have this romantic idea in your idea of following in your mom's footsteps and doing everything like she did all those years ago. I get it. You don't have to feel bad about it."

That finally made Nursey look up. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How do you know that's what I was doing?"

Dex smiled. "Because you literally skype your mom ten inches above my head? I can hear you guys."

"Oh. That makes sense I guess." Derek's forehead straightened out again. "Thanks for listening then. We'll figure it out together, yeah?"

"Exactly." Dex answered firmly. "Now go to sleep Nursey, we have a whole day of sightseeing in front of us tomorrow. I've seen your list, we have a crap-ton of stuff to see! Oh, think of all those beautiful buildings glittering in the glory of olden days and whatnot."

Nursey snorted. "Okay Dexy, good night. Sleep tight and whatnot." He turned on his side away from Dex. 

Dex fell silent. After ten minutes he whispered to Nursey's back. "I'm really glad I'm on this trip with you." 

He startled when Nursey turned around again. He thought he'd been asleep. "Me too, Will." 

Dex didn't know if it was the late hour or the fact that Nursey had said his real name, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips against Nursey's. For two whole seconds he thought he had just screwed up their whole trip. Then, Nursey rubbed his nose gently against his cheek. He pressed his forehead against Dex's for a moment before pressing their lips together again. They stayed like that, kissing softly with hands roaming over bare skin, for a long while. After a while though, they both became so tired that they were more leaning on each other than really kissing anymore. Dex kissed Nursey on the lips one more time before turning him around, so he could put his arms around him.

Dex didn't sleep great that night, plastered to Nursey's back. The bed felt a bit like the devil's sweaty armpit, but he didn't care. He wouldn't let Nursey go.

[greekowl87]

Fic: Long Strech of Love Pt 1 & 2

A/N: I posted this on AO3 last year but never finished it. But I finally found the courage to finish this with the latest @xfficchallenges of ‘Fics You Would Never Write’ which should be posted around in the next few days. That involves some smut. I don’t write smut. I never could and probably never will except this once. Writers like @sunflowerseedsandscience @mldrgrl @leiascully @kateyes224 @baronessblixen  @alittlemissfit I pale in comparison to. I think my writing sucks. But hey, I figured, I should post the other parts for context sake. I promise to wrap this up soon. 

A/N Last part is here!

This was my originally attempt at writing season 7 fic, with ‘All Things.’ And I’ve edited it some with this repost.

Title: Long Stretch of Love

Summary: I was listening to Lady Antebellum's “Long Stretch of Love” while driving home from work one night ] and I thought of the opening scene when Scully was leaving Mulder's apartment at the beginning of “All Things.” My take on the infamous scene and my first attempt at writing fic for season seven. And I guess my first attempt at writing smut. Maybe. We'll see.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Chris Carter and company does.

She heard the rain as soon as she woke and then her brain hit her full force. What had she done? She sat  straight up in bed, somehow not waking Mulder who grunted slightly before flopping on his stomach. She watched him grunt again, pooling the sheets across his chest and waist, his leg sticking out at an odd angle. He grunted again, his arm seeking the warmth where her body had previously lay. His fingers grazed across her bare thigh and she held her breath, waiting for him to settle back to sleep. He grunted and relaxed when he sensed her presence. Carefully she removed his hand before gently placing her feet on the carpeted floor and getting up.

Her eyes roamed the floor, looking for something to cover herself, before spying an old bath towel which she wrapped around herself, before heading to the bathroom, picking up the loose articles of clothing that littered the floor.

She glanced over her shoulder at his sleeping form before entering the bathroom and shutting the door firmly behind her.

How did she get here? How did she let herself get here?

Scully's mind was racing at the impossibly high amount of things that could go wrong. Her hand automatically reached for the shower knob, ready to take a shower, but paused, wondering if it would wake Mulder, which is the last thing she wanted. She withdrew her hand, and pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering what she should do.

As she let her thoughts, her hands automatically fixed her hair and dressed herself. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, leaning forward, trying to discern any new wrinkles, her mind aimlessly wandering. She was different. She was different than before. They both were. What had changed?

She straightened her green sweater and paused in the doorframe of his bathroom, turning off the light quickly, not risking waking him still. She placed both of her hands on the door frame, rocking herself back and forth, trying to will the anxiety she felt away. Scully had not done this since she was a child, since she was in medical school awaiting the results of a major test, or the anxiety that inevitably came with her affair with Daniel. But Mulder was different. Last night proved he was different. So why was this moment causing her so much anxiety?

Scully focused on Mulder's face. He frowned slightly in his sleep, his right hand stretching outwards and then curling back into a fist when he sensed her absence. Scully held her breath. He flexed his hand repeatedly, moving slightly over the spot to where she had been sleeping. He groaned in his sleep, frowning, and buried his face into his pillow.

This was nothing new either.

Since she found him with his brain sliced open in the bowels of the Department of Defense, they had undoubtedly grown close. Finding herself in bed with him was not an uncommon occurrence, except, she would usually be gone before the morning sun, and she would talk nothing about it at the office, and Mulder respected that, especially when he tried the first time and Scully shut him out. So now, it just sort of happened, just like an extension of their years of unspoken communication.

Just like it happened last night, but more came of it. Much more.

Scully watched Mulder, trying to will the new uneasiness she felt to the pits of her stomach before she quickly made her way across the room to pick up her jacket and sneaked quietly out the living room to get her boots. She cast a lingering glance at the worn, leather couch and the haphazardly tossed wool blanket on the floor.

“What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.”

“Mmm. And all the... choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and... we wouldn't be sitting here together. Well, that says a lot. That says a lot, a lot, a lot. That's probably more than we should be getting into at this late hour.”

She remembered falling asleep against his shoulder, and he had dozed off as well. Then she woke up, momentarily not recalling where she was to find she had woken Mulder up as well. Then one thing led to another...

The way he touched her always set her ablaze. His kisses—she closed her eyes recalling the moment—they felt different, everything felt different. His hands roamed like they normally would, but he touched her more reverently and lovingly. She remembered her tongue exploring her, tasting her like it was the first time. For the first real time. Everything had been so painfully slow...

She caught her breath, not allowing herself to be caught up in any more memories. Her mind was moving a thousand times an hour as she hurriedly pulled on her boots and made her way to the door. She looked at her watch as she pulled the brown apartment door behind her slightly, double checking to make sure it was locked as she made her way to the elevator at the end of the hall. She looked over her shoulder, uneasiness welling up inside of her. She had made the walk of shame home countless times. Why did now feel so different? It hurt her. With each step, she took away from that apartment, from him, felt like she was growing lost in a sea of confusion, and he was the only one that could center everything.

She closed her eyes, hitting the down arrow button repeatedly, growing impatient at how unusually slow the old elevator seemed. She looked at her watch. 4:51 A.M. The 21st. Saturday. She would not have to go to the office. She would not have to deal with him. Or this or these feelings, whatever it was. She could just go home back to Georgetown, lock her apartment door, hide away for the weekend, and not have to face anything until she went back to the office on Monday morning. Finally, the elevator doors opened, she rushed in, and she hit the button repeatedly to close the doors.

….

It was still raining when Mulder came to consciousness. He ran his hand down the length of the right side of the bed, surprised to find Scully gone. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced about his room, finding no evidence of her anywhere. “Shit,” he groaned, falling back into bed and placing his arm over his eyes.

Mulder really thought he had something this time. That the secret nights in one of their beds without speaking a word of it the next morning had come to an end. Scully's moment of epiphany about her life was enough of a catalyst to propel them forward. He loved her. Dear God did he love her so much it hurt. He had loved her for years and would do anything for her. Granted their relationship had it's ups and downs; she shot him in the shoulder, but to be fair, he was deranged out of his mind. But she was always there for him, and in her moments of weakness, likewise. Wasn't that what love was? Or at least a part of it?

He sighed and reached for his cell phone that rested on his nightstand. He dialed his voicemail. Nothing. Grunting, he glanced at his red alarm clock. 7:34. A.M. Saturday. If she had not called now, she wouldn't be any time soon. And adding the fact it was Saturday, he would not see her until the office Monday, it weighed him down all the more.

Groaning, he threw his feet over the side of the bed, reaching for some discarded basketball shorts. He ventured out into his living room, unsurprised to see her not there, and again with no clue that she had even been there. Mulder sat down on his leather couch, picking up the wool blanket off the floor, pausing briefly to smell it (it still smelt of her), and then gazed at the small Buddha statue that sat under his fish tank. Everything happened for a reason, he sighed with determination, and he was going to make sure of it.

With renewed determination, he headed to the shower, grabbing his jeans and a light sweater. He had a goal and that goal resided in Georgetown.

.......

Part II: The Stretch

Disclaimer: everything still applies. I own nothing, Chris Carter and Co own the characters and the universe, I am just borrowing. The same applies to the opening quote, which belongs to the band Lady Antebellum and Capital Records Nashville.

“Oh, baby I don't ever wanna break this chain I don't ever wanna walk away Oh, long stretch of love.” - Lady Antebellum “Long Stretch of Love”

Scully toweled her hair as she emerged from her shower and pulled on a fluffy robe before going to the window and frowned. It was still raining. She did not remember the weather forecasts calling for rain all weekend but she supposed it suited her mood. Combing her wet hair back, she ventured into the kitchen where she turned the tv on in the living room the Saturday morning news and went to her cabinets to draw down her tea kettle.

Tea. Mulder. Fuck.

She leaned against the counter, wondering how the smallest things were creating memories of him. They left the hospital together and went back to his apartment. She made tea for him with his newly acquired kettle which she had bought for him the night before. But that would not stop her from enjoying her tea. She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, and pulled down a box of green tea beside it. She relaxed slightly, rolling her neck, as she ventured back out to the living room and pulled her knees to her chest. She picked up her tv remote and turned up the volume on the news as the weather report finally came on.

“Good morning, metro area,” the meteorologist greeted, “as you can see this weekend is the perfect one to take it easy and stay indoors. With last night's surprise showers, expect them to continue onward all week into early Monday morning. If you are planning to go anywhere, make sure you bring that umbrella. Expect temperatures to stay in the mid to upper 40s while this front lingering. So much sure you stay warm too.”

Well, Scully thought, at the universe was encouraging her to hide away in her apartment this weekend. Her thoughts were interrupted with the kettle whistling and she got up and trudged back into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. As she fixed herself a cup, she let her mind drift again.

She really disliked the fact she was doing all this thinking and introspection. But ever since that moment in the Buddhist in the temple, all the thoughts and the emotions she had managed to pin away for the past seven years had suddenly come out like a breaking dam, and she hated it. She raised and lowered the tea bag in her mug, frowning even more as she thought how everything was finally coming to a head.

Last night was different from every thing else. Last night had been...

Then there was a quick rapping on her door and she froze, her heart sinking, knowing who damn well who it was. And there was no point in trying to hide the fact she was not hearing him. Scully had been lucky and parked her car close to her apartment's entrance, but he would have seen it. And heard her tv that was on. She rushed to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her slightly, calling, “It's open!”

She had not unlocked it. And if it was really him, he would use his key. He always did lately, whether she was home or not. Ever since those secret nights started, with the exception of the office and professionalism, he threw complete disregard to her personal boundaries. It started early in their relationship with his random phone calls at three a.m. in the morning about whatever topic had gotten him excited during his insomniac nights. And now, this...

“Scully?” he called, poking his head in the door. Mulder saw her tv was on and smelled tea brewing. He knew she was home. He entered in cautiously and shut the door behind him. He took off his leather jacket and set his umbrella by the door. “Scully?”

She inwardly cursed herself and leaned against the door. “Um,” she cleared her throat, raising her voice, “just give me a moment, Mulder. I just got out of the shower.”

Mulder closed his eyes and bit his fist at the mere notion Scully was standing naked behind that door. The previous night was fresh on his mind and he wanted to do nothing more than show Dana Scully how much he loved and worshiped her. But no. He had to stay on task. He came here for a reason. Shit. This was going to be hard.

“Do you want me to make you breakfast or something?” he called, venturing into her kitchen. He could smell the green tea. “I can make some mean toast.”

Scully inwardly groaned again, rushing about her bedroom to change into a dirty pair of jeans and an extra large, worn sweatshirt. In her haste, she completely forgot to put on a bar. She was already opening the bedroom door and going back into the kitchen before she realized it. Fuck, she thought, fuck, fuck, fuck. But despite her inward panic, she forced a smile. “Would you like some tea?” she offered.

“Oh, no,” he awkwardly smiled back. “I'm all teaed out.”

“Is that even a word?”

He shrugged and went back to looking through her cabinets. “You left in such a hurry this morning,” he ventured casually.

Of course. Cut right to the chase.

“I had to...” she searched for a convincing lie. “I had to make sure my circuit breakers had not tripped.”

“Circuit breakers, Scully?” he asked, now moving toward the fridge. God, that was a pathetic excuse and he knew it.

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms, “they've been doing patience and my landlords have been asking all of the residents to check them. Daily. Twice. Daily.”

“Uh huh,” he said, looking over his shoulder. She looked so flustered. And well, beautiful. “Why don't you go and sit down. I'll make you breakfast.”

“You can't cook,” she deadpanned.

“I can cook one or two things. Eggs is one of them.” She grumbled something under her breath and began to go back to her living room. “Don't forget your tea!”

She stopped mid stride and grabbed her tea before retreating back into the living room. Well, he thought, smiling slightly and rummaging for the eggs and whatever else look appealing, including the bacon buried in the very back of the fridge, this was certainly off to a good start. He could tell she was uncomfortable and this was going exactly how it he wanted it to.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuckery.

Scully's mind was racing. He had never done this before. He had never come over after one of their nights together and made breakfast for her. Ever. Not that she would let him. He probably would if she did. Apparently, he did not care this morning, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. She brought her knees to her chest, unused to whatever this new thing was. It scared her.  She rested her chin on the top of her knees and focused on the tv, doing her best to tune him out.

In the kitchen, he at least had enough culinary skill to whip up scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He gazed at her in the living room. Her wet red hair a shade darker than usual was slicked back. She shifted uncomfortably as if sensing he was watching her and drew the hood up to hide her face. “Hey, what do you say to mimosas for breakfast?” he called.

“I don't have champagne,” she replied quickly.

“Screwdrivers?” he suggested, eyeing a bottle of vodka on top of the fridge. He remembered seeing orange juice in there too. “Come on. It's the weekend, Scully. We're not going anywhere.”

“Quit trying to get me drunk at 9 a.m, Mulder,” she groaned, pulling back her hood. Screwdrivers? Really? What was he trying to imply? She turned to face him from the couch and gasped slightly in surprise to see him balancing two plates and two glasses of orange juice skillfully out into the living room. “You didn't set my apartment on fire.”

“Well, like I said, I can cook a little,” he replied, setting the plates and juice down with ease. “I did spend one summer as a waiter on the Vineyard though so I am better at serving than cooking. I hope you're hungry and no, it's just regular orange juice.”

Scully was speechless. She could not remember any man she had dated do this for her. Mulder always surprised her when she least suspected it with the little things. Like breakfast. After she left him. Again. She felt that uncertainty well up in her again, the same she felt from last night, the same she felt before she left from that morning. “Thank you,” she managed.

She picked the warm plate up from the coffee table and set it in her lap. She pushed the eggs tentatively with her fork before taking a small bite. He smiled when her blue eyes rose to meet his hazel eyes. “See, you didn't die,” he teased.

She smiled, a real smile, and he saw her relax a fraction. She ate in silence with him, making a few happy noises as she ate the rest of her breakfast. He could not help but watch her and smiled. He had always wanted to do this with her ever so those nights started, something as simple as making her breakfast. He did not know why she would run from him. At first, he thought it was merely them relieving seven years of sexual tension the first time it happened. Then it happened again. And again. And again. The more it happened, the more he questioned the ulterior reason why for it. Last night had been the breakthrough he had been waiting for and like hell he was going to throw this chance away.

“Thank you,” she finally replied. “Let me clean up. It's the least I can do.” To get away from this situation. This entire thing. “After all, you're the guest.”

“Scully,” he began, holding a hand mockingly over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I'm fine, Mulder,” she called from the kitchen.

He threw his head back in despair. Jesus, she was good. And annoying. She was avoiding the subject entirely. And pushing all his buttons just right. “Scully, breakfast was not the only reason why I came over here,” he called, getting up.

“I'm busy today,” she replied quickly. “My...mother is coming over...”

“To check your circuit breakers at five a.m. that your landlord is enforcing?” he finished, leaning against the counter.

Oh, God, she screamed inwardly. She physically tensed. She could smell his aftershave...last night... “I can't right now, Mulder,” she murmured, focusing her blue eyes on the dishes in her hands.

“What changed from last night,” he asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Last night we were babbling on about fate and destiny and now you're running from me, from us.”

She closed her eyes reverently as his fingers grazed her temple. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She leaned  forward, bracing herself against the sink. “Nothing's...changed....” she managed.

“Scully.”

“Mulder, I can't talk about this right now,” she whispered.

“When can we talk about it then,” he asked pointedly. He pinched his brow tiredly.  “I am getting tired of this, Scully. How long has this been going on between us?”

“This,” she emphasized, “is what I can't talk about right now. It's too soon.”

“When will it be soon enough,” he asked. “You know--” he paused. “You know how I feel. I'll keep waiting forever if I have to but don't do this to me anymore, Scully.”

She looked up, her blue eyes were watery, as tears threatened to spill. Mulder sighed, realizing this was an inward battle between herself. It had nothing to do with him. He cupped her face and kissed her forehead lovingly, pouring all his love for her into that single kiss. “I'm sorry,” she hiccupped. “I just need some more time.”

“Tonight,” he said softly, lowering his eyes. “I'll be by tonight with dinner. We are going to have this conversation whether you like it or not and we need to decide where we go from here. I'll wait forever for you, Scully, but I don't know how much longer I can endure.”

“Mulder,” she sighed, wiping her eyes.

“Tonight, Scully,” he replied, grabbing his jacket and umbrella. “I'm not taking no for an answer.”

She watched him leave and felt the tears trickle down her cheeks. Yesterday had been so perfect. Last night had been heaven on Earth. This morning limbo. Today, purgatory. She wiped her remaining tears and went back to the couch, drawing the blanket back up around her knees. She turned the tv up and laid down on the couch. She closed her eyes, her mind, heart and will in an ever constant battle, slowly awaiting for Mulder's return as the rain continued outside.

[mazethequeen]

Guys, I caved and wrote the Noir Detective AU. It was lots of fun. 

It was a cloudy Monday, and a slow day at work right until Lucifer Morningstar walked into my office wreathed in smoke and sin, and put out his cigarette in the homemade ashtray next to the door. He seemed to bring the clouds with him, and he smelled like the air right before a storm. We weren’t forecasted for lightning, but at that moment I swore I saw the electricity arcing off of him. He wore a hundred watt smile and Armani. A rich boy, trouble if I ever saw it.

I leaned back in my chair and looked him over. “The door says knock, sir. I could have been with a client.”

He smirked, cocky bastard. “They wouldn’t have minded. You’re detective Decker, aren’t you? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” I shot right back. People didn’t like me much, but they couldn’t deny that I did my job. I got results, even if they weren’t always the results they came looking for, and I always got my guy.

My father would have said that pride always came before a fall, but I was a fired cop. I couldn’t fall much farther without the help of a pit.

Morningstar flopped into the chair in front of my desk. He didn’t sit, he lounged, like some sort of cat. “They said you were the best. They didn’t say you were beautiful too.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Cut to the chase Mr…?”

“Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar,” he supplied helpfully.

What a name. I snorted and continued. “Well, Mr. Morningstar, I’d appreciate it if you’d restrict your comments to ones pertinent to your case from now on. I work for…” I surveyed his outfit again, appraising the linen with an amateur's eye. In this city you learned how to spot wealth fast. “A hundred dollars an hour, and that’s better than you’ll get anywhere else. I work until there’s nothing left to turn up, and I want a deposit up front. I don’t do Saturdays, Tuesday nights, or school mornings Monday to Wednesday.”

That had lost me a lot of clients, but Trixie came first. She deserved better than a mother with an office on the seedy side of town who came home from work smelling like steel and death. I was determined to give it to her.

His brow wrinkled, but he accepted it without any further comment. “Very well. In return I expect you to keep quiet about this. Discretion is of the utmost importance.”

“Are you guilty of any major crimes that I need to know of?” I asked him. This was the most important part. No one in Los Angeles was innocent of everything, but I had to have some standards. Murderers and their ilk would have no help from me. Embezzlers and small time thieves were judged case by case. I wasn’t inclined to give Mr. Morningstar much leeway. He looked arrogant, sounded obnoxiously British, and had a face that would make anyone act rash. Cheekbones like that deserved some sort of warning; “Keep away from children and easily influenced souls”.

“Sodomy, adultery, solicitation of almost everything and possession of more drugs than you could name, darling.” he answered, looking like the cat that got into the creamery. He was so damn proud of himself it made the mind wonder what could have him keeping secrets.

I mulled it over. A hundred dollars an hour was good money, and Trixie ate like a starving dog these days, and was growing faster than I could keep her in clothes.

Morningstar must have sense my reluctance, because he dug deep in his pockets and pulled out more a botanical garden worth of green. Neatly folded notes were pushed across my desk toward me, and I realized it was all one hundreds.

Hells with it, I could deal with the repercussions later. For now I had lawyers bills to pay, rent due next week, and a little girl to keep fed on a single salary. I took the money, counted it out, made a note of it in my book, and fixed Lucifer Morningstar with a solid stare.

“It seems we’re in business, Mr. Morningstar. What do you want?”

To my surprise he didn’t jump to spill out his woes. Something had been eating him since he came in the door, I could feel it in my bones like a sailor could sense the wind changing, but he kept his anxious energy held tight to his skin, a storm in a devilishly attractive bottle.

He leaned in, dark eyes fixed on mine, smiling softly. “Not yet. I’m sure you don’t mind, but I need something over you first. Insurance, let’s call it. So, Chloe Decker, investigator extraordinaire, what do you want? What is your deepest desire?”

Hypnotist's eyes stayed locked on me, and he seemed so honestly confident that I just stared for a minute. Then the shock faded and I stood, chair crashing to the floor behind me. It had been half off at a liquidation sale, and it had the balance of a one-legged elephant. Morningstar started at the noise, and whatever spell he was trying to case broke.

“I don’t know what sort of corporate power-play mumbo-jumbo that was,” I told him, stepping around my desk and a snowfall of discarded paperwork on the floor, “But it stops now. You want my help, you play by my rules, and that means no trying to charm me. I’m a professional, not a snake. Play your little games on your own time, Morningstar, not mine.”

He stood too and somehow managed to not loom despite the handful of inches he had on me. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, drawing attention to the line of his neck and the muscles that became his shoulders. I realized with an ache how long it had been since Dan. It was a damn shame, my ex was a dirty cop and here I was staring at a man probably wore a cologne called Disreputable. Fortune smiled on me, he was too confused that his failure to notice.

“I’m sorry, did that not work? Do you have contacts in or something? Do you want me to try again?”

“Yes, none of your business, and no.” I growled, and wished I was the sort of person who could work with a fifth of brandy in them. Half the other PIs on the strip drank like fishes, but I’d never gotten in the habit. It made you too sloppy, too confident, and besides it was as much a cliche as the trench coat. Maybe it worked for bestubbled boys who’d grown up on pulp novels and B-movies, but someone had to be the adult in the room. “Look, just tell me your case so I can solve it. I have a reputation to keep up, and frankly I want you out of my office as soon as possible.”

Morningstar considered me carefully, eyes roaming over my face and only stopping to rest on my bare legs for a second. Maybe getting out from behind the desk after a day working customer harassment freelance wasn’t the best idea. Despite first impressions, he wasn’t the leering type. Instead he just… smiled. A more impressionable person might have called it ‘cheeky’, I just called it frustrating.

“You really weren’t affected, were you?” he said, soft like the rumble of thunder from the horizon. Everything about him reminded me of a hurricane. I’d lived in sunny LA all my life, and this was an education in storms.

“If by affected you mean, ‘ready to throw you out’, then yes, I’d say I am.”

“Peculiar,” he whispered, then shook his head and righted himself. “Well, maybe it will prove useful here. You see, I’ve lost something of unspeakable value.”

If it was a woman, I was going to shoot him myself. I prodded the ambiguous mass he had laid before me cautiously. “What exactly did you lose?”

He sucked in a breath, exhaled low, and said with forced casualness, “Only my angel wings.”

It confirmed what I’d suspected since he walked in. This was going to be one of those cases. I righted my chair, sat back down, and popped a migraine pill.

“Explain it from the top.” I told him.

“Well, it all started when I fell from heaven….”

[kashdollv]

WELCOME TOO XXL AND WE ARE HERE WITH KASHDOLL. •XXL 🏆‼️

Interviewer :how does it feel being one of the biggest trend setters on imvu and dropping fire 🔥 and congratulations on your album

Kashdollv: it’s a humbling experience for me to be a dope artist it was so many before me and I have so much respect for all the artists and performers before me they clearly paved the way for ya new artists and I will forever think of it that way ! -fixes my hair and laughs …

Interviewer : so kashdoll we have seen you dominate the charts and your albums do wonders and you win awards what made you wanna sit down and be like ok I wanna do this I wanna (role play) a artists such as Kash doll …

Kashdoll :well ….. for starters lol I was just a regular person on Instagram ’ and part of the imvu community and I ran across two people I seen who had very dope pages which ones @Joslien and @nickimvnaj sooo at that time I didn’t even know a music Industry even was around soo I winded up developing a very very close relationship with @nickimvnaj and we became the best of friends and we sat up on the phone one night and she told me o should be come a artist and I was like why not and it started from their then shortly after I met Joslien and we had a very very rock start loll we hated each other loll every day we was at each other’s necks and I sat sat down with one of my friends and I’m like ima call him we have too have a talk like grown ups and we really sat down and was on the phone for hours we became the best of friends he welcomed me with open arms never turned on me or anything

Interviewer : soo lets let’s fast forward too when u had learn the basics of preforming and really entertaining the crowd how was it for u and what steps did It take you too achieve it !!

Kashdoll : ughhh boy boy boy … loll man I was scared as ever many people may not know but my first ever performance was for hazel E lmfao at her club opening lol she wanted me to preform two songs and I’m like yooo this my first booking I’m fenna be lit ima be turning up slaying the stage -face palm - then it hits me ummmm bitch YOU DONT KNOW HOW TOO PERFORM YET !!! Sooo was shitting bricks loll and I was like ok quick who do u know is a bomb ass performer and ding @nickimvnaj popes up in my head soo I’m blowing her dm up like sis sis help yo I got my first ever show I’m scared loll sooo I’m over here overreacting thinking like what if I mess up ima be labeled as a (flop) and a nobody so she like …. Kash shut up loll and show showed me and the only thing was kashdoll didn’t have any kinda lyrics on any kinda websites soo I’m like I know all her lyrics sooo why not just put them all on google for each song sooo that’s what I did and I winded up doing the show and after that started getting soo many bookings and my career took offf

Interviewer: soo would u say u owe @nickimvnaj a thank you ??

Kashdoll: hell yes cause with out her help I would have not been Able too preform

Interviewer: what about ramel ??

Kashdoll:is that even a question I let him know that every time we talk on the phone or on dm he played a major role with his supporting on my career

Interviewer: sooo what made you want to be kashdoll ?

Kashdoll : it was her personality and her drive and her attitude like she gave me hope that u can come nothing and turn into a boss and all her music I can relate too on sooo many levels and that’s why I was like i really love her loll .. like every one has a their Nicki’s - Beyoncé’s ‘ and riri’s and I have my kashdoll like I look up to her and I love her to death

Interviewer: soo where and when did u meet Jason Derulo a.k.a. Jeremiah ?

Kashdoll : welll loll I met him back when he was jeremiah and loll all my friends had told me if I wanted too make it in the music thing go for the head guy in charge and it was jere sooo I’m like ohh really -flips hair - sooo I started blasting his dm loll he wasn’t responding sooo I was like hmm lemme start dopping this fire sooo I dropped my first song called (waste ya time) and like a few weeks later I got reposted and I got a freaking nomination and I was FCVKING SHOOOk!

Interviewer: not let’s talk about that how did that feel to get your first nomination!!!?

Kashdoll : ahhhhhh!!! Fluffs my hair it was sooo freaking big for me Cause that whole year was soo positive for me and I was climbing up the charts my mixtapes and albums was getting more viewers and sells Soo when I found out I’m like ok you want it but it’s 6 other females in the game that’s killing it right now that want it more then you sooo I’m like yo I gotta get a fan base soo Instagram had just came out with the live update soo what I did was went live and started branding my and pulling my music telling every one to vote for me!!

Interviewer: so we found out that you were had a date to the VMAs Which was your soon to be boyfriend?! Tell us how ups guys starts taking about it

Kashdoll : loll welllll we followed each other on Instagram and it started by us liking each other’s pictures and commenting and by then I’m like yo he soon fine loll he seem sooo cool lol ion know how we started talking exactly but we was best of friends before we mad anything serious loll I think it was the night of the VMAS WHERE we winded up letting our emotions take over and started Dating because we took our Red carpet pictures and I’m thinking too my self he might be the one this feel soo right …next thing I know we posted our pictures I wake up and I’m tagging in all the blogs and they was saying omg kashdoll and Paxton it’s confirm they’re dating and we’re here for it lol but he literally became my rock like I fell in love with him in everyway I really loved everything thing about him treated me like I was his queen and that’s all I wanted

Interviewer : how did it feel to win your first Award ?! Best female hip hop artists and preform at your first big show aka the VMAS.

Kashdoll :it felt soo surreal cause I was doubting my self sooo much I remember sitting on the phone as they called out the. Nominees with ramel and Tammy and when they said the award goes to kashdoll !! Yo I screamed lmfaooo sooo hard I’m like omgomomg omg I didn’t even have a speech prepared I just went off the top of my head 🤦🏽‍♀️ and I remember telling everyone everything I’m nominated for I’m gonna win and I’ve done that thus far soo when it came down to me preforming I’m like ok time to bring out that inner beyonce and Nicki lmfoao yo I turned into a whole different person and I went in.

Interviewer: now we have to ask cause every one wanted to know where u really pregnant by Paxton with twins ??

Kashdoll : yeah I was and I winded up loosening them due too stress from the media and just the life of being a celebrity I know he really wanted his twins just like me and I feel like when I lost them it kinda put a space between us but he was so supportive and I love him soo much for it

Interviewer : if u could have kids by him again would you ?

Kashdoll : hell yess cause I want to be a mother I want to able too teach my children the right from wrong

Interviewer: sooo what’s next for you in your career we know you’re on a brake from music will you be returning?!

Kashdoll: of course lol my crown won’t fit on their bum ass lace fronts I’m gonna do what I do best that’s sell out shows and win awards and body every thing I touch nobody can stop what god has for my career

Interviewer: what do you want people to understand about u as a person ?!

Kashdoll : that I’m human and we make mistakes I feel soo miss understood because people was soo used to be being the sweet and shy kashdoll that didn’t pop off and go on live rants and drag people. I just felt like every one was taking advantage of the fact I was nice and they was slapping me in the face so I’m like ok that kashdoll is dead because people are gonna hate me for. No reason but what I’ve learn is that you can’t let people bring I down u can’t let people hurt your feelings if people not gonna like u you can’t fight the world you have to keep pushing and striving to be a better you and I’m working on rebranding my self and staying out of drama and learning how to talk things out before popping off.

Interviewer : one last thing before u leave What would u want to be remembered in the imvu industry??

Kashdoll: for being a legendary artist that pushes the envelope and doing things her own way style

Interviewer alright thank you for spending your morning with us we love u and wish u much success with your career over here at XXL !!!!

Kashdoll - love u guys more and I love all my supporters DOLLS ALWAYS HAVE FUN!!! Kaka winning