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babyboibucky · 4 years ago

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Babysitting Bucky - Part 5

Pairing: FATWS!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,368

Summary: You’ve been assigned by the government to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier to ensure that he was no longer a threat to the world.

A/N: It has begun lmfao, check out the link at the end of this post if you’d like to be tagged in the next updates! Would love to receive feedbacks!

MASTERLIST

You found yourself in the conference room of the Avengers compound, together with Sam, Bucky, Sharon and Fury discussing about an upcoming mission.

Sharon went over the brief of the mission with everyone. There was an intel about a certain drug cartel that decided to expand their business and venture into the trade of biological weapons as well. Grabbing the folder on the desk, you skimmed through the information and frowned when your eyes landed on a familiar name.

“Black Sparrow? I thought the entire organization was taken down during the raid years ago?” You asked.

Bucky turned to you, “You know these guys?”

“One of my first missions, I was the assigned liaison officer to check up on the whistleblower who was placed under the witness protection program.” You explained.

Sharon sighed, “Apparently, not everyone was imprisoned. Whoever decided to keep the organization going, we have no idea.”

The mission required all of you to find out about the illegal trades. There wasn’t much information provided, except for the tip that an important trade might be taking place soon.

“Black Sparrow’s nest is said to be hidden within a fruit shop downtown.” Sharon added.

Fury let Sam takeover the strategizing, with him deciding to do a stakeout to see how the organization operates. Once the trade takes place, raid the nest, find out the other groups involved and most importantly the source of biological weapons.

“You up for a stakeout, Buck?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged and glanced at you, “Only if the babysitter agrees to do so.”

You let out an exasperated breath, “Mister Barnes, I would appreciate it if you’d address me properly.” You scolded.

Sam cleared his throat, “Alright. Sharon and I will try to research on the potential groups involved in the trades. Stakeout starts tonight so pack your things.”

All your things have been packed and you were about to leave your room when you received a call from none other than Secretary Ross.

“Ugh, what does he want now?” You complained to yourself before accepting the call.

“I heard about the stakeout, Agent. Isn’t it convenient?”

You rolled your eyes; the secretary’s voice was too chirpy, as if he was excited. He was definitely up to something, what it was, you still didn’t know. Something about the mission you were tasked to do was off. They didn’t even tell you for how long you needed to tag along the Winter Soldier.

“Yes, sir. I will make sure to keep an eye on the subject and report whatever it is that I find out of place.” You reassured, hoping that the secretary would simply hum in agreement and end the call.

“Good. But wouldn’t it be better if you stir things up a bit?” He asked.

You frowned, “I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

Secretary Ross chuckled, “Push his buttons, Agent. See how he reacts to certain triggers.”

God, he really wants you to dig some dirt on Bucky. You were supposed to tell him that you already tried doing so and that nothing bad happened, but the Secretary reminded you that he wanted to see a detailed report about it and ended the call.

You didn’t want to push Bucky’s buttons anymore. Bringing up the Soldat seemed too much already and he had already proven how much in control he was of himself. However, you felt conflicted as well since you needed to file a report. You could easily fake it though, but you were afraid that the secretary might have eyes and ears lurking around.

You were too deep into your thoughts, almost losing track of the time. Thankfully, FRIDAY interrupted and informed you that Bucky and Sam were already outside the compound, waiting for you.

“You’re eight minutes late, Agent.” Sam reprimanded as you approached them.

“Did you have a hard time packing Bucky’s diapers and feeding bottles?” He teased.

Bucky grunted in dismay, “Jesus, Sam.”

“Sorry, had to take a phone call from the secretary.” You responded and began placing your things inside the trunk of the car.

Bucky stiffened at the mention of Secretary Ross, his hands tightened into fists at his side. You eyed his stance and noticed that he seemed uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t be if the government had their eyes on you?

“Nothing to worry about, Mister Barnes. You’re all good. I made sure of that.” You told him reassuringly before sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Bucky drove to the stakeout location with an uncomfortable silence in the air with the occassional directions coming from the GPS. You were slightly nervous about being on a week-long stakeout. It wasn’t because you were afraid of Bucky, but being with him by yourself was intimidating.

Seven days with the Winter Soldier. With no one else around.

You and the Winter Soldier. On a stakeout. For an entire week.

The more you thought about it, the more it was beginning to sink in. You’ve had your fair share of stakeouts in the past, but you were either by yourself or paired someone you closely worked with. But a stakeout with Bucky Barnes? How the fuck were you going to keep calm the entire week and maintain your calm persona?

“So...” Bucky trailed, tone unsure as if he too was uncomfortable with the silence and decided to break it but not knowing how to proceed.

“Do you want to turn on the radio?” He asked and cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the road.

You looked out the window, “Yeah, why not.” You said with faux nonchalance.

Bucky quickly turned it on and adjusted the volume. He skimmed through various radio stations before settling on one.

Despite having the radio playing in the background, the atmosphere between you and Bucky remained awkward and uncomfortable. You could tell that Bucky could feel it too, so you decided to start a conversation.

“How has it been being an Avenger?”

You didn’t know why you chose that question, but it was the first thing that popped into your mind.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, “Is that part of your research on me or are you actually trying to start a conversation?” He asked, glancing at you with amusement.

“You know what, forget about it, Mister Barnes.” You waved off.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was genuinely curious.” He sheepishly responded, “But to answer your question, it’s been...weird so to speak. Especially having someone watch my every move.”

You shrugged, “Well, I apologize but I don’t have a choice. This is my job and I have to—“

“I know, Agent. You don’t need to explain, I completely understand. I’m really trying not to make it hard for you to do your job.” He explained.

You were actually surprised at how easy it was to talk to Bucky. You were expecting him to be completely broody and tight-lipped, considering all the things he went through. There were times when he’d be moody of course, but for the most part, he was friendly. And very kind.

“Well then I appreciate it, Mister Barnes.” You stated.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, “I’m still looking forward to the day when you’d call me, Bucky.” He said and gave you a smile.

You felt your face heat up from the way he smiled at you and how his eyes crinkled at the sides. He almost looked the same as he did in his photos dated back to the 40’s, when he was oozing with that boyish charm and innocence before he was drafted for the war.

You immediately looked away and bit your lip.

The two of you arrived at the cheap motel that was situated a few blocks away from the fruit shop. The building was old and almost looked dilapidated. It was known to be the number one spot for illegal transactions. It was the perfect place for a stakeout.

“The old lady at the reception seemed suspicious of us, I saw how she eyed the both of us when we checked in.” You said upon entering the motel room, groaning at the stench that welcomed your nostrils.

Obviously, the room was far from decent given the quality of the motel itself. There were two beds separated by a night desk and a small coffee table; the cream curtains were splotchy and dusty, some parts of the wallpaper were torn apart and the flooring creaked with every single step.

“I think she was merely judging us, thinking we’re one of those couples.” Bucky said as he placed his bags on the bed.

“Those couples?” You asked, walking over to the other bed and inspecting the bedding.

“Well, I heard this motel is a popular location for shooting x-rated videos.” Bucky explained casually as he walked towards the window, pushing the curtains aside, revealing the perfect view of Black Sparrow’s nest.

You almost choke on your own spit, “You mean to say...that old lady thought we were going to shoot porn?!”

Bucky hummed, “Maybe. It’s probably for the best, that way we’ll remain unsuspicious. Less chances of being interrupted as well.” he replied casually, as if it was no big deal but you also noticed that the corner of his lips curved into a slight smirk.

Clearing your throat, you regained your composure and went to unpack your things instead, starting with some of the weapons you brought. A stakeout often resulted to a raid so you had to make sure that you were prepared in case of an attack. Bucky moved away from the window and closed the curtains again before sitting on his bed.

“Those all yours?” he asked with interest as he watched you arrange your knives and guns on top of your bed.

You glanced at him for a quick second and saw the glint in his eyes as he observed your arsenal, you just hummed in response and started cleaning your guns while Bucky watched in silence.

“When we sparred...” he trailed and you froze, expecting him to confront you when you brought up the Soldat to trigger him.

“You used Romanoff’s technique. Where did you learn that?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Mister Barnes, it’s not that hard to learn that move. I’m just as trained as you and Mister Wilson, I know a lot of moves.” you explained but Bucky didn’t seem to buy it.

“It’s actually kinda hard to execute that move. Not a lot of trained agents can do that easily.” he pressed.

You pursed your lips before looking up at him, “Sounds to me like you’re trying to compliment my skills, Mister Barnes.”

Bucky ended up letting go of the topic.

The first few hours of the stakeout was uneventful; you and Bucky simply kept watch to see whether there were suspicious movements in the fruit shop. It seemed to be a regular fruit shop but there were certain people walking in and out of it that looked pretty shady.

This was going to be a difficult task.

There were small conversations between you and Bucky, mostly formal and about the mission. Everything seemed to be going well but you knew that the longer the both of you would stakeout together, the more it was going to be uncomfortable. You figured that you’d cross that bridge when you get there.

It was past six when you felt a pang of hunger; the last time you had a meal was during lunch. You needed to get food before your stomach could even embarrass you in front of Bucky who remained staring out of the window, keeping watch.

“I’m getting us food for dinner, would you like anything?” you asked.

Bucky shook his head, “Anything is fine.” he offered a small smile.

You left the motel and thankfully, there was a nearby Mcdonald’s a couple blocks away. On your way back, you decided to casually pass by the fruit shop to get a closer look. You didn’t want to linger around but you did notice that there were certain people who kept on going in and out of the store throughout the day. You rushed back to your room to inform Bucky about it and upon stepping inside, you were welcomed by the sight of the Winter Soldier fresh out of the shower wearing only a towel that was wrapped around his waist while he was drying his hair with another towel.

Your eyes immediately zoomed in on the droplets of water that was running from Bucky’s neck down to his pecs, sliding lower to his chiseled abs. Your eyes remained on his abdomen, even when the water had disappeared into the towel around his waist. By the time you snapped out of your trance, you shifted your gaze back to Bucky’s face hoping that he didn’t catch you staring at his body.

Oh, but it was too late because your eyes were immediately met by a pair of baby blues.

“I...b-bought...” you stammered and wanted to slap yourself for sounding like an idiot. “...dinner from uh...Burger King.” you continued, unable to look away from Bucky’s piercing gaze.

“Mcdonald’s.” he said.

“What?”

“You bought from Mcdonald’s...not Burger King.” Bucky corrected you, pointing towards the brown paper bag in your hands.

You coughed and finally managed to look away from Bucky’s half-naked figure, “Yes, I meant Mcdonald’s. Sorry.” you softly said and pre-occupied yourself by taking out the food from the paper bag and placing them on the small table.

As you focused your attention on arranging the food on the desk, you felt Bucky hover behind you. His bare chest slightly pressing against your back as he reached for the french fries that was still inside the paper bag. You stood still and tried to keep your cool despite the closeness between you and Bucky. He pulled away just as quickly and grinned when you looked back at him with a frown.

“You smell good, Agent.” he said before grabbing his clothes from his bed and walking back into the bathroom to get dressed.

You blinked a couple of times before you realized what had just happened.

“Fuck!” you whispered under your breath.

This was going to be one hell of a stakeout.

Babysitting Bucky Tag List:

@chipilerendi @procrastinationinawriter @supraveng @sammypotato67 @grace-writes-shit @tanyaherondale @dev-loves-siri @ahahafudge @nerdgirl0824 @thomasthetankson @its-yasbxtch

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14

#bbbwrites #babysitting bucky #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sebastian stan

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workingforitallthetime · 4 years ago

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svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary and @needsmore, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

#whew #svech primer #hawk fic

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storiesungaa · 4 years ago

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mobile rules & information

Since people don’t read rules all the way through i would like to preface this by saying: TRIGGERING MATERIAL WILL BE WRITTEN HERE. THIS INCLUDES BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO: INCEST, DUBCON, SUICIDAL IDEALATIONS, CHEATING, AND ANYTHING ELSE I WANT TO WRITE. BY CLICKING FOLLOW, YOU AGREE TO BLACKLIST THE TAGS PROVIDED IN THE FORM OF (trigger here) tw. DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU THINK FICTION EQUALS REALITY OR IN ANYWAY HAS ANY REFLECTION ON A MUN’S MORAL STANDING.

HATE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AND ANY ANON’S I GET ABOUT THIS THAT IS HATE WILL BE BLOCKED/NOT AT ALL ACKNOWLEDGED.

THANK YOU.

about: this is an indie mutuals only rp blog for a multimuse with various fandoms from tv shows, movies, anime, and video games. mun is 25+, genderfluid lesbian, goes by he/him pronouns (but i am genderfluid so i don’t mind she/her pronouns, most just call me he/him) online and name Jay. Previously known as Ares and Snow.

Callout culture: Do not involve me in this. Period. I want no part of it and will block as soon as I see it, tagged or not. I believe it does more harm than good and something like tha is extremely harmful..

content: there will be some pretty heavy material featured here. such as suicidal thoughts, mentions of rape, incest, and anything else I want to write. I will not tolerate hate being sent to me about this and I will block anyone who tries to police me. The only hard limit i have and absolutely refuse to write is pedophilia.

Don’t ever be afraid to ask me to tag something!

side note: if you believe fiction equals reality, please don’t follow me.

discord: is open to those who follow me. simply ask for it. i do not write on discord though. ooc contact is highly encouraged!

disclaimer: i'm in no way affiliated with any of the actors, fandoms, or characters on this blog. Banners, promos, and icons belong to me. Theme was made by inkfated. all screencaps used to turn into icons on this blog are not mine and belong to their rightful owners. Lara Croft screencaps come from soulcluster. tsunade icons belong to hellspath. rectangle tsunade icons belong to me. Some psds are not mine. Credit to iconholic for Red Velvet psd. Credit to plutocommissions for psd 183 - wild. some psds used are made by rivercraze

Drama: There won’t be any. I’m too old for tumblr’s drama, if you try to start something, make me choose, or drag me into drama - you will be blocked.

DNI’s will get you blocked. I don’t agree with making people choose between people when there are things like blacklist and tumblr’s own filtering system to help you avoid a person

Hate: Character hate, show hate, etc will get you unfollowed. I don’t have time for that negativity, pls tag it so I can filter it out, thank you.

IMs: pls refrain from sending me multiple messages all at once as I’m autistic and it sends me into sensory overloads!!

follow/unfollowing: i usually follow back pretty quick. if i don't follow within a week, i'm probably not going to follow back. 9/10 i do follow back. i will not follow if i see vaguing, callouts, or any sort of drama on blogs. i also will not follow any under the age of 18.

if i’ve been following you for a month and you don’t interact with me within that time limit, I’m unfollowing. I won’t soft block because I’m totally okay with people still following me but I don’t see the point in following if we’re not gonna write.

If I do not follow you back, do not message me asking to write or become mutuals - you will be blocked.

If I block you, do not come to me asking why. It will only get you blocked all over again. Do not ask why i’ve unfollowed you, either.

DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU’RE A MINOR.

side note: if you’re the type to blindly believe a callout because that’s what everyone else is doing save yourself the trouble and don’t follow me.

Memes: Send as many as you want for as many muses as you want just be sure to specify muse or they’ll get deleted! Always feel free to turn meme answers into threads, too.

Do not use me as a meme resource. Send something in or reblog from the source, please.

note: if you send memes multiple times and there’s clearly a way to continue them, ESPECIALLY if we’ve never interacted before, and you keep sending memes but have NO INTENTIONS on replying to them, I will be less likely to respond to them. memes, in my eyes, are used as alternatives to starters. if you don’t respond to them after i’ve responded to quite a few, that’s me putting work into it for no reason really, so yeah.

My triggers: Sharks. That’s it. Just tag pictures of sharks for me please

nsfw: smut will be present here. i can not play the dominant party in smut, please don't ask me too. if you don't feel comfortable with it, we can fade to black, easy peasy. i won't make myself uncomfortable for some smut. All muses involved in smut or ships are 18+. If you think that aging them up is pedophila, do me a favor and get off my blog. Smut may happen with aged up characters but that does not mean it was done specifically for smut. Do not assume.

OCS: I love them. Send them my way, please!

OOC: I post ooc, sometimes quite a bit, sometimes rarely. I am human and I will act as such. I will not tag ooc posts mostly bc i’ll forget. Sorry if that bugs people but like i said, I’m human and I like to write things down and share things with the dash.

OOC note: please do not flirt with me or ask me to date you, thank you!

Shipping: all muses are LGBT+ in some shape or form so if you want to ship, just let me know. They’re pretty open to anyone, though gay and lesbian muses will stay gay and lesbian. I ship toxic pairings and incest so if that’s your cup of tea, just lemme know, and we can work something out if not? That’s alright too!!

As previously stated, all ships and smut scenes are involved with characters 18+. I will never under any circumstance write something with underage characters. Characters, however, can be aged up but are never simply just for the sake of smut. Smut may happen with aged up characters but that does not mean it was done specifically for smut. Do not assume.

wait time: sometimes i can take months, sometimes seconds, sometimes days. I’m not a fast rper, please respect this.

writing: i generally prefer writing multi-para or novella. one-liners or one-paragraphs usually end up getting dropped or made into much longer threads as i have absolutely no chill.

edit: from now on any drafts that are below three paras will be deleted, i don’t have muse for short things.

End note: Do me a favor and like this post if you’ve read my rules. Not needed but deeply appreciated. Also below you’ll find important links:

MUSES & NAVIGATION & MUSE INTEREST CHECKER & SHIP INTEREST CHECKER & COMMISSIONS INFORMATION & MOBILE MUSE LIST & THREAD TRACKER

#mobile rules

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everamazingfe · 3 years ago

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A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day.

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Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

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There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well.

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind.

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.”

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room.

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked.

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes.

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away.

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with.

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.”

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter.

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten).

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting.

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker.

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.”

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

#wolf 359 #w359 #daniel jacobi #doug eiffel #jacoffel #fic #my fic #my writing #everamazingfe #mini episode #oneshot

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (16/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Note:

I know I said on tumblr I was planning on ending the story today and apologies for dragging this out longer.

The final chapter is already written out but editing is gonna take me an extra hour or so. Also, this week has been hectic, work especially has been very hectic since I'm covering a job for 3 people now while they hire. I ended up getting a little sick today so I decided to put off a lot of the asks and postings until Sunday.

I could post the final chapter earliest, tomorrow night. Latest, I'll be posting the final chapter is Wednesday. I wanna get it out soon but there are still a lot of stuff I'm hoping to fix up so, apologies for not meeting the expectations.

Thank you so much for reading though. It really means a lot to me.

As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

“You can take a seat Hange.” Shela’s voice was gentle. She had taken her time pronouncing every syllable.

Still, something jumped inside Hange as she heard it. She gathered herself together and willed herself to make eye contact. “Sorry about that...I got a little distracted,” she said. She was starting to get a little self conscious. Did she actually jump? Was her tone too jittery? Were her eyes too wide?

The woman in front of her seemed unfazed as if she was watching Hange do something so normal as to just stare at the room in front of her for a long few seconds. Still, Hange avoided her gaze and looked around as she made her way towards the sofa.

Levi had only ever talked about how much of a hassle and how much of a pain the whole process of going to therapy was. Over time, he had started ditching the sessions altogether. Consequently, Hange had expected an atmosphere that would make her feel a little more restrained than what she had felt then.

It turned out just entering the room made her feel the complete opposite of what she had expected.

Shela’s office was more spacious than Hange had imagined it to be. Or more full of life.

Filled with too much life in a way that Hange couldn’t understand. But it seemed to hold more than the average doctor’s office she’d been to. Maybe it was the paintings on the wall or the wooden bookshelf that stood so tall and wide it was an omnipresent in the room.

Either way, it was comfortable and Hange chalked it to the rustic feel of the room. The ambiance was just too strange, the shades of the wallpaper, the rustic carpeted floor was too indulgent of her senses and she could have been taking a little more time than necessary to get to her seat.

It looked like Shela followed suit. By the time Hange had settled on the chair, Shela had still been on her way.

Shela leaned forward from her seat and reached out a hand in greeting. She seemed excited, too excited. “It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you like this, Hange Zoe,” she said.

That excitement in her voice was enough at least to pull Hange’s focus away from the ambiance of the room and towards the woman in front of her. A clear reminder that she was there for a reason.

Or two reasons. Hange corrected herself as she pulled out her file. “Thank you so much for agreeing to go through this with me,” she said. “Since Levi started having sessions with you, we kept in touch so at least we had some history beforehand… And given your background, I thought you might be the best person to give me some extra content on my thesis.”

“For your review of related literature?”

Hange nodded. “It’s not yet done. I did research already on the biological aspect but I thought you might have information on the psychological aspects of it…” She pulled out a folder from her bag and slid the file towards Shela.

Shela was quick to scan through the title. “Looks interesting. What made you pick this topic?”

“Many things...” Hange said. “I thought I would be able to help more people doing this type of thesis. And maybe I can take further studies and---”

“Does this have anything to do with Levi?” . Shela raised one eyebrow at her.

“Oh? Was it obvious?” Hange asked. She deemed it futile to have even denied it then.

Shela started to flip through the pages of the draft a little quicker. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. He never replied to any of my texts.” She stood up, gesturing for Hange to continue talking as she made her way to the shelf at the back of the room.

“He went home,” Hange said. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds and she felt some inclination to fill it herself. “Back to his hometown,” she added. “He probably wanted to spend his birthday with them, or maybe Christmas. I guess this is a good time for him to go home… He---”

“So Hange, do you wanna talk about Levi? Or would you like to talk about your thesis?” The way Shela said it was far from abrasive.

From her position, Hange couldn’t even tell what face Shela was making. Yet she found herself a little shaken, particularly self conscious she was taking up precious office time. And for a few seconds longer, Hange struggled to find the right words. “There are things I wanted to ask about… Like definitely, I told you I need to discuss the psychological aspect and…”

“Well, from what I’m seeing, this didn’t need a session. I could have emailed you the pdf file of my thesis and just answered if you had any questions.”

Hange only noticed then as Shela walked back to her seat that she had pulled out two binders from one of the bookshelves.

“If you need any more sources for your thesis, you can read through this.” Shela placed the binders on the table and flipped to the last page of the thicker one. “And you can check through my bibliography for any more sources and I’m sure you’ll figure the rest out on your own. Levi told me you were a pretty good researcher growing up…”

Hange felt the blood rush to her face. That only made it harder to grasp for the right words. “When was your last session with Levi?” There were many other things Hange would have wanted to ask then. Her mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“A little more than a month ago. A few weeks before your finals. “ Shela answered. She rested her elbows on her lap, her chin on her hands.

“Finals ended more than two weeks ago. I was hoping he talked to you before he left.”

Shela shook her head. “No word from him.” She must have sensed the disappointment in Hange’s face because only a second later, she continued. “But maybe going home would be good for him. He might find someone to talk to there.” Her tone was cold, disconnected and it didn’t look like she believed it herself though.

“I know you would tell him to write, he told me that much about your sessions. But did he ever tell you about his stories?”

“Commander Zoe and Captain Levi?”

Hange nodded. “Oh, he did. You see, I wanted to talk to you about that. But I don’t know either whether or not I should be talking to his therapist about this...But I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“He deleted the file.”

If Shela was shocked, she didn’t show it. The only hint to any emotion in the room had been the short silence that followed. “I suspected he’d do that much,” she said.

“Suspect that much? Did he tell you something? Was there something wrong with his writing? Is he okay?”

Shela shook her head. “ I’m not in a place to tell.”

“Why did he get so attached to his stories? Why did it affect him so much that he couldn’t even accept a death?”

“I’m sorry Hange, I don’t wanna waste your time here so I’ll be upfront with you. What Levi and I talk about here stays between us.”

“I respect that.” Hange expected the answer, still she kept her tone long and drawn. She still found herself clinging to some hope that there was something Shela could share.. “I want to know though… Is this because of the injury? He lost a lot because of that and I know I was somehow involved with it but I just can’t shake off this feeling of guilt. ”

Shela sighed. “You know, I may not be able to tell you what we talked about. But I’m sure you know more about this than I do. You might even be able to contribute more insights to this discussion than I can,” she said. “Tell me Hange, what went on after our last therapy session. Did he really have finals?”

“Yes we did. I was busy too so I didn’t think too much of it then but the weeks leading up to finals are usually more hectic for any student….”

“Would you know if he still continued to write after the finals?”

“He did.”

“You seem sure.”

“He shared the document.” Hange started. She unlocked her phone and opened her drive document. It wouldn’t be there, she was sure of that but she could have saved it and it would have still been there. She forced a smile as her mouth threatened to curl down. Hange was still scolding herself for wasting such an opportunity. She let her phone fall carelessly on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back on the sofa. “So I got to read it.”

“Did Captain Levi really die?” Shela asked.

“No. Commander Hange did.”

“So before he deleted it, Commander Hange died?”

“That was the last chapter I read. Then an hour or so later, I confronted him about it, he asked me to leave me alone, then the next thing I know he deleted the file.” Hange leaned her head back on the backrest and stared up at the ceiling. “But you know, he didn’t want to believe that Hange died. She burned alive, he described it so vividly in his writing but he kept telling me, she didn’t die.

“Oh?”

“If someone burned alive, they should be dead right? Maybe there was a sequel to it that he just didn’t write yet.”

“But if Hange were alive, wouldn’t Levi have seen it through instead of doing something so rash as to delete the whole thing? Levi has a tendency of…”

Running away? Not processing things? Hange looked back at Shela and nodded slowly.

Shela seemed distracted. She was staring at something upward, mumbling to herself as if finding the right words to say. “Trying not to regret things,” she added a few seconds later.

“Regret… I noticed that. With the jumping and the injury but I wanted to ask you, if you think the story is somehow connected to how he’s processing his injury.”

“I have theories but they’re not mine to tell. Have you asked Levi yourself?”

Hange was almost tempted to laugh. That seemed like the only way her body knew how to process the last week alone in the dorm. She had sent three texts, a question about when he had gone home, a birthday greeting and a New Year’s greeting. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me anymore,” Hange said. She avoided Shela’s gaze. Somehow, her heart was racing then, her blood was rushing to her face much faster than usual and she found herself curling her fists into a ball, finding some semblance of control in them. Was she ashamed that Levi wasn’t talking to her? She shook her head. “But you know, I can try to talk to Levi.”

“What about this… I’ll contact Levi when he comes back. I’ll try to get his side of what’s been happening. Maybe I can even get him to reply.”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything now? Maybe even something vague. I can try to figure the rest out for myself,” Hange said. She couldn’t tell then if she had raised her voice.

Shela didn’t seem shaken at all. She shook her head again. “This is between me and my patients.”

Hange had integrity, she understood confidentiality clauses. She had been researching all her life though, and that side of her still continued to fight. Maybe if the hints weren’t all there, poking at her, just provoking, she would have given up much more easily “I just wanna understand it, I wanna understand him. Even if we don’t talk after this. Even if Levi wants to end this, you know I’m fine. I just wanna figure out for myself why he acted that way. I’m worried.”

Shela cocked her head to the side, her expression unchanging. “Believe me, I’m worried too but I can’t say much. Levi’s my patient and whatever we talk about in this room is between us.” She pushed the two binders on the table towards Hange and continued. “But I don’t want to leave you empty handed. I wrote two pieces for my dissertation which you might find useful, something personal and something professional, I can send over a copy of both of them to you over email. Or if you want a hard copy, you could have this photocopied in the library nearby. What do you think works for you?”

The digression had Hange’s lips trembling then. Shela knew things she didn’t for sure and Hange found herself tempted to even curse silently at that confidentiality clause.

She opened the cover to find the title page in black ink, in one of the most readable fonts.

Signs that suggest the reality of reincarnation and its manifestations in patients.

You got what you wanted. Hange thought to herself as she scanned the title page of the document in front of her. It was a cold and professional title. The researcher inside her should have been satisfied. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t ungrateful either. “Thank you, I’ll make sure to read it,” she said. It was still help anyway.

Another, much thinner book was pushed next to it.

Musings on a Past Life: Written by Kuchel Ackerman

“This is my own personal copy,” Shela explained. “It’s not something you should be emulating when doing research but… I thought it could give you some insight to your thesis.

“Okay, if I have some extra time, I’ll---”

No actually, let’s make this your little homework. I want you to read both pieces. And if you get a chance to talk to Levi again…”

Shela probably said something after that. At that point though, Hange was somewhere else. She had pulled the thinner document towards her and propped it on her lap, and scanned through it. She only had to read through the first paragraph on one of the final pages to understand why it wouldn’t have passed up as anything academic.

She wasn’t rattling off procedures, scientific speculations or statistical procedures. She was painting pictures of dark streets, cramped streets and a shabby one bedroom alone with a baby. She spoke of soft skin, a baby scent that never faded and illness. She reflected on loss, regret all manifesting in that last face she saw before she fell asleep for the final time.

A teary eyed face. A shaken voice begging at her not to fall asleep. And then nothing.

Maybe there was darkness, darker than the ceiling of the underground, darker than the room that had been hers and her child.

That was left to mercy of Hange’s speculation.

It was only when she was alone in the dorm, two days after, did she reopen it. It had taken her more time than necessary to finish it and maybe it had been because she had ended up rereading whole paragraphs, flipping pages back more times than she could count.

And it was only then, after finishing that personal file did she feel compelled enough to read the official output.

She opened a page, towards an introduction, a foreword or a message. Possibly all of those at once. But it connected so seamlessly to Kuchel’s own musings.

A False Bottom.

All humans feel. Even when they say they don’t, they feel something.

Human psyche is an endless blackhole of emotions, knowledge and experiences….

There are still things psychologists cannot comprehend about the human psyche. All we can do is endeavor to make sense of it…

With this thesis, the researcher proposes that one possible explanation for unpredictable bouts of emotion, out-of-character decisions, the phenomena of irrationality is the phenomena of reincarnation…

Manifestations of our past life.

“And maybe there are emotions that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life.. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it manifests itself.”

And how many times did Hange allow those words to echo inside her as she sifted through page after page. Enough times at least to have her open a blank document.

As she soon found out, it wasn’t easy at all to embrace the blank document. She was completely aware she didn’t have to open the blank document, she had a half filled one already, having started on her own thesis a while back.

But something had willed her to do just that. Something inside her that wanted answers to questions, and it begged for them, clamored for them and Hange was starting to forget who even asked it. She? Or Kuchel?

Musings of a Past Life. Hange had typed out the title days ago already. Maybe it wasn’t easy because it wasn’t her past life to write. It was Levi’s past.

Or so that was what Levi claimed when he wrote it. “Ugh…. What the hell am I doing?” Hange removed her headphones, closed her eyes tight, inhaled then exhaled. “Okay Hange. You wanted to write this thesis for Levi right? You read his whole story. This should be easy.”

She just needed to write enough to remember his story. Enough to at least shoehorn him into her own thesis.

“And after that, you never have to think about him again,” Hange said. She opened her phone again and stared at the last sent message.

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

“I wonder…. Did you talk to Shela?” Hange asked quietly, almost to herself. But Shela would have told her right? But what if Levi told her not to tell? What if he just wanted to cut it off already?

It was an idea Hange didn’t want to entertain just yet. Thesis was looming, graduation was hanging over her head like some sort of dark cloud. She didn’t have time to deal with heartbreak.

So in the wee hours of morning, Hange composed a quick last message to Levi.

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

And the next few actions after that were automatic.

Settings. Profile. Ignore Messages.

She had more important things to think about then. She had to admit, her inbox was starting to look a bit better without that thread she was constantly checking that had a string of messages that had been so pathetically ignored.

That last decision and the last few actions leading up to it had sapped more energy from Hange than she had expected it to. Or maybe it was the dim light of the early morning and the small yet strong light of her lamp that had her realizing how exhausted she had been then.

She switched off the lamp and fell back on the bed. The impact had shaken her to the bone and Hange found herself sinking into the mattress. She was happy to let it swallow her then.

The night was surprisingly bright. Yet, at the same time it had been a dark night, she was sure. She traced the sources of the light on the ceiling above. The light painted triangles, squares and straight cut angles. There were spots from other sources, maybe where the moon bounced on some glass objects.

Hange was too exhausted to sit up to see those refractions for herself.

She may have been too exhausted then to type in front of a computer or even sit up in bed so instead, she continued to count spots, trace the dim weak rays in the ceiling of her room, as she traced them back to the wide window, all the way to the point where she would have to crane her head to see what lay beyond. She soon realized, she still wasn’t tired enough to doze off.

The gears in her brain continued to turn. And they had only started to turn faster with all the intricate patterns the moonlight had created as it shone through the wide window of her dormitory room.

Should she close the curtains so she could get a good night's sleep? That question only occupied her for a second or so before she thought of something else.

And maybe there are sensations that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it breaks open.

But if these emotions transcended worldly experiences, if they transcended life, then they should be unfathomable, not worth the effort of understanding.

Hange though, had been a researcher for as long as she could remember. She had mottos. She had habits. She had unshakable ways of thinking.

Turning to her side was easy. It was a quick, comfortable movement and maybe she had done it to sleep better. Or maybe she had done it to just get a better angle of the stream of moonlight that entered through the window.

Her desk sat on a familiar angle. Her laptop was open but turned off. Her bag slung over the chair.

The stream from the moonlight shone over her canvas bag and down to the floor. It created a web of intricate patterns, patterns that had Hange hypnotized at that moment. They were angular yet they were round and it would have taken hours for Hange to trace them in her exhausted state.

Yet they were hypnotizing enough for her not to want to look away. So in an effort to keep up with the challenge the moonlight had given her at that moment, she continued to reflect as she traced at it with her eyes.

False bottoms. Sensations that transcend worldly experiences, Emotions that transcend the constraints of time and space.

“But if they are things that transcend human comprehension, then how do we make sense of them?”

Ironically, it had been in the most intricate of patterns that Hange saw the answer. It had been in something so mundane that Hange had to blink twice and question it for a second longer.

“Dreams?” Hange asked, barely a whisper.

If there’s something you don’t understand, go out and learn to understand it.

She didn’t understand Levi’s dreams. She didn’t understand how his mind worked. She didn’t understand the stories he had written out.

There were things she didn’t understand for sure but there were things she remembered.

And maybe all she needed to understand something, was the right amount of hints, the right amount of crumbs to make sense of it herself. Maybe all she needed was the review of related literature, the observations and her own analysis to write a conclusion.

The dreamcatcher hung aimlessly from her canvas bag like it always did. It had been something almost unnoticeable before. Only in the night when the moon shined on it, when it had etched a large shadow on the floor, possibly even a hundred times larger than the small keychain in her bag did Hange think about it again.

And she thought about it hard enough to reach for it from the side off her bed. She stretched her hand farther and farther and in the dark, her sense of distance may have been a little worse.

She thought she had been almost there and she was pulled back into that cruel reality in a single moment, with a loud painful thud.

“Ow!” Hange quickly got up, a result of that adrenaline rush from the harrowing experience of a painful fall from her bed. She unfastened the dream catcher from her bag, on the way back to the bed, she grabbed her phone, her earphones and sat on her bed.

That time, she eased herself onto the bed and under the covers.

She held the dreamcatcher above her, tracing the purple, the green. She knew they were purple and green but under the moonlight they seemed almost blue, and maybe she could have even mistaken the purple and green for one another.

Her only hint to the shades after all were the way they reflected the moonlight on themselves.

Eventually, her arms got tired, still aching from that painful fall. She slipped the dream catcher under her pillow and turned on her side. She put one earphone on her left ear, another on her right and she turned on her phone and shuffled her music.

The dormitory was silent with everyone gone for the holidays.

Eerily silent. She was used to living alone, it wasn’t anything new. But recently, she had frequently found herself missing him, maybe missing her parents, she started to realize the silence, the isolation that came with it was almost unbearable.

So maybe she had been listening to music, maybe she had been talking to herself a little more.

And those dreams, they probably would help. Hange thought to herself as she set her phone to her side, a good distance from the edge of the bed.

She had dreamt enough to know, she couldn’t control dreams. But if they did come, they would come in hints, puzzle pieces and maybe something she could easily write down in the morning.

So she willed them to come in that silent night. She whispered to Commander Zoe. She pressed that dream catcher one more time.

Hange closed her eyes, adjusted the volume of the music and evened her breathing.

The dreams would choose when to come, if they chose to come at all. All she could do was trust in them.

***

Levi would have liked to blame the snow for his inability to concentrate.

It was fucking loud. The patter came too randomly, Levi struggled to find patterns in it. For a few seconds at a time, the snow would patter on the window in big loud waves. Other times, the snow came in plip plops reminiscent of a rainy spring day. A few times, it shifted to something slow and gentle Levi could have used it to lull himself to sleep.

It was a piece of music on rubato, and the musician was just a little too keen on leaving his audience unhinged.

And just that quick thought at least absolved Levi of any blame. He didn’t feel too much self loathing then. Just utter frustration and maybe a pinch of sadness.

The document in front of him was just a mish mash black words on white paper and for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine they could be anything else. The top section was descriptive, very descriptive that he should have been able to do so much as to smell the whore house. He should have been able to grieve the loss of a mother.

But it was just black on white.

So Levi scrolled down three pages to find a source of investment elsewhere. He found vivid descriptions of life on a wheelchair, a frequented grave but for the life of him, he couldn’t even imagine the large tree above, or the vivid descriptions of airplanes on the blue sky.

But it was just words on paper.

“What do you think?” Hange asked. She looked at him expectantly. “It’s not a lot… I’ve just been working on this in between my thesis and I don’t have much going for me but my own memories… But I rewrote some bullet points while I was trying to remember it and I just thought you know if I put my own writings in between what you have so far...maybe it could help you process it.”

“Process... it?”

“But if you don’t wanna think about it, it’s fine.”

Remember? Levi wanted to remember. Those weren’t black pixels on white pixels, conveniently strung together to make symbols. They were vivid descriptions of another world, another life for sure. But why couldn’t he bring himself to invest in it… Anymore?

“Maybe I just need a break,” Levi set aside the laptop on the side table and leaned back on the bed.

“You’re tired, injured. You could even get sick,” Hange said. “I don’t expect you to think too much of it, I just thought it would help pass the time.” She looked away guiltily.

“I’m not angry about you forcing me to get my knee checked again. Jumping in the dead of winter with a sprained knee was a stupid move.”

“I know it was. But I also know you’re probably tired of hospitals already.”

“I am tired of hospitals. But you were right. When they tested my knee, it didn’t feel right. I’m pretty sure I tore something again.”

“It was swelling… And I knew we could have just iced it but, you know you jumped pretty high, you ran pretty fast, it’s kinda scary you did that with your knee... In the middle of winter of all times of the year? God---Levi, What were you thinking? Armin told me he’d stop by the field to pick up Mikasa’s things so you know if I didn’t go out to meet him just in case he got lost, I probably wouldn’t have made it. At least Armin had half the mind to text me when you wouldn’t listen to him…” Hange trailed off. “But I wish I had arrived earlier, maybe I could have stopped you.”

“You wouldn’t have convinced me not to jump,” Levi said.

“Why do you say that?”

“No one would have convinced me. I was dead set on jumping that one last time.”

“Why did you wanna jump?”

“Closure.” It was a simple answer to a simple question. But as Levi enunciated each syllable, he became a little self conscious about how pretentiously short that answer had been. It was closure, he was sure but there were layers to that answer he couldn’t comprehend for himself in that moment.

Hange seemed to sense it too. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth ready to speak before she closed it again and let her eyes fall on the hospital bed. “Couldn’t you find closure elsewhere? Did you have to risk your knee for it?”

“What do you know? ” Levi ran his eyes over his thighs and up to his knee propped on a few pillows. He started to feel the beginnings of guilt a second later. His intention never was to offend.

What do you know? That question had been for him.

You didn’t live your whole college life jumping only to end up in a state where you can barely walk. Was that what Hange heard? Maybe. She looked like she did. After all, she was blushing then. As if she had been aware of that slight vulnerability, she bit her lip, looked away and stretched out over the side of the bed to get back her laptop.

Levi felt obligated to reassure her. “You know I don’t intend to jump again. I wish I could. But I think that last jump helped me accept that that part of my life is over.”

“So, what next?” Hange asked. “Erwin mentioned you could get surgery to fix the partial tear.”

Levi shook his head. “And skip more school then hope I can jump again? The surgery isn't necessary. The knee can heal on its own.”

“But what about other---”

“Jumping opportunities? Other athletic opportunities? I said, that part of my life is over.”

“You had a lot of talent you know.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

Hange managed a smile, a smile that was far from happy. But at the least, it could be contagious. “Then it was an honor to see you fly that one last time Captain Levi.”

Levi could have sworn he saw something glisten as she crinkled her eyes, a supplement to her wry smile. “I was never the captain of my team. You know that,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I meant---” Hange had been meaning to finish, or at least she looked like it. The knock on the door though had been loud and it tore through that soft conversation.

Hange stood up from her seat and opened the door slowly.

“Erwin told me you too would be here. I finished up early today so I thought I’d pop in.”

Levi nodded in greeting. He had been too ashamed to say anything else. But he was determined at least to show some respect.

“It looks like you two are talking again. Doctor Erwin told me what happened and I thought…” The moment Kuchel made eye contact with Levi, her eyes widened. “Levi… You…”

Levi found himself particularly self conscious then, he looked down at his thick sweater, at his knee. “I sprained my knee again.”

Kuchel was quick to recover. “I noticed that much,” she said. “I was talking about…” She gave him a long awkward onceover. She shook her head.

She wasn’t the only one who seemed uncomfortable then. Hange hadn’t looked back at him since Kuchel had entered the room. Her whole disposition had somehow changed in that few seconds.

“You okay?” Levi asked.

Hange didn’t answer. She booted her laptop again and angled it towards Kuchel who had approached them and set a chair next to his bed.

“It looks like you managed to let go already Captain Levi.” Kuchel said, as she cocked her head to the side and smiled.

Captain Levi. The words whispered once again inside him, too softly Levi found it easy to brush it away. “You know, you were right. The emotions would leave on their own. It still hurts but I don’t see any reason to fight it if I know it’s gonna heal eventually. That’s how closure is supposed to feel like right?”

Shela shook her head. “Closure manifests differently for each person. But it’s normal to forget when you accept. Sometimes we find ourselves forgetting why we were ever sad at all. Or sometimes we just forget the details. Or sometimes it just feels like everything was all just a bad dream.”

“These past few months since the injury, they’re starting to blur together like some dream.” He turned to Hange who was starting to seem more and more uncomfortable. He chose that moment to reflects and he started to wonder why he had even avoided her in the first place. His next few words came out automatically “ I’m sorry what I did, and about our fight last month, I wasn’t angry about the injury if that’s what you think,” Levi said. The apology came out of nowhere, it felt misplaced. He started realize that maybe he should have given that apology much earlier.

Why then?

Hange had heard the apology for sure, but maybe she had just chosen to ignore it. “But Levi, you wrote these right? These dreams?” Hange said, as if she had taken his stare then as some cue to speak. She turned to Kuchel and to Levi, her movements seemed desperate then. She had at least kept some composure in her expression.

“I wrote them out,” Levi said. “But to be honest... I’m starting to forget why I did.”

"Emotions and dreams fickle things. They come and go when they please but sometimes we wanna keep them on record so we could relive it and process it. That’s why if you wanna grasp it and preserve it before it leaves... If you wanna be able to relive it, you have to write it down. This is why I ask all my patients to write things out. "

"Levi did." Hange turned to Levi. You wrote everything down right? You showed me a while ago, you wrote this and this… Shela, if they were his dreams, his emotions...he was writing it"

Shela’s expression was unmoving. "Those dreams weren’t supposed to be his. Maybe that's why they had been just a little more fickle. Who knows? Maybe Captain Levi just took it back already.”

“Why take it back?” Hange asked

“Maybe he fulfilled his unfinished business. Maybe he found closure.”

“But Levi you should have remembered writing it? You’ve been on it for months. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten these last three months right?”

“I haven’t,” Levi said reassuringly.

“Then why aren’t you thinking about it anymore. Why am I the one thinking about it for you?” Hange pressed. There was a crack in her voice and Hange looked ready to slam her laptop on the floor.

“I remember writing it. I’m just wondering for myself why I wrote it out in the first place. Maybe because I didn’t have much to do. I got injured, I was stuck at home and you know, those days in your apartment, those days stuck in the dorm, they just blended together.”

“But you weren’t just indoors… We went out to the mountains. You were telling me these stories and you were telling me how Commander Hange was like. Levi, I felt things. I remembered all of it. You can’t just leave me hanging like this---”

Shela cleared her throat, uncharacteristically louder than usual. “You know, you seem more relaxed now. How does it feel Levi? Does it feel like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders? Like you walk up from a bad dream?"

Levi nodded. "I'm just wondering why I'm exhausted."

“Of course you’re exhausted, you jumped while injured in the middle of winter. But relaxed is still a different feeling altogether, particularly compared to you the past few months. When I look at you now, you seem… freer?”

Freer? Levi shrugged. When had he ever been trapped?

For a while the room had been silent and it was Hange who broke it. "Levi, I wrote everything out, about what happened to Captain Levi in the survey corps. You may have deleted the file but I remembered them. These were your stories. These were the dreams you had. Hell, if Kuchel’s theory is correct, these are memories from your past life."

To humor Hange more than anything, Levi reread the bullet points and the effort quickly proved futile. They were bullet points of events, they could have been a timeline that Levi couldn’t for the life of him make sense of it. And he found himself a little annoyed at her tenacity.

“You still have a lot to write Hange, even I can’t make sense of it,” Kuchel said from behind. She gave Hange a reassuring pat.

The pout on Hange’s face, the way it had darkened into something similar to disappointment, had Levi almost guilty. Her emotions ran deeper than disappointment, he was sure. And for a second or so, Hange seemed crestfallen, ready to leave the room. The only thing tying her to the room then could have been her own strong penchant for seeking answers,

“You think you’ll be able to write again?” Hange asked. She looked like she could have said more. It was as if squeezing out that one sentence had sapped all energy out of her.

Levi shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“When?”

“When the inspiration comes again.”

***

When will the inspiration come again? Hange always asked good questions and if she asked a question that couldn’t be answered, she always had an explanation to follow. Or at the least, she knew how to phrase questions in a way that could get answers.

Levi couldn’t answer and Hange wasn't helping him either. The tense silence that followed, loomed exclusively over the two of them. Although the conversation had shifted to a dialogue between Levi and Kuchel, even when Hange had kept quiet, pulling her focus back on her laptop in front of her, or her phone, the tension never left.

Levi had attempted to cut at it by focusing on Kuchel. He had provided a long drawn out explanation of his own emotions for Kuchel and in return, Kuchel had provided a long drawn out interpretation of his explanations.

Maybe drawing the conversation out longer than expected was unnecessary. In the end, the only take home Levi had for himself then was that the past few months were a blur and any effort to make sense of it would be completely futile.

Kuchel left them both in the silence, mentioning something about another meeting. Alone in the room, in the tense silence continued to haunt. It was Hange who spoke up again asking that same question. “When will inspiration come again?”

“You sound pretty fixated on my inspiration. Maybe you should write the end for yourself then.” The sudden acceptance had Levi relaxing on the bed soon after Kuchel had left the room.

“It’s not about writing… This story in particular, it meant a lot to me too.”

“I’m sure it meant a lot. It meant a lot to me too but weirdly, I just don’t care about it as much as I used to.”

“What about us?”

“What do you mean ‘about us?’”

“About us… The past few things you were writing the story and you were talking about Commander Hange and Captain Levi. That was about us right?”

“You heard my answer to Kuchel, it was a blur.”

“No, I meant about us in the past few months. Are you angry with me? Do you want me out of your life?”

“You wanna leave?.”

“No it’s not that. It’s just…” Hange breathed out, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Levi looked away, hiding the wince in his face. “I told you, I’m sorry I don’t even remember why I did it.”

“So do you want me here?”

“Yes, I don't want you to leave, I thought it was obvious.”

“Well it looks like it wasn’t so obvious, I thought you’d want me to leave. You didn’t reply to any of my messages and I remembered, we’ve only known each other for months.”

“I think 'months' are more than enough for me to realize that I want you here. For a long time. Maybe longer than that.” Maybe even forever.

Did he say that ‘forever’ part out loud? He didn’t expect Hange’s smile then.

Her eyes were wide open, her lips curled up into a big smile. The overall expression on her face had seemed unreadable. She could have been mocking him, she could have been freaked out or she could have been that good balance between surprised and happy “So what are you saying? We’re soulmates?” She asked.

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Levi said. The facade of disconnect was hurriedly done, consequently, it felt almost shoddy.

“Fate?”

“You told me yourself, you don’t believe in fate either.

“I don’t.”

“It was a choice right? Everything that brought us to this point was all just borne of choice. You made the choice to work for me, I made the choice to cooperate and here we are.” Levi felt a hand slip under his and it grabbed him from underneath. Levi didn’t have to look down to comprehend it, Hange’s face had said it all.

“But you know, I’m starting to believe in this abstract thing called soulmates. And this other abstract thing called fate,” she said

“Aren’t you a researcher?”

“I have the evidence, Levi. Someone has been coming into my dreams too and she’s been telling me about you.”

“You know, they must have been some really good dreams if they convinced you to believe in them.

“They were. They really were. And you know what, they only keep coming.”

Levi had closed his eyes long before then. And the patter on the window had mellowed to something rhythmic and along the way it had softened altogether. Whether it had been due to the even patter or through her own volition, Hange had stopped talking, her breath had evened out.

And when Levi started to dream again, the shift had been too gradual, too kind. The dreams weren’t loud, they didn't demand attention. They didn’t make themselves known. When Levi opened his eyes again, the idea that he had fallen asleep had seemed almost surreal, unbelievable.

“You can go back to sleep,” Hange said. She seemed focused on something on her laptop again.

Levi looked out the window, the sky was dark but the snow continued to fall.

“Erwin told us we could stay another night.”

“Why?”

“We’re completely snowed in.”

“Okay,” Levi said. He had attempted to go back to sleep and it had only proved frustratingly unsuccessful. The confusion at having the view by the window so suddenly shift from sky blue to complete black still had him disoriented.

So he found orientation in Hange’s concentrated look then and the white of the screen reflected in her glasses. Even behind the glare, her long lashes were noticeable, her hazel brown eyes could still be traced, the shades of brown discerned. So he continued to looked, and he had managed to pass the time much more quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Hange asked as she looked up at him. The glare of the screen disappeared from her glasses and Levi found himself unable to respond for a second longer as he appreciated the unmarred view of her eyes then.

It was a lucid view of her then that sent a pang of regret through him. It was quick and if Levi didn’t let it wash through him then, if he didn’t give it full control over him in that moment, maybe he would have never remembered it happened, maybe he would have never remembered to appreciate Hange then.

“I feel like I just had one long dream,” Levi said. maybe the dreams could have explained the slight pang of regret then. But they were too far off already for Levi to look back on. So he surrendered quickly and kept silent.

Hange didn’t hesitate to take the reins of the conversation. “I was writing.”

“About what?”

“About your dreams. I'm trying to remember what else you wrote.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think you ever gave names to the two titans you caught for me."

Titans? Levi couldn't follow the conversation. With nothing else much to contribute, he nodded.

Hange continued. “So I named them myself.”

“What did you name them?” Levi asked, an attempt to humor her more than anything.

Hange’s face had curled to a smile as she spoke and she opened her mouth a little bit, exposing her teeth underneath. She seemed to be enjoying it. “Their names are Sonny and Bean"

Somehow, Levi was starting to get invested too. “Hey Hange, since we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, maybe you can tell me what a titan is.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 7 ~The Holiday Feeling~

Picture Source

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Christmas Treats ...

After Annalise had left for a night out of bowling and dinner with Willie, she'd put on her new pyjamas, a long coat so no one in the street would notice what she was wearing underneath when she walked to Jamie's cottage and a pair of Ugg boots. All the while, her stomach did a mad flip-flopped, and she continually found herself staring into space, almost tripping on the way to Jamie's house.

Obviously, she hadn't finished staring into space because when Jamie opened the door after she'd knocked, sending her hurtling back to the present, she was speechless. Rollo dashed out of the house and circled her happily, jumping on her.

Jamie grinned and opened the door wider. "Sassenach! Get in here! We have a guest."

"Oh!?" I thought we're alone.

She pulled the coat tighter and patted Rollo's head. She remembered Annalise's word not to brace herself too hard, took a deep breath, relaxed and stepped into Jamie's house.

What she saw next, took her by surprise.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

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"Oh, it's alive. I thought it's a toy. What's that?" Claire asked as she stepped into the cottage and saw movement in the shoebox on the floor. Rollo flopped himself down beside it like he was the keeper and protector. "Is this the guest you're talking about?"

"One of them." Grinning, Jamie shut the door and followed her gaze. "Can't ye tell what's in the box? Harry found the poor wee thing mewling under the bushes in the park. It cannae be more than a week old. Probably wandered away from the litter and got lost. It's good Harry found her when he did. I dinnae think it would have survived tonight in this cold."

"It's a kitten!" Placing the paper bags she had on the rug, she got on her knees, picked up the ball of grey fur and held it against her chest. Half of its body was cocooned into a red child's sock, and its tiny head had a comical covering. "Goodness, it's even got a hat with earholes. I've never seen anything like this."

Jamie beamed. "Not my doing. Harry brought it all bundled up like that already."

"Who's Harry? Another sibling?" she asked, nuzzling her face into the tiny furry body before carefully depositing it back into the shoebox.

Ach, Harry! He was here a minute ago. "No. A mate. He's here somewhere. I invited him to stay for dinner. Give me a sec." He'd been distracted by Claire's arrival, he'd forgotten all about his unexpected visitor.

Jamie left Claire in the living area and went to look for his friend. When he felt a draft of cold air, he went into the kitchen thinking Harry probably went to have a peek at his back garden.

He poked his head out the back door. "Harry!" he called out. There was no answer. Where the bloody hell has he disappeared to?

All throughout the day he'd been looking forward to tonight after he'd spent the afternoon putting up a Christmas tree he'd bought at a tree farm and decorating it with ornaments belonging to his grandmother from his mother's side. And of all days, Harry had to drop by. Not that Jamie wasn't glad to see him, but the timing was terrible as spending some alone time with Claire was on top of his agenda. Nevertheless, he'd invited the Englishman to stay for dinner. But where the hell is he?

He scoured the yard, but he couldn't find Harry. Suddenly feeling the cold, he slipped back into the kitchen to check the pot roast. It was already ready after he'd left it in a slow cooker to cook all day.

Earlier this morning, after he'd dropped by at Claire's B&B cottage and kissed her, it had been a mammoth task to leaving her side, so he'd kept himself busy all day to make time go by faster. It was becoming apparent spending time away from her was starting to feel like the tension on a bungee cord. The longer the time they spent apart, the greater the urge to see her. And the line felt like it was getting shorter, like his threshold for not being with her was diminishing. If Harry was joining them for dinner, he hoped he wouldn't stay too long after dessert.

"Jamie?"

He glanced up to find Claire holding up a bottle of red wine.

"I splurged a bit. I hope this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon will go with whatever you're cooking?"

Perfect! Putting the teatowel down, he grinned and approached her.

"It's a classic," he said, taking the bottle from her hand and putting it on the counter. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry Sassenach, I havenae given ye a proper greeting."

She smiled against his mouth. "Where's your friend?" she asked when he was done kissing her.

He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "God knows! He probably left. Harry does that all the time. I've invited him to Lallybroch for tea countless of times, but he’s always refused. I guess he's just not a people person." Jamie decided not to worry about it. "Hungry?"

"Very." She glanced past his shoulder. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm, nice. Smells heavenly. Need help?"

"No, I have everything under control. Want something to drink?" Jamie asked, taking out wine glasses, plates and cutleries.

"Not just yet. I had a cuppa before I left the cottage." She smiled at him. "I love your home, especially that fireplace. Is it original?"

He checked the roasted root vegetables in the oven for doneness and shoved them back in again. "Aye, it's an original. This is a crofter's cottage from the eighteenth century, and I've salvaged most of the original fixtures and fittings."

"Love the Christmas tree too. Did you put it up today?" she asked glancing around the kitchen, peering out of the window and touching his collection of fridge magnets.

"Aye, I did."

"Those antique Christmas ornaments are stunning and much better than those plastic baubles you get in shops. I have a few antique ornaments myself. Just too bad, our London flat is not big enough to accommodate a proper Christmas tree." She lifted the lid off the slow cooker and took a whiff. "Mmm, this smells lovely."

He straightened and glanced at what she was wearing. "Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are ye still wearing yer coat? Are ye cold? I thought I put enough wood in the fire."

She grinned. "Oh, this. It's a surprise. Hang on a minute." She turned her back to him, and he waited with anticipation, watching her movements of undoing her coat. If she was wearing a negligee under that coat, he knew he would have a heart attack, and dinner would definitely be put on hold if not cancelled. But he rubbished his thoughts immediately, knowing she wasn't that type of lass. "Close your eyes!" she instructed, and he did.

"Ye're killing me."

"Patience!"

"Are ye naked under yer coat?" he teased.

"You wish!"

He heard rustling followed by footsteps.

"Right, you can open them now."

He slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately landed on the front of her top. It was a Rudolph the Reindeer's face applique complete with a protruding shiny big nose. She was a bundle of red, wearing red fleece pyjamas with plaid bottoms, and her feet were covered in thick, red woollen socks. He laughed out loud.

"Wait for this. You haven't seen anything yet." Claire fiddled with something from under the hem and pulled the reindeer antler's hood from behind. The reindeer's nose on her front lit up, and the antlers stood lopsided on her head. The hoodie was far too big for her, and it hid one eye. "Ho, ho, ho!" she intonated in a low voice.

He chuckled and pulled her against him. "Ho, ho, ho, indeed. Where did ye get this? This is something for Christmas morning. It's almost as ridiculous as the Christmas jumpers."

"I know, right? As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it. Bought it today in Inverness. I thought since we've been doing all sort of Christmassy things together, I'd stick with the theme."

"That red nose is not going to keep flashing like that the whole evening, will it? It's very distracting."

She pressed something from under the top. "Nope. The show's over."

He arched an eyebrow and decided to tease her. "Really? What's underneath that top?"

She blushed, but the smile never left her face. "A hungry tummy."

"Brilliant! Shall we eat then?"

"Sure! I'll help set up the table."

Claire rattled off the things she did with Annalise that day. He was glad her friend had agreed to stay until Three Kings which would buy him more time getting to know Claire better. Jamie didn't want to think of the day when she would go back to London, even though it had been lurking all day at the back of his mind. Watching her work beside him in the kitchen, he was glad she felt comfortable and right at home. He wanted to make good memories with her just in case this was all they would ever have.

They served dinner like they'd been doing it together for years, pouring red wine, plating food he'd prepared and chatting the entire time. They sat opposite each other so Jamie could see every blush, expression and emotion that crossed her face, appreciating the fact she had an appetite, a sense of humour and took a keen interest in his work, life and Broch Mordha. He might have sounded a tad bit like a salesman trying to sell a lifestyle in a remote Highland village, and if she noticed, she didn't give any hints.

When they touched the delicate subject of his PTSD, he realised it was easier to talk about it this time. Claire spoke with refreshing candour, even suggesting alternative healing such as meditation and acupuncture, which he liked and made a mental note to look into it.

Throughout their meal, Claire spoke of her childhood, and in exchange, he talked about his family. From time to time, he would reach out to squeeze her hand so he could see the blush blooming on her cheeks or kiss her, to see the shy smile spreading across her face. Every second with her was a pleasant discovery, and he knew what a lucky bastard he was. How she was without a boyfriend was beyond him but thankful that she didn't have one.

After dinner, they cleared the table and did the dishes. And when Jamie took out Rollo for a short exercise, Claire fed the kitten with a wee bottle Harry had left him.

They took their coffee, a box of chocolate Claire loved, and the unfinished bottle of red wine into the living room. As Jamie put another log into the fire, Rollo curled up next to Claire. It was quite apparent, he wasn't the only one smitten. Smiling, he plopped down next to her and turned on the TV to watch Home Alone.

..........

When the film credits started rolling in the end, Jamie turned off the volume and stretched. He glanced over to Claire just in time to see her unwrapping a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. When she realised he was looking at her, she offered him the already unwrapped sweet.

He shook his head and smiled. "So, what do ye want to do?"

The room filled with silence as she exaggeratedly contemplated, tapping her chin and scrunching her nose while rolling the chocolate in her mouth.

His eyes dropped to the delicate lines of her jaw. The smooth, pale skin of her neck and the movement of her throat as she swallowed wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had a very vivid image of what they could do, and they involved running his tongue along the neckline of that ridiculous pyjama top. Since that option would probably send her running out the door, he quickly dismissed the idea. "More movies?" he suggested.

"No. Had enough. Do you know how to play poker?"

"Do I know how to play poker?" He laughed out loud. "I'm a master at the game."

Her eyes lit up. "You have a deck of cards?"

"Aye, I will go and get them." He got up from the sofa and headed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Always love a game of poker."

"Oh, good. I haven't played for ages."

"What do we play for?"

She cleared the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We'll play for pennies, how about that?"

"I dinnae think I have any loose change."

"We'll think of something else. I'm dealing."

He handed her the deck of cards, put on some classic Christmas song, and then refilled their glasses. He sat beside her and watched with amazement as her fingers expertly flew through the cards with ease, shuffling with lightning speed. While concentrating on his hand, he wondered where she learned how to deal and surmised probably her uncle, the same man who taught her to play pool.

"Alright, here we go, dealer's choice. Five-card stud, ante up."

He glanced up at her. "Wait! We havenae decided what we're playing for."

"Oh, I forgot. You said you don't have any loose change."

"Maybe we ought to play for the family jewels."

She slapped him on the thigh. "Ha-ha! You funny man!"

His lips twitched. "Weel, any ideas?"

"Can't think of one at the moment."

"Wait a minute ...I have a verra interesting one."

Claire glared at him. "If you're thinking of strip poker, forget it."

He laughed out loud. "No, I didnae mean that. Although I wouldnae mind that." When she arched an eyebrow at him, he grinned. "I meant we'll play for favours."

She bit her lower lip. "Favours? What kind of favours?" she asked suspiciously.

"The first to win three hands gets a free favour from the other. It can be used at any time, like a voucher per se."

Her face suddenly became animated. "Can you use the favour for anything? How about the rules?"

He grinned. "Nae rules and ye can redeem yer favours on anything. Anything at all."

The challenge lured her in like a true gambler following the scent of a big stake. "Very well then, we're playing for favours."

He smothered the jubilant smile threatening to surface and quickly fixed his expression into poker-face, almost licking his lips with glee when she'd agreed.

She dealt, and he almost pumped his fist in the air at the obvious outcome, but he remained silent, watching her replace one of her cards.

After a while, he laid down his cards. "Flush."

"Cool. Two queens. Your deal." Her expression remained inscrutable. God, her poker face is good!

Jamie had to give her credit for keeping her emotions under control. Whoever taught her to play, taught her well and if it wasn't for his past experience, he felt in his guts she'd be one hell of a player to beat. Next, she threw down a pair of aces and yielded gracefully to his three twos.

"Alright, one more hand to go," he announced, subduing the mirth in his voice.

"My deal. I can count, ye ken," she said, imitating his accent. He kept his face impassive as he watched her dainty fingers flitting over the cards. "Care to share where you learn how to play poker?"

He inspected his hand casually. "Played a lot with my unit during my SAS days. Beats sitting around and twiddling my thumbs during long intervals."

"My uncle taught me," she shared. "As well as backgammon and chess."

He threw in a card and replaced it. "I have backgammon and chessboards if ye feel like playing for another time. I'm quite good at both games, in case ye're up for a challenge."

She let out an unladylike snort when she laid down her cards, displaying straight as victory gleamed in her eyes.

Jamie almost felt sorry for her. Not quite but almost.

He whistled low and shook his head. "Good hand." This time he allowed himself to smile. "But, sorry lass, it's no' good enough." He threw his cards down, showing four aces and then cockily stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the sofa. "Nice game, though."

She gasped and looked at him with those beautiful golden orbs. "Jamie, the probabilities of four aces in five-card stud are ..." Her eyes widened. "Oh my word, you didn't!"

"What?"

"Why you cheeky sod ..."

"What, Sassenach?"

"Don't Sassenach me. You cheated!"

"No!"

"Yes, you did!"

He shook his head in feigned horror and tried to look offended. "Och, how could ye think that? Surely not! I ken ye're verra good at it, but this is all on luck."

Her pretty eyebrows slammed together. "No way you can get those four aces unless you palmed the cards. Admit it, because I was thinking of doing it myself, but I refrained from doing so!"

"Don't ye think yer accusation is a tad bit harsh?"

"Jamie, you cheated! I know you did. I can't believe you cheated on our date night. Oh, my God! How could you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Jamie!"

"No cheating occurred, Sassenach." He straightened up from his sitting position and smiled. "Now about that favour I won ..." But his voice trailed off when she abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Sassenach?"

"You cheat!" Without warning, she propelled herself over the coffee table and into his arms. Air whooshed out of him as she toppled him back onto the sofa and slipped a hand under the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking for the suspected hidden cards. Jamie grunted as the full weight of Claire landed on him, her intent on finding proof of foul play resolute. He attempted to regain his balance, but she shifted her attention somewhere else, making him fall back again. When her hands slipped into his pants pocket, he realised if she delved any deeper, she wouldn't come up empty-handed. Ah, sweet Jesus! With no other options, he flipped her onto her back and pinned both hands above her head.

The tie holding her hair somehow became undone during the struggle, causing her chocolate brown curls to spring forth and tumble down, and a few unruly locks to settle on her face. Jamie stared at the snapping golden eyes peeking between the strands, filled with determination despite his more considerable strength. Her chest heaved against her ridiculous top, the appliquéd Rudolf the reindeer staring mockingly at him. Without meaning to, his weight forced her thighs apart, and he wondered if she was aware of both their predicament. Or at least his.

Jamie knew he would be in deep trouble if he remained where he was, as she continued to wriggle under him.

"I know you're hiding the cards somewhere. I wasn't born yesterday, you know! Admit you cheated and I will forget this ever happened."

"Will ye keep still, Sassenach" he muttered. "Ye're torturing me."

She stuck out her bottom lip and blew a hard breath, the wayward curl lifting and blowing sideways, clearing her line of sight. "That's your conscience doing that. Did you know there's a special place in hell for cheaters?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Don't ye ever think of the repercussion to yer actions? Ye cannae just tackle a man like that."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it? Tell Santa to put me on his naughty list?"

Her body suddenly started to shake when she burst into fits of laughter at her own words, causing the heat in his groin to surge through his body like a wildfire gone out of control. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! His blood buzzed in his head like a swarming fog, and even though he tried to shift all his thoughts on the fat man sliding down the chimney and getting stuck halfway, all he could only think of was the soft body beneath him. He tried not to breathe and held his body in a tight muscle lock and prayed Claire wouldn't make any more sudden big movements; otherwise, he was going to explode like a schoolboy and look like a glaikit idiot.

But when the realisation of his plight swiftly dawned on her, her mouth formed a comical O, and her face turned bright red, her previous intent on extracting a confession of his cheating, dissipating.

"Jamie?" Her voice was husky.

He swallowed hard and ignored the fact he had a big fat boner wedged between them. "Did I hurt ye? Didnae mean to be so rough."

"No. I'm fine."

"Are ye sure?"

She smiled, and he inhaled deeply to regain his composure. She smelled like shampoo and flowers and just a hint of fruit flavoured lollies, and he could just about see the pulse palpitating on her neck. Their position made his erection harder, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping at all.

"You're a big lad," she gulped.

Ah, shite! "And ye're not helping," he said hoarsely, tamping down a groan.

"Shall I go?"

"No!" He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just be still for a moment, aye?"

"Alright."

They laid still for a while looking at each other.

Carefully, he let go of her wrists above her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I can stare at ye like this for hours and never tire of it," he whispered. She smiled, and he kissed the smooth line of her jaw. When she tilted her head back, his lips trailed down of their own accord, bowing his body over hers as he worked his way to the side of her neck.

Hard as he was, he didn't move against her. He wanted her to feel safe and everything to be on her terms, letting her know this attraction went beyond sex. He held on to his control with a mental vice grip and simply appreciated the moment.

His combed his fingers through her curls, feeling the softness of it in his hand as he kissed her softly, never demanding or pushing even if it pained him a lot.

He heard Rollo sigh from somewhere in the house and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He almost shot out the sofa as small hands tentatively explored his chest and shoulders, before sliding around his neck and up through his hair. Then they moved down his side and waist before her palms settled over the ridges of his stomach. He loved the small sounds she made at the back of her throat and the softness against every part of him that was hard. Every movement and sigh she made, her scent drifted and surrounded him, a heady pheromone, pulling him in closer.

When her hands slipped under his sweatshirt and settled at his lower back, his breath broke and went ragged, and an instant electric tension rose between them, turning their soft, playful kisses heated and more urgent.

As much as it hurt him to do so, he tore his lips away and looked into her eyes. "We dinnae have to do anything ye dinnae want, Sassenach. We can stop right now," he whispered, his voice sounding oddly gruff in his ears. He felt his cock protesting against his boxer shorts, but he ignored the mounting discomfort in his groin.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to stop. Kiss me again."

Relief slammed through him as a ton of weight lifted off his back. "Sassenach, are ye sure?"

She nodded.

He was about to kiss her again when a gentle push of her hands on his chest stopped him.

"I've never done this before," she whispered.

"What do ye mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant sex!"

Ah, Christ! A virgin living in London! How is that possible? Even for Broch Mordha, a virgin was a rarity. He shut his eyes for a few heartbeats, and when he opened them again, suddenly she looked unsure, almost embarrassed, and he felt she needed him to step up. He gave her a slow smile to put her at ease. "Do ye come with a user's manual? Never been with a virgin before."

Her face broke into laughter, and the tension eased a bit. "No! And before you start having all sorts of notions about virgins, I'm not all that naive. I have a fair idea of how it suppose to happen."

"Weel, no crash courses needed then," he joked before his face turned serious. "But why me, Sassenach?"

She gave him an unwavering look, her chin tilting up slightly. "Because I've never felt like this before."

Neither had he, but the wee voice in the back of his head reminded him this lass was the type of lass you brought home to introduce to your parents. Getting involved with her on a deeper emotional level wouldn't bode well for both of them as her life was in London, and he belonged here. He didn't want to hurt her. She deserved a man who could live in her world without falling down to his knees and having one of his episodes. But the gravitational pull between them was unrelenting. He needed her badly, but his conscience compelled him to offer one more out. One more, before he lost sight of the right thing to do.

"We can just continue kissing ...nothing needs to happen," he rasped, brushing their lips together. "Just say the word, Sassenach. I promise ye I wouldnae mind. I'm perfectly happy just to kiss."

Claire's breath caught as she scrutinised him, the weight of what could follow once they'd stripped each other's clothes written in her eyes. Probably in his, too. "I want this Jamie ... I'm ready."

He studied her for a long while, before making up his mind and nodding. "Wait here."

Getting up, he grabbed some blankets and throw cushions from the sofa and laid them out on the floor. And then he went to retrieve some condoms from the bedroom. After a couple of minutes fussing and finally satisfied with his handiwork, he picked Claire up and gently carried her by the fireplace. Though the fire was already slowly dying down, the embers still glowed, lending the room a cosy feel and warmth.

Claire looked up at him and beamed. "Well, I suppose this is the part where you take off your top."

He laughed out loud despite his balls almost on the verge of mutiny. What supposed to be a tense and awkward moment, was turning out to be fun. He didn't need telling twice. Grinning, he dragged his shirt over his head and was hovering over her under a split second. She looked mightily impressed as she pulled him down. "Wow, never seen anyone take their shirt off so fast," she breathed as he pressed his lips on the hollow of her throat.

"Ye should see how fast I can get yers off," he muttered against the crook of her neck.

She laughed and gently pushed him away. "I don't want my Rudolph top damaged. I'll take my own clothes off, thank you very much."

With his heart in his throat, he watched her stand and peeled off her pyjama bottom first. She had her back to him, and he figured she was trying to hide her blush. And when she took off her top next, his cock roared back to life, and he hurriedly followed suit, taking off his sweatpants, his eyes fixed on the smoothness of her long legs. Leaving her red bra and knickers on, she swiftly slipped next to him, her teeth clattering and her beautiful pale skin covered in goosebumps.

He gathered her immediately under him, rubbing her arms and the side of her body. "How's that? Still cold?" he asked, looking down at her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Feeling a lot warmer now."

"Christ, ye smell so good."

"And you're so hot." When she realised what she just said, her eyes widened in horror. "I mean you're like a heating pad."

He grinned at her. "I know what ye meant, but I'll take the other meaning any day. It will do wonders for my ego."

She slapped his arm. "Your ego is perfectly intact, I can assure you."

He smiled as he skimmed his hand up her side and gently cupped her breast, waiting for her reaction. When he felt her back arch a little, he brought down his lips to hers, gently thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, opening and taking each thrust, conscious of her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He reminded himself to take it slow and make it memorable for her, but when she parted her knees and allowed him to settle between her thighs, he groaned out loud and changed position, so the tip of his erection pressed right into her through their undies. The slow tease of their movements was maddening, and he wondered if she was aware of it. His cock was straining against her where it would slide in effortlessly if there had been nothing between them.

He felt her hooked her thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. He helped her by kicking them off while putting his fingers under the edge of her knickers. He paused with bated breaths, waiting for her permission, and when she lifted her hips, he groaned and kissed her long and thorough, pushing the flimsy scrap down her thighs.

He nipped at her lips, then trailed down with his tongue to nibble her neck, his fingers unsnapping the clasp of her bra. Claire flailed her head, seemingly unable to verbalise the reactions her body was experiencing, and he watched her with fascination. Emboldened, he cupped the weight of her breast, rolling her nipple, then gently tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God Jamie ..."

"It's good?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her lips in.

Jamie lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple, his tongue flicking and never letting up the frantic pace, his fingers trailing along her inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. When he touched her core, she was already wet with need, making his head spin out of control. Fighting the urge to take her now, his index finger traced her folds, rubbing her wetness on her nub. The delicate hitch of her breath hit his ears the exact time his mouth abandoned her breast.

He met her gaze and sank into the amber depths of her eyes, so far gone with pleasure they turned to molten gold, full of feminine demand that battled past all obstacles and shattered them to pieces. The raw need etched in her features told Jamie she was past the point of no return, that she wanted him now and he knew the feeling.

"Sassenach ...are ye sure?"

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, if you stop now ..." her voice trailed off in a hiss.

"I need to hear the words."

"For God's sake, I want you, Jamie. Now."

Knocking back the reluctance to untangle himself from her, Jamie reared back and reached out for the condom he'd left beside the cushion. He quickly sheathed himself in stretched latex and prowled up her body, settling between her thighs and muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss.

"The first time ye come, I want it to happen while I'm sunk so deep in ye, ye'll never forget who broke it in," he muttered, words muffled by her lips.

"Oh, dear God ..." she moaned.

"Open yer legs wider for me, Sassenach."

She nodded, her fingers running over his cheekbones, lips, chin, as she hiked her knees up. Their breaths raced out of their mouths as he reached down and guided his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inch by inch, allowing her to get used to his girth. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he collapsed and dropped her forehead to hers.

When he got his breath back, he braced himself on his elbow and looked into her eyes. "Did I hurt ye?"

"Just a little. I hardly noticed. Keep moving." She wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingernails scraping his back lightly on the way down to his arse, which she gripped with hesitation at first, then with more confidence.

With a groan, his hips started to roll of their own volition. He held his breath as heat threatened to flare up in his balls. "Oh fuck, ye feel so good."

"Don't stop ..." she gasped frantically moving her hips against him.

With a hand on her bottom, he lifted her hips effortlessly and drove himself deeper, the last shreds of his control dissolving as he fell on top of her like a dying man. His mouth travelled over hers, and she responded in kind, their tongues twining, their bodies moving in synchronicity to the erotic rhythm and dance. The root of his erection grated against her core and her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her breaths coming out in pants. It was so breathtaking to watch her pleasure, and what his body is doing to hers, it constricted his heart.

When she dropped her legs from his hips to spread them wider, she let out a strangled moan, and his cock bore down, working her nub. He angled his body for more friction, watching and always conscious of her reaction. When her back arched, and her right leg extended further out, they descended into what felt like wanton madness. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet his thrusts, her inner walls beginning a slow, tight suction of his cock. Jamie was almost afraid to look at her, worried the sight of her would make him lose his restraint and come before her. But it was an impossibility to keep his eyes away when she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He watched her writhe and finesse flew out the window. He fell on her, grunting, sucking in huge gulps of air, pushing her thighs open as he drove faster, listening to her moans of his name, treasuring the throaty awe of them in his ears and all around him. Their mouths joined and gorged, her hands slapping down on his buttocks to pull him in deeper and push him faster. All thoughts of logic, questions and issues suspended as he dipped his head, lowered his mouth over her jiggling tits and continued to pump like a wild beast.

Her body suddenly stilled, before trembling violently underneath him in a climax accompanied by a soft moan, her inner walls squeezing his cock tight. Cursing under his breath, he yanked her legs up and drove himself with a few more hard thrusts to his own peak, a loud groan reverberating from his chest and echoing into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body exploded and spilt his seed. He went from being a bundle of tensed nerves to being utterly devoid of it.

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, gathering her against him, almost smothering the air out of her. His insides were totally decimated, mind blown and floated down like confetti.

Moments later, when he lifted his head and searched her eyes, he couldn't stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. And when she returned it with a twinkle in her eye, he fell irreversibly and completely in love with Claire Beauchamp.

..........

The next morning, Jamie got up extra early to let Claire sleep while he did a few chores around the house. He'd kept her up all night, making love and sometime in the early hours of the morning, he'd carried her to his bed. Sleep had been evasive, but this time the cause hadn't been his nightmares or one of his episodes. His thoughts had been filled with the future and its uncertainties instead of being plagued with the past. There were still some niggling doubts lurking in the recesses of his mind, and one of them was his concern when Claire returned to London.

How often had he asked himself in the past twenty-four hours if he could live in London to be closer to her? But now that he had an arboricultural business with Willie, it was doing very well and planning on expanding. He was excited about the community projects he was involved in and committed himself to working long-term. With his episodes and PTSD, the idea of being surrounded by busy streets, chaos, traffics, loud noises, and shoes on the pavement rather than fresh earth paralysed a piece inside him.

Jamie had spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Eventually, some choices have to be made. And he wasn't sure if love would be enough for either of them and if Claire felt the same way.

Taking that leap would only end in heartache and worsen his condition. There had to be some other way. But he couldn't ask her to give up her life and career in London. Or could he? Could he give her what she needed? He shook his head and pushed the bugging thoughts away. They still had the time, and he should focus on that.

After letting Rollo out and bringing in more logs for the fireplace, he made some coffee, answered his emails and read some news on the internet. When his phone chirped and realised it was from his sister Jenny, he groaned. He decided to answer and get it out of the way.

Jenny: I heard all about the lass you're seeing. A city lass, no less. Have you gone mad? Haven't you learned your lessons?

Ah, fuck, I don't have time for this.

Jamie: Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry about me. It's just a winter fling. OK? She's on holiday, and she'll be going back to London. Soon. Happy now?

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and shook his head. This wasn't the text conversation he should be having about Claire. But if it would keep Jenny from busting his balls of all days, he'd play along just to pacify her. He slipped into the bedroom, and when he saw Claire still asleep, he decided to have a shave and shower.

After he was done, he walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was already made. He searched for Claire, humming under his breath and planning what breakfast he should prepare.

"Sassenach?" he called out.

No answer.

She probably went back to her cottage to get a change of clothes, he thought.

He shrugged and went ahead and prepared breakfast, singing along to the song playing on the radio. All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Dear Readers,

Thanking you all for reading and leaving your feedback on the previous chapter. Very much appreciated. It's crunch time now with my writing and preparation for Christmas, but thank God, I'm still on track.

Anyway, I hope this story has given you Christmas joy so far and looking forward to reading what you thought of my latest update. Sending you best wishes and positive vibes. Take care of yourselves and until next time, much love. x

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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taekooktimeline · 4 years ago

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Okay so, that's not exactly a question related to taekook, but, I was curious to know: how did both of you decided to make a timeline and to work together to do it? How did you two met? Sorry if it's too personal!

Sara: Hi ! You’re so cute. It’s not a very personal story :P Back in April I was writing under a tweet about some Taekook-related theories of mine. Kayla then popped up and we started a conversation. Here is the thread although I changed some of my opinions after further research (like the gcf topic): https://twitter.com/taeggukstime/status/1252218411771453441?s=21. It eventually led us into DM’s to discuss things further in a private setting. We talked a looot as we tried to figure out Taekook’s relationship evolution and it led us to some conclusions. Kayla then thought it was a good idea to immortalize it by creating a little Timeline so I agreed to do it because she was very sweet and articulated, a huge taekooker and I enjoyed talking with her, although I had doubts about it because I didn’t want to spend too much time on something that I thought nobody would read. I’ve always been happy being an observer that didn’t really engage with the fandom other than voting, going to concerts and such. My experience was more so between me & BTS and I felt iffy about fandom interaction because I saw all the drama and I’m not a social person (I used to have huge social anxiety and can take a month to reply to a real life friend’s text). Kayla told me she was in contact with a youtuber and would get us promo but for some reason I still didn’t think people would be interested. Anyhow, we initially made a 10 page long document on Word with no pictures that covered the entire 7 years 😂 That was the very first version of what it is today and it was simply a basic explanation of our take on their evolution with some important mentions instead of a compilation of moments. It turned out that we still had like a couple of months until Peach started making her video so we began including more “mentions” of moments that supported the theory and it basically got out of hand to the point that we were rushing to cover the maximum amount of moments before the day of promo. I was so stressed that I was basically eating once a day for a while. You know that finding a single tricky date in which something was filmed can take me 6 hours straight or a couple days? Just the date. Sometimes I have to resort to looking at their earrings as the last option because we had to know the exact order to some key events. Mind you, this was during total lockdown so I had stopped working and couldn’t leave my house even if I wanted to. Luckily we had greater success than I expected even if we aren’t huge influencers and I’m extremely happy that people take the time to read such a long document and furthermore helps them find comfort or they find it eye-opening. Thank you for your appreciation!! 💜

Kayla: hello! This isn’t personal at all! In fact, I’m touched you’d like to know more about us ☺️can you believe I’ve never met Sara in real life? We’re in different countries, an ocean away. I love our synergy so much and the power of technology amazes me. We make a great team. As Sara said, we met through Twitter. I was looking up info on various topics and she was so helpful and answered. We were talking publicly and I asked if I could DM her to discuss further. Within DMs we started organically brainstorming a timeline of TK’s relationship and then I thought we did such a good job we should immortalize it. Peachlesslyyy is an amazing TK YouTube account, who I consider a friend, and I’ve supported her account since before it really took off (and wow has her account grown! She deserves all the love and support). Before my anxiety got the best of me, I’d interact more freely in YT channels, especially in Peach’s YT account because she’s a great moderator whose followers are fantastic at brainstorming and debating respectfully. And at one point I mentioned Sara and I were drafting a timeline. People were interested in seeing it and Peach generously offered to share it on her community tab. She was planning to make a timeline video so it was perfect timing to share what we were seeing. Our little Word doc without pics suddenly evolved to host pics and links to moments, and transitioned to google docs where we could more easily edit. We quickly hurried to add as much as we could. Peach never rushed us but since people were eager we hurried to get it out, which meant the original doc didn’t cover nearly the amount it does now. As you can see in “recent additions”, so much has been added since we unlocked the doc for public viewing. And we hope to add more when we have time! We have quite a bit pending in our private brainstorm doc to review as we can. There’s definitely quite a bit to add ☺️anyway, we never expected the timeline to get the traffic it did and it just blossomed from there, with us adding more moments, updating as we can and creating a tumblr that's more user friendly, while still updating google docs (and it’s all thanks to Sara for finding tumblr and figuring out the nuances of it). Now that we don’t have time constraints, we can review moments at our own pace, around our personal lives, and we can use raw links vs analysts videos as much as possible (or raw + analyst -if we want a moment slowed down or zoomed in then an analyst channel helps greatly, even if we don’t endorse said channel being used). Nona Pocha is also another TK YouTube account who I consider a friend, and who helped promote the timeline when we got it transitioned to tumblr. She has been a great supporter who has cheered us on. I’m incredibly grateful to both for giving our timeline the promotion to grow and reach other taekookers. It helped so much. And I’m just beyond shocked and grateful for the love and support we get for this timeline. Hearing it’s logical and objective, full of love and respect to all members, and is a source of comfort / eye opening is amazing feedback that touches me. Hearing people are recommending it is heartwarming. This is our baby but it's a labor of love. It takes a lot of effort to keep it up and be as objective as possible (which requires a lot of reviewing of the footage then back checking each other). The support truly is the motivation to keep going, knowing people care to hear our thoughts. So thank you for being a supporter and reader💜

#discussions #taekooktimeline #asks

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years ago

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 42

AO3 link here

Who wakes first? Who can tell? Perhaps it is Steve, his hearing still acute, his muscle memory still practiced from responding to the slightest sound of a child’s step in the hall. Perhaps it is Peggy with her now early-rising body, her old agent’s urgency. Perhaps it does not matter. They turn toward each other in the empty house all the same. His fingertips brush against her beneath the blanket, in the dark. She rests in the warmth of him.

“First snow,” says one as the flakes fall heavy and quiet onto the roof.

“Do you remember?” says the other.

“Of course.” And then, although there’s no way to know how the serum works on an aging brain, no guarantee that the memory-related treatments that Tony and the Stark Industries bio-med team have been studying will indeed be effective or even workable: “All of it. Always.”

When Steve comes back from his turn on patrol to find Peggy—Agent Carter sitting at the doors of the old barn they’d taken shelter in for the night, his first thought is that she’s second-guessing the watch schedule he’d set up. Which he actually wouldn’t mind - he’s still new to this commander business, and he knows that any of the rest of them have more experience and she perhaps most of all - but he wishes she’d have talked to him before the middle of the night.

Then he notices that she’s curled up tightly, legs and arms tucked in: not exactly a state of battle readiness.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, approaching with care. It’s started snowing, but not enough to muffle anything.

“Dugan was terribly noisy getting up for his patrol. Woke me completely with all that grumbling and toe-stubbing and it was too bloody cold to get back to sleep. I’d have taken his turn, but he’d already gone.”

The moon is mostly hidden by the trees, but he can make out a hint of her smile. He’d been pretty sure he’d never see it directed at himself again, she’d been so mad at him the last time they’d been around each other. During the four days since she dropped in on their assignment, she’s been perfectly polite, professional, but held back from any more than that. She’s fallen in easily with the rest of the Commandos - every five minutes they’re asking her to settle some argument or a bet, or it’s “Peggy, tell us that one about Corporal Franks and the sheepdog again,” and even Bucky smiles at her although smiling doesn’t really seem to come all that naturally to him these days - but with him she’s all firmly tilted chin and observant eyes and “Captain Rogers.”

Until now, apparently.

He settles beside her in increments, not trying to fool or distract her but to give her a chance to tell him to get lost if she wants. She just watches him. Finally, forearms rested atop tented knees, he asks, "So what made you decide to come out here instead of staying where there's at least four walls and a roof?"

"It started snowing." She looks upward before facing him, flakes decorating her eyelashes and dampening her usually pristine hair. "And I know that this sort of weather is terrible news for so many, and it won't make our job any easier, but it reminds me of home and sometimes you must grasp those little pieces of magic and hold with both hands."

I know what you mean, he thinks, but what he says aloud is, "Why does the snow remind you of home? I would have thought it would be rain."

Actually sounding fairly amused, she says, "Dealing in anti-English stereotypes, I see. Though not even the most damning ones."

"Well, I've been to London. Seen it with my own eyes." He widens them a bit for effect and somehow their gazes catch, as if they're having a staring contest, before they look away.

"Yes, well, I didn't grow up in London. We lived farther out in the country. And when I was small, my brother would wake me up the first night it snowed each year and we'd go out - terribly underdressed, mind you, slippers and dressing gowns - and just watch it float down toward us. We would catch the flakes on our tongues and stay out until our faces were raw. Mum would tell us off if we didn't get back inside before she woke up, but then she'd just make us each hot chocolate and bundle us in front of the fire."

"That sounds—" Steve clears his throat. "That sounds beautiful."

"It truly was." She shuffles her feet a bit, and then, sounding wry, though he wonders if it might be to avoid the slight shaking in her voice, says, "I don't suppose a city boy like yourself had such similar experiences?"

He snorts. "Not hardly. Snowball wars in the street when there'd been a storm, sure. But if my mother had caught me sneaking down four flights in the middle of January or catching something from outside in my mouth, I certainly wouldn't have gotten hot chocolate."

"A shame for you, then." Her eyes gleam celestial in the near dark. Without meaning to, he takes in a gulp of frigid, pine-scented air.

"Seems to me," he says, "that I just have an opportunity to make another, better memory for the future." He pauses, glances down then back up at her. "Or—Well, this one's a pretty good one too. A first first snow memory."

The quiet between them is content, broken as it is by the sounds of birds and animals on their nightly business. A gust blows over them and Peggy shivers.

"Here," Steve says, automatically moving to unbutton his coat, but she shakes her head.

"Remember what Howard said."

The sound he makes in the back of his throat is half humorous, half rueful. She'd been there to hear Howard yell, "Don't forget to try to stay warm - not too warm, though! We're not totally sure what could happen to you extreme temps. Might be that your temperature and the way your brain processes it don't match up. Should probably test it when you get back," just before Steve left HQ.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat and continuing to undo his buttons, stretching his legs out in front of himself. The coat is heavier than any he's ever had and she has one much the same, but they're not particularly well insulated. "It's still cold as hell out here. We can share it."

The words hold awkwardly in the air as she looks over at him. A voice that might be Bucky's is telling him that he's not smooth enough to use words to make it better and he should just keep quiet and hope she lets it go. His own voice is low when he speaks again. "Just to keep warm, I swear. I would never—" His fingers fidget over the last button. "I know you have reason not to trust me. I should never have assumed anything or spoken to you like that, and I'm sorry for it."

"I know you are," she says with surprising immediacy. "Watching you over the past few days it's become clear to me that I wasn't as mistaken about your character as I had thought. And that perhaps I shouldn't have shot at you."

"It was," he says, feeling foolish, "some pretty good shooting," and she climbs over his left leg and tucks herself beneath his arm, inside the warmth of the wool with him.

"What a charming compliment." Her breath clouds softly against his neck. "I'll have to tell my mother."

"Maybe talk me up a little too." He isn't entirely sure what he's saying. "If I ever make it there for a first snow, I'd like some of that hot chocolate afterward."

She gives a hushed little laugh. "I'll make certain to. Although I wonder if I've elevated my childhood memories too highly. You might end up being disappointed."

There are, he estimates, likely only about another ten minutes before Dugan comes back around to this spot on the patrol route and they should probably be inside by then. He plans to savor each moment until he hears footsteps out here with Peggy beneath the first drifting snow.

"Believe me," he says. "If it's even close to this, I don't think there's any way I could be disappointed."

Steve's sitting at the drafting table they'd set up in one corner of the living room once it became clear that he was going to be drawing as more than a hobby. The pot of heavy stew he has on a low flame lends the aroma of tomato and garlic to the air.

He's working on two sample wedding announcements, one in a cartoon style for the bride, with she and her fiance sharing a milkshake with two straws (the sort of simplified image that he recognizes wryly will become emblematic of this era while allowing people to ignore the complexities) and one with more classically elegant florals for the bride's mother. He's been distracted and has to force himself to focus, so just the two designs have taken him all afternoon. It's only once he's finished the latter that he looks up and realizes simultaneously that it's dark, Peggy still isn't home, and that it's started snowing.

He reaches over the tabletop and lifts the edge of the dotted green curtain, peering at the falling flakes illuminated by the streetlight.

"The hell?" he mutters to himself. They'd had barely a dusting all winter, it had been in the seventies for half of January, and now it's snowing in March.

Apparently the stew was a good choice for tonight. Peggy will want something hot and filling when she gets here.

He reaches toward his pocket to check the time then shakes his head at himself and looks at his wristwatch instead. 7:56. It's not unheard of for her to arrive home this late but she had seemed to think it would be a fairly light workday. Changes of plan like this always makes him wonder if something's gone wrong, not with Peggy who can generally handle herself, but with one of the many balls they're trying to keep in the air: Korea is still a concern, of course, and Hydra has been bristling from the targeted test strikes they've made so far, and of course there's Bucky. They've been getting close to finding him, each source of Peggy's confirming Steve’s memorized information seeming like it will be the last link, each day feeling like it might be the one.

Forcing himself to stand, he stretches, circles aimlessly around the apartment a few times, then gathers himself enough to remember to tidy up. The snow is still coming down, big floating flakes that are actually starting to accumulate.

Once his supplies are put away, the counter wiped down, and the table set, he allows himself to call over to the SHIELD offices. If Peggy has something to tell him, she will when she can, and if not it might be an interruption to something important. But there are, he reminds himself, more normal explanations for a late arrival and if she's just catching up on paperwork he'll be happy to know that too.

He's very aware of how lucky he is that they get at least some degree of normal.

But the switchboard operator who picks up, recognizing his voice, tells him that Peggy left nearly an hour ago. He thanks her and hangs up, frowning. It usually takes half that time to get back.

He considers starting in on his next project or picking up a book in an attempt to distract himself, but before he can even make a decision, the power goes out, leaving him blinking in the near darkness, the flame from the stove the only light.

After he searches around by feel for the matches and then by match-light for a flashlight, he turns off the burner and heads down to make sure the neighbors are alright.

Mrs. Lester on the first floor sits sewing by the light of what seems to be a lantern set up on her table, and reminds him peaceably that she grew up in a country cabin without any electricity at all so this doesn't bother her in the least. The Trimble brothers on the second floor ask a whole lot of questions that he can't answer ("When do you think the power will come back on?" and "Do you think it will snow again tomorrow?") but seem fine. Esther Stoneham in the little top floor apartment even seems glad about the lights having gone out - it'll mean that her toddlers Caroline and Eddie might actually just go to bed instead of trying to play with everything in the place.

"I've lit one candle," she tells him, with exhausted eagerness. "And I'm telling them that's all there is so they had better be done picking up the toys before it goes out.”

He meets Peggy coming up the stairs as he's on his way back down.

"You're home," he says, just as she reaches the landing, her camel-colored trench dark and dripping a bit, and asks, "Do I smell a stew?"

They go inside together, door locked behind them.

“Another first snow together,” he says, catching and holding her chilled fingers in his.

Her eyes are soft on him. It always strikes him when they have these sorts of moments, when she’s with him to share these memories that had been held by only the two of them: their memories. “Still some magic to it, though I wouldn’t have said no to a bit better timing. I didn’t even wear a scarf today.”

He lights some candles around the place while she goes into the bedroom, joining her once he's finished.

"I would have adored a good bath," she says, standing before the bureau in her slip and sorting around in the dim light for her warmest pajamas. "But I suppose we can't have everything."

"I think I can promise a bath sometime in the near future." He walks into the bathroom and picks up a towel. Once she's finished changing, he starts to rub gently at her hair, drying it carefully of the cold moisture. When he's done, her cheeks have lost their outdoor redness and she's a bit frizzy.

There was a time, not long ago and all of forever away, when he never thought he'd see her like this, relaxed and unguarded, completely beautiful in the disheveled, comfortable way. He kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her mouth, her mouth again for longer. She presses up into him, hands holding him closer, a dreamy, satisfied hum building in the back of her throat, until, approximately simultaneously, his hand hits one of the bottles lined up atop her dresser, knocking things around, and her stomach reminds them it's quite late and they still haven't eaten.

Steve ladles stew, luckily still warm enough, into bowls. Peggy slices bread and spreads hers liberally with butter. She's only five years on from army food and ration cards.

"How was your day?" he asks as they sit across from each other in the quiet, candlelit kitchen.

"I had an interminable meeting with a very sweet man from the BID who somehow kept expecting me to speak Dutch, which is unfortunately not among my many talents, and then I was informed by Howard that selecting Eugenia Cavendish to head our Australia division was being perceived as an insult to the men who’d interviewed for the position.”

“Howard said that?” Steve asks, already thinking about socking the man next time they see each other.

“No, he merely informed me of how it was being perceived, which I might already have guessed. And I informed him in return that I don’t particularly care, and I suspect Genie’s prepared herself as well.” She takes another bite. “And then I had an errand to take care of after work, and got caught up in the weather. I tried to wait it out, but finally decided to take a chance and I’m glad I did or I might have been waiting all night.”

“An errand?”

“Yes, I—” She looks just slightly flustered, as if she’d hoped he wouldn’t catch on that bit, then says decisively, “Oh, let me just get them.”

From her bag, she takes a bakery box, a bit damp, a bit crushed, but mostly intact, and sets it before him, nodding at him to untie the twine and open it up. When he does with careful fingers, he finds two cinnamon buns lying inside.

“You were talking yesterday about how your mother made them once, as a treat,” she says as he takes them in. “And I know that you’ve had quite a lot on your shoulders lately. So I called around and had some put aside.”

Their local bakery closes at 3 and usually sells out of the more popular treats long before then. There wouldn’t even be anyone to open the door without some convincing. Steve looks down at the pair of pastries, sweetly puffed up and perfectly iced, for long moments. How simple it is, to be thought of, an offhand comment remembered, to have someone go out of their way for him. To have Peggy, in the midst of all that she does, go out of her way for him.

“Thank you,” he says, meeting her eyes, the box still cradled in his hands.

“Here,” she says, standing with her bowl. “Come, my darling. Let’s finish eating in the sitting room. The windows are better there. We can sit and watch the snow. A bit of magic. I think we can both use it.”

Her gaze from across the table is so kind: Peggy sitting beside him as he’d cried in that bombed out pub, Peggy reminding them both of the things they have to be proud of, Peggy here and now, understanding him without words, promising so much more to come for the two of them together.

The bedroom door slams open without warning, and both Steve and Peggy shoot up in bed as all four of their kids tumble through the door.

“It’s snowing,” Emma says, fingers fluttering gleefully downward as she catapults toward the bed.

“Snow day!” Drea sings eagerly, bouncing into the blankets. “Snow day!”

And indeed, when Steve looks out the window into the near darkness, he finds several inches already on the ground and more still falling.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Any chance you all will go back to sleep for at least a couple more hours?” When they blink up at him (Rosie actually snorting out a laugh), he just shrugs. “Okay. Pancakes, I guess.”

The roads aren’t going to be cleared for several hours at least - everything around here shuts down for even a sprinkling. Peggy could likely place a few calls to give herself some sort of priority in order to get in for at least the later morning, but she doesn’t. Instead, for the first time in its history, Peggy phones her work and tells them to activate the phone tree and inform everyone at the Washington office that they can switch to essential staff members only for the day.

“That was nice of you,” Steve comments, giving her a smile, a brief kiss, and a cup of tea as she joins them all in the kitchen.

“They can always telephone in an emergency, though there hopefully won’t be any today.” She sips her tea, watching him standing there flipping pancakes on the griddle and adding bacon to a pan, looking at the children bundled in their robes, making wonderful, impossible plans for the day. “And it was a bit of a gift to me as well.”

The radio news, along with the official school closure, announces that the storm might have some staying power. By the time they’ve finished breakfast, it’s late enough that Steve says he’ll dig out his old snow boots and go see if the store’s open to pick up some essentials.

Even for him, the walk to town takes longer than usual, and it turns out that their early rising was lucky: people are flowing into the market and the shelves are starting to clear. Steve gets a bag full of staples, then asks Mr. Hillyard if he can leave them in the back office for a bit and borrow his phone to call Peggy. Looking around, he sees several elderly shoppers who likely need a hand getting things back home - the wind has a bite to it and they probably shouldn’t be out in that at all, much less carrying heavy bags down uncleared roads.

It’s several hours before he’s finished making deliveries and promising to come back tomorrow to help shovel walkways, before he finally starts home himself. On the way he is waved over by Wally Davenport, father of Rose’s friend Marcia, a portly man with his coat zipped to his chin who stands talking to Mrs. Gregory, the grade school principal.

“Cold enough for you?” he asks, fairly cheerfully Steve thinks for someone who has his hands stuffed so deep in his pockets that he’s bent nearly in half. Mrs. Gregory waves goodbye to the two of them, looking a bit relieved to be freed from conversation.

“I’m ready to be back home with Peggy and the kids,” Steve says, shifting the bag in his arm and trying not to sound pointed.

“Bet that brood of yours is happy to have the day off,” Wally replies obliviously. “I know that my two are—”

Later, it is hard to tell whether Steve’s hearing or his speed makes the difference. Likely it’s both: his sharp ears immediately detecting the moment that the branch of the old, spreading pine above them, unused to the weight of snow, cracks and collapses, his instinctive arm hauling Wally out of the way as the enormous bough crashes down before them.

“Lord almighty,” Wally says, swiping a hand across his forehead and staring wide-eyed as if he expects the sidewalk to have crumbled into pieces from the force of it. “You’re pretty fast there, Grant. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

If you hadn’t been here, Steve thinks to himself, walking through the overcast, snow-cushioned streets after he’s sent Wally back home to his wife and kids. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Marcia and Dougie would have found their memories of this day destroyed by the memory of their father’s death. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Wally would have already moved on toward home, heard about the fallen branch only later, whistled when he walked by and spotted it.

This life, the life he and Peggy have made themselves...He lives always within its normalcy, lives with the knowledge that he is in some ways entirely apart. Some days - when Nate asks if he thinks people will ever really walk on the moon, the afternoon Rose brought home that first Beatles record, saying her friends told her it was pretty good - he is struck by all that he knows, all the ways he is permanently outside of time. Some days, like when he’d turned on the news to see, suddenly before him, footage of John Glenn circling the earth for the first time, he feels entirely a part of it all, and sometimes, like when he’d seen Jerrie Cobb go up six months later, he finds pride in what he’s managed to do here. And often, he does not even think of it much, is simply a husband, a father, with errands to complete and homework to oversee, listening to his children’s chatter, Peggy’s laugh or her sharp sigh when they talk in bed at night.

The house, as he approaches it, looks unfamiliar for a moment, and then he blinks. There is Emma’s window, with the pretty curtains she’d selected. There is the scratch Nate left on the garage door when he was learning to make turns on his bike last summer. There, beneath the snow and frozen earth, sleep the bulbs he’d planted. There is the porch swing where he and Peggy sit to have a drink together when it’s warm out, the welcome mat where Rosie dropped a pitcher of Kool-Aid and left a stain, the front door that Drea will help him touch up in the spring.

He walks down the front hallway, feeling each step. In the doorway to the living room, he stops. The kids are still in their robes, scattered around with books and blankets, barely glancing at him. They’ve built a fire; it is still high in the grate.

Peggy is sitting with her own book, leaning on one arm of the sofa with her feet tucked beside her. She looks up at him, her hair a bit messy, eyes familiar, all of her beautiful.

“Oh good, you’re home,” she says. “We were waiting for you to get back before we went out into the yard together.”

He can picture it: snowmen and snow angels and forts and everyone laughing their way through a merciless snowball fight, burrowing back inside to wrap their hands around mugs of hot chocolate. Having this day, this wonderful day, and another tomorrow and for days and years to come, perhaps not the same, certain to be filled also with shock and worry and disappointment and heartache, but made of so many of these same small and loving moments.

“Yeah,” Steve says, complete with it all. “Yeah, I’m home.”

More chapters here

#Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic #the Carter crew #and fade to black...#that's the fic folks

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missjosie27 · 4 years ago

Text

Year 3 Part 6- Tulip Karasu

Hey, guys.

New chapter is up. Sorry it took so long, I've been dealing with some highly personal stuff. It's not going to get any easier so things are going to be a bit unpredictable for awhile.

But that being said, I hope you all like the content as usual and please let me know what you think of my interpretation of Tulip!

Tonks did indeed have a plan, but it was risky, even by their group’s standards. Rowan and Ben were not at all convinced of its merit.

“Let me get this correctly. Tonks is going to pretend to be Snape and report that Peeves is messing up the Transfiguration classroom while you sneak into his office and take back your brother’s quill?” his best friend asked while they ate dinner in the Great Hall.

“Yup,” David replied, taking a bite of his steak. “Pretty much.”

“You seem entirely too unconcerned.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“What choice do I have? I’d have to break into his office somehow and get it back.”

“There are many ways to get Filch to leave his office,” Rowan told him. “But impersonating a teacher is probably the most dangerous. Especially Snape. What if the real one catches you?”

“We’re doing it Friday evening,” David explained. “By that time, Snape will be brooding in his bedroom and won’t even be aware of what’s going on.”

“He could always find out later,” Ben pointed out.

“And how could they prove it was me? Mates, we got every angle of this plan covered. I promise.”

Rowan adjusted his glasses skeptically.

“I just hope Tonks knows what she’s doing. I hope you both know what you’re doing. This could go spectacularly wrong.”

“It’s the only way to find out more about my brother. I’m taking that chance, plus I owe that mean old geezer what for.”

“And what about the cursed vaults? More boggarts keep popping up everywhere. Are you still content to heed Dumbledore and your parents?”

It was the million galleon question. More than ever, David felt the pull to continue to investigate the vaults. But despite what people thought of him, he was not going to purposefully seek trouble. Family mattered more. Not the vaults. But was it time to concede the two were irrevocably linked?

“I’ll have to do a rain check on that,” he told Rowan who looked at Ben.

Neither one of them seemed reassured.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was quite impressive...and bit odd that Tonks knew Filch’s habits so thoroughly. David didn’t mind pointing it out to the metamorphmagus either.

“If you spent half the effort in Herbology as you do tricking Filch, you wouldn’t be spending every other Tuesday with Sprout shoveling dung.”

Tonks clutched her heart in mock offense.

“Merlin’s beard, Dave. You wound me to the quick. The art of hoodwinking this mangy caretaker is an art just as important as any academic mark.”

David snorted.

“Right, whatever you say.”

“Do you want your quill back or not?”

They were in the same corridor as Filch’s office, about thirty feet away, peeking around one of the corners. Tonks wore her usual ensemble of a ripped t-shirt, boots, gray woolen tights, and denim shorts, but she summoned a huge mess of robes from her bag and put them on. The effect was to make her look like a pint sized dementor without the hood.

“Of course.”

“Then follow my lead.”

“Where did you get the robes?”

Tonks couldn’t help but grin.

“Penny has a contact with one of the house elves. Also helps that our common room is right by the kitchen and laundry room.”

“One of these days one of you has to sneak me in there, I swear,” David said eagerly.

“All in good time,” the pink haired witch said with a wink. “For now, it’s showtime. Follow my lead, and stay hidden until Filch is out of sight.”

Without another word, she transformed into an exact replica of Professor Snape, walked promptly down the hall and knocked on the third door to the left.

The jangly, old caretaker opened it immediately, Mrs. Norris purring by his shoes.

“Professor Snape, sir! What can I do for you?”

It was evident that Filch had a great deal of respect as the man bowed as low as his aching joints would let him. David supposed it had something to do with Snape’s reputation as a harsh, no nonsense disciplinarian.

“Yes. It is I: Severus Snape. Potions Master and head of Slytherin. I have a job for you.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Tonk’s acting was atrocious compared to his own stint as the Potions Master. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“We’re bloody doomed.”

But thankfully, Filch was no Dumbledore when it came to discerning through disguises.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“Peeves is currently wrecking the Transfiguration classroom and I thought you were just the man to fend him off. I would have done it myself, but I have too many papers to grade.”

“Yes, sir, Professor Snape. I’ll go head him off right now. Come, Mrs. Norrus.”

The caretaker hobbled off, his beloved cat in tow. David was sure to remain plastered to the wall as he went by. When out of sight, he went back towards Tonks, who by now had returned to her normal self.

“That was quite a performance.”

“Thank you, kindly. The Transfiguration classroom is pretty far away but I reckon you still only have fifteen minutes before he realizes he’s been tricked and comes back. Search that office as quickly as you can.”

“Right. You’re amazing, Tonks,” he said sincerely to her.

“Praise me later. Go!” she urged him. “I’ll stand guard and give a signal when you have five minutes.”

Wasting no more time, David used a simple unlocking spell on the door, which opened with a small click, granting him access to its contents.

Inside was a jumbled mess of filing cabinets, papers, and notes that surrounded a heavy wooden desk. Boxes of contraband lined the walls. There was a bowl and sleeping area for the mangy cat as well as a cot for a human being. Hanging from the walls were shackles, which were the best maintained objects in the entire room. They were shiny, well oiled and ominous, as if they were being prepared for use in a seconds notice. On top of that, there was a light draft from an unknown source.

David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for the man but there was little time to dwell on that. He needed to find this quill and fast.

“Filch’s office is just as cold and depressing as I imagined,” he surmised to himself.

Peering around the mass of boxes, cabinets, and contraband he gave a frustrated sigh.

“It’s going to take me forever to go through all this rubbish.”

He began looking through the drawers and various boxes, ignoring the damp smell of moth balls and cat hair. There was nothing much to report, files on various students who had attended the school many years ago, confiscated items such as fanged frisbees and nose biting tea cups. No doubt he’d been on the receiving end of many prank items.

“This is taking too much time,” he muttered.

Then David realized he’d been looking in the wrong place. Quills were small items most likely to be kept inside a desk…

Quickly, he turned around and began scrummaging through Filch’s hardwood desk and soon enough in the second drawer from the right, there it was.”

“Gotcha!” he cried out triumphantly.

Just then, there was a knock on the door indicating five minutes left. He’d made it with time to spare.

Time to get the hell out of here

He and Tonks laughed all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower where she saw him off, both surprised the plan went off without any hitches.

“He’s going to be furious tomorrow,” the pink haired witch chuckled. “Peeves was actually in the Astronomy Tower. Oops.”

“I guess it pays being a metamorphagus,” David said with a grin.

“The teachers all know, of course. I’d never try to fool one of them, but Filch is an exception. Plus, this was important to you.”

David felt his heart warm with gratitude. For as clumsy and goofy as she could be, Tonks really was a true and loyal friend. She had proved that yet again.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, mate. So what do you think this quill contains anyway?”

Rubbing his fingers on the soft, smooth edge of the feather, David only had one thought in mind.

“Something that belonged to my brother. And another key to finding him.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in the common room It didn’t take long for David and Rowan to get started in analyzing the quill. Though it was late, they were careful to stay quiet so as not to be overheard.

“This quill looks remarkably similar to the one we found on Ben during second year. Do you think it’s ‘R’ again?” Rowan asked.

R was still a mystery to them all. There had been no sign or message from the group since last year and without more evidence to go off, finding out who they were would remain unknown for the time being.

“I don’t think so. Madam Rosmerta said this quill belonged to my brother. It was on his person when the Ministry hauled him away for questioning before leaving it behind.”

“Only one way to find out,” his best friend shrugged.

Laying the quill out on one the tables, David cast the untransfiguring spell.

“Repifarage!”

Almost immediately the quill turned into a brown, leatherback notebook. On the bottom right corner was the name ‘Jacob H. Grant’.

“Whoa…”

Wasting no time, the two young Gryffindors opened it up to the first page. It contained a bevy of symbols and a language that looked suspiciously familiar.

“Ancient Aramaic,” Rowan breathed out. “The same inscription we saw in our first year and on the walls of the ice vault.”

“It’s becoming a common theme,” David said. “Can you decipher it?”

Rowan nodded as he picked up the book and studied its contents.

“I can but it’ll take me a few minutes. Not exactly easy to decipher messages in a dead language.”

“Only a few minutes?” David teased him.

Rowan blushed. “Shut up.”

Indeed, the prowess of his highly intelligent and book smart friend proved quite useful as it only took him a short amount of time to work out the message, constantly tapping the pages with his wand while muttering underneath his breath.

“Alright, I think I have the basic gist of it.”

“What does it say?”

Rowan cleared his throat but spoke in a low whisper as a few sixth year stragglers passed them by. No doubt they were returning from a party of some sort.

“‘These boggarts must have something to do with the curse protecting the next vault, which means someone found it first. If I don’t hurry, Hogwarts is doomed.’”

“History seems to be repeating itself, then,” David mused to himself.

“And look at this!” Rowan said in a hushed, excited tone. “A location of where he conducted most of his research. It’s near the greenhouses on one of the lower corridors.”

David’s heart began to race with anticipation. He hadn’t felt a sense of urgency quite like this since the previous year.

“Just like he told me last year in the ice vault. ‘Find my room, David’. We need to get into it, pronto.”

“You go find it while I take Sunday to decipher the rest of this notebook,” his best friend told him. “We can cover more ground that way.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take Bill with me. He’ll be more than happy to do more investigating into this vault. Plus, he can use his prefect status as a cover just in case a teacher comes along.”

“Tell him I said hello!”

“Rowan, we see him almost every day.”

“I know...I just...never mind.”

David smiled and shook his head. He often wondered just how far Rowan’s admiration of Bill Weasley went. But he shrugged off that thought.

It was time to find his brother’s room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday was always a lazy day, even by Hogwarts’ usual busybody standards. Most students were content to lay around, sleep in, catch up on homework, or hang out with their friends. For David Grant and Bill Weasley, however, that time was spent searching for a random room that contained possible information about a cursed vault.

“This is definitely an unexpected development, but not an unwelcome one,” Bill told him as they walked along the lower corridor. “How did you find out about your brother’s secret room, Dave? You never explained that when you asked me to come along.”

“He kept records of his search for the Cursed Vaults. Madam Rosmerta gave me a black quill at the Three Broomsticks that once belonged to him. Turns out it was a hidden notebook. Rowan deciphered one of the pages and we found the location of the room he used for his research.”

“That’s huge,” the eldest Weasley commented, clearly impressed. “I’m amazed you deciphered it so fast.”

“Thank Rowan. He’s a genius when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

“Of course. So this place is somewhere at the end of this hallway?”

“Past the greenhouses. There’s supposed to be an anonymous room with a dark wooden door.”

Bill swelled up with pride.

“Well then let’s go find it. Now that I’m a prefect, I can make sure that students are out of the corridors if we need some privacy. Plus the teachers won’t think to question us.”

“Didn’t think you’d get those kinds of perks, did ya?” David elbowed him with a grin.

“Being a prefect is something I’m truly thankful for. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being able to move more freely throughout the castle because of it,” Bill laughed.

Moving forward, they scoured the corridor, glancing around for any sign of their quarry. When there was no door to speak of, David had an idea.

“Let me try something.”

Visualizing an old, dark brown, wooden door, the third year Gryffindor cast a revealing charm. And sure enough, in a tiny corner packed away to the left underneath an archway of stone, one materialized.

“Blimey, David. I still can’t believe you know that spell. McGonagall says most students don’t even attempt vanishing and revealing until sixth year.”

“She says I have the chance to be a certified master in the subject before I turn 17,” he replied, trying not to brag. “I dunno, I guess I’m just naturally good at it.”

“Ever think of becoming an animagus?”

The third year Gryffindor shrugged.

“Not really. The idea of changing into a smelly animal isn’t all that appealing.”

“Fair enough,” Bill chuckled. “Now let’s check out this room.”

But they were in for a frustrating surprise. Upon closer inspection, there was a yellow padlock with two keyholes around the handle.

“Well this sucks,” David muttered.

“I’m sure we can get around it with an unlocking spell,” Bill encouraged.

David withdrew his wand and gave an ‘Alohomora’ but nothing happened, much to his chagrin.

“No good.”

“I’ll try busting it down,” the eldest Weasley said, taking out his own wand. “Flipendo!”

It did not have the intended effect. The spell ricocheted off the door narrowly missing his head and creating a scorch mark on the opposite wall.

“Guess we can cross that method off the list.”

“Must be sealed with some kind of spell beyond our means to break,” Bill surmised. “We’re going to have to find another way.”

It was then that David finally noticed something he hadn’t before: scrawled, tiny writing at the bottom of the lock.

“Look at this,” he pointed. “Property of Tulip Karasu. He looked towards Bill for clarification. “Who the hell is that?”

“I actually know of her,” the Prefect explained. “She’s a Ravenclaw in your year. Apparently, she’s always in detention. Bit of an eccentric from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, joy,” the third year Gryffindor snarked. “Guess we have no choice but to confront the nutter, eh?”

“Either that or we’re not getting through this door.”

There was no question on what to do next. Whoever this Tulip Karasu was, they would have to somehow convince her to give them the key or enchantment to unlock the secrets inside. Another roadblock in the enigma that was fast becoming the next cursed vault.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long for David and Bill to track down their desired person. Tulip was known to hang out in the Transfiguration room after school hours and it was actually Andre Egwu who pointed them in the right direction.

“Just be careful,” he told them at breakfast. “None of us really interact with her that much, but she’s weird even by Ravenclaw standards.”

“We’ll be alright, Andre,” David thanked him. “I’ve taken down an Ice Knight before. I think this shouldn’t be too hard.”

The black teen gave a knowing shrug.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And so the two boys agreed to meet outside the Transfiguration classroom once lessons were done for the day. Ben had unfortunately landed in detention after Ismelda blew up his cauldron and laid the blame at his feet. Rowan was assisting Madam Pince in the library. Upon meeting in the corridor once more, Bill gave him an inquisitive glance.

“I forgot to ask, David. Given everything that’s going on, does this mean we’re all in on the vaults again?”

The third year couldn’t deny that finding his brother and the vaults were undeniably linked by this time. And what’s more, that inescapable, consuming drive was back. He could feel it in the very essence of his soul. He wanted to find Jacob and this vault by extension. If that meant saving the school from a few boggarts, so be it.

“Yeah,” he replied back with a reassuring look. “We’re back.”

Bill grinned.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, let’s see what we can find out from this girl.”

Sure enough inside, there was a third year girl dressed in Ravenclaw colors. She was writing something on a sheet of parchment, giving no indication she was aware of any other presence in the room.

“That reminds me, how do you want to approach this?” Bill asked him.

“Ask nicely and hope she cooperates?” David whispered to the side. “She can’t be that unreasonable.”

Upon approaching the desk Tulip was sitting in, he was able to garner more of her physical features. She was fair skinned, thin, with dark brown eyes that took on a slight Asiatic quality. Long, red hair draped down past her shoulders and like Merula, took certain liberties with the uniform; her sleeves were rolled up and she wore brown oxfords, light blue socks with black tights underneath. To top it off, she also donned a necklace that looked suspiciously like a dungbomb. On the left side of the desk was a green toad which David thought was peculiar but thought nothing more of.

“Uh...excuse me? Tulip? Hi, I’m David Grant. I know your time is valuable and you’re probably very busy, but I really need your help.”

The response they received was bizarre to say the least. The Ravenclaw girl didn’t even bother to look up from her writing.

“Little flower...smells so sweet, so soft and delicate.”

David and Bill gave each other sideways glances, eyebrows raised.

“Uh...did you hear what I asked, Tulip?”

“I’m very busy. Talk to Dennis until I’m finished.”

“Who’s Dennis?” Bill asked, highly confused. He looked down at the toad in front of them, which gave a loud croak. “And what is that?”

Tulip again didn’t bother to look up from whatever she was writing.

“That’s a toad. His name is Dennis.”

Bill resisted rolling his eyes, while David had to suppress a laugh. This girl was barmy.

“We know what a toad is,” the third year Gryffindor said. “What’s that thing strapped to its back?”

It was only now that both boys noticed there was an object tied around the toad’s midsection, which looked suspiciously like…

“A dungbomb,” came the girl’s reply.

“As a prefect and a Weasley I can safely say that is the case,” Bill affirmed.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“It will when it explodes.”

Sure enough, the detonation timer was already set, a quiet ticking permeating through the odd conversation. It was only then David realized the gravity of the situation.

“Son of a...Tulip! How do I disarm this thing?”

“I can’t just give you the answers to my test. I need to know if you’re worthy of my help.”

He looked back towards Bill, panic growing on both of their faces.

“Wait a minute can you actually disarm a dungbomb?”

“If there's a method, I’m not aware of one. Fred and George set them off all the time. I’d say we only have about 10 seconds before it goes off.”

David was in no mood to be smelling the end of yesterday’s lunch and they had mere moments until the fateful explosion. Mind racing, he struggled to think of a solution.

“Wait, Bill. Use that new charm you were showing me the other day.”

“Which one?”

“The bubble head thingy.”

“You mean the bubble head charm?”

“Yes!”

Bill looked very perplexed now.

“How is that supposed to-”

By now David had cut the smelly projectile from the toad’s back and tossed it into the air.

“Cast it now!”

With precise aim, Bill understood his meaning and hit the dungbomb with a liquid blue bubble, enveloping it at the moment of detonation. Inside a greenish gas swirled about before the charm was lifted allowing the noxious air to pass harmlessly into the air.

“That was way too close,” the elder Weasley muttered.

“We didn’t disarm it but we got rid of it at least,” David offered.

“I assumed you would,” Tulip cut across them. By now she had ceased writing and looked upon both boys with great interest. “Getting rid of a dungbomb is nothing compared to breaking the curse on a Cursed Vault. I was quite jealous to be honest. I’ve always wanted to be told off in front of the entire school at the Welcoming Feast.”

“Er...right. May I ask why?” David asked, still unsure of what to make of this person.

“Because rules are made to be broken and Hogwarts has far too many rules,” came the mischievous reply with an equally mischievous smirk he felt oddly drawn to. “You inspired me David Grant. I knew I had to be the next one to open a Cursed Vault. I immediately scoured this castle for clues until I found an abandoned room that your brother used to research the vaults. To prevent anyone else from going in, I fashioned a key with two locks.”

“Well I’m flattered. But I can only assume you have the means to get inside?”

“I do but only partially. One key is in my possession. The other I agreed to give to my accomplice.”

David didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Every time he thought he had the answer to getting into his brother’s room, something else thwarted him.

“And who would this accomplice be?”

Tulip again gave him a curious, eccentric stare.

“I need to know I can trust you before I tell you that, David Grant. Meet me in the Great Hall tonight for dinner. We can chat one on one.”

David was tempted to put his foot down and just demand for the information and they key right then and there but he withheld his frustration. That kind of tactic wouldn’t work with someone like Tulip, especially since she held the key to his brother and the latest vault...quite literally. Of all the houses, he had the least amount of experience with the Ravenclaws.

It seemed as though he was about to get an education. Bill gave him a shrug as if to say ‘couldn’t hurt’.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you there.”

Tulip gave another mischievous smile in return.

“Excellent.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #David Grant #tulip kasaru #nymphadora tonks #ben copper #rowan khanna #bill weasley #gryffindor

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grisdidthis · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER ONE: FIRST SIGHT

AKA, blessed fucknuggets, why do these fools feel the need to put themselves through high school, my sources tell me that the US school system isn’t all that to begin with, what gives?

PREVIOUS ENTRIES

(Warning: this got long. Looooong. Hence, cut, so that I don’t murder your dash like Edward doesn’t murder Bella in this chapter.)

Welcome to the first entry of a live-read that no one asked for, in which I’ll go through the first chapter of Midnight Sun, i.e. a retelling of the first Twilight book from Edward Cullen’s POV. Not to be confused with Grey, a retelling of the first volume of a Twilight fanfic with the serial numbers filed off, or the Life and Death edition, a retelling of the first Twilight book in which Bella Swan is genderbent into a dude called Beau, who utters the immortal line “I knew I must look like a gorilla on a greyhound.” Which still tickles my humerus to this day.

I’ve waited for this novel to drop so long that at some point I’d stopped waiting. If by some freaky turn of chance you stumbled on this without knowing about the hoopla surrounding the publication, here’s a Wikipedia link. The gist is that the first few chapters of the WIP got leaked, the author got upset, the book got shelved until ??? and no further information about it was forthcoming until a while ago, when out of the blue arrive the news that it’s getting released in August.

My first thought was “Oh, yay, something actually NICE is happening this year!”

My second thought was “Please let it be good, so that I can laugh outrageously at [name redacted] for mocking my enjoyment of this series!” And. Look. I know what’s said about Twilight with regards to its literary merit and Stephenie Meyer’s abilities as a writer. A lot of it is admittedly accurate. However, the metrics by which I measure the value of a book are a) did it entertain me? and b) did I gain anything by having read it? And yeah, those are personal and subjective items, but objectivity is a lie, Jesus enjoys using toasters to take selfies, and if ten years ago I hadn’t been looking for a place to post my 50k+ epic Renesmee-centric fanfic, I wouldn’t have met the people who are currently my best friends.

Which is to say: I’m too attached to this series to give a fig what color the prose is. Deal.

And yet. Me hoping that Midnight Sun would be good, in a way that people who don’t have my level of emotional investment might acknowledge, wasn’t… that farfetched? Because the last book Meyer released before this one, The Chemist? Is an improvement on all her previous work. A huge improvement! It’s competently written! The characters read like they were intended to be flawed, messy people.

The main romance isn’t the kind of fucked up that Bella and Edward’s is, where you can pen treatises on why they’re omg so unhealthy. It’s the kind of fucked up where five seconds after meeting her love interest, the protagonist drugs him unconscious, kidnaps him, sticks a urinary catheter up his ding dong, straps him to a table and tortures him for information until the guy’s ex-CIA identical twin drops a plane on the barn they’re in and crashes through the ceiling all “HANDS OFF MY BABY BROTHER YOU DISCOUNT MATA HARI!”

Then they all make friends and go on a road trip together because a shady government organization is after them.

That’s not a fucked-up relationship that you write an essay analyzing the fucked-up-ness of. It’s something you stare at, stunned and, if you’re me, torn between thinking “Holy shit, this is so my brand of heroine!!!” and “How much crack was Auntie Steph on when she wrote this?” And it’s beautiful. I want ten more like it. So my hopes for Midnight Sun are tempered by the knowledge that, being a retelling of an established narrative, it can’t go all-out with the batshit. But I’m still optimistic that some part of it will give me that warm “Awww, you’ve come a long way from where we first met, author! Good on you!” feeling.

Now let’s (finally!) get started on the chapter proper.

…oh wait there’s an author’s note.

…uhm. Yeah. My dreams. About those. *fixed stare at faraway bonfire* Actually, let’s not talk about those and just move on to Edward Not Liking High School, thank you. Yeah. That’s good.

Edward Cullen doesn’t like high school. Edward doesn’t like that people think. Edward doesn’t like that the human student body is beside itself with the arrival of some new chick. Edward thinks his adopted siblings are super basic. (Rosalie = shallow, Emmett = simple, Jasper = psycho two seconds away from jumping off his chair and going on a rampage.) We don’t get to hear his utterly unbiased assessment of Alice, because she butts in and starts a one-sided telepathic convo about how Jasper is two seconds away from jumping off his chair and going on a rampage. You know. Normal sibling stuff.

WHY DO YOU PUT YOURSELF THROUGH THIS HASSLE, WHY!

(Let me take this opportunity to share my pet crack theory that Carlisle Cullen is secretly the most twisted, evil vampire in all of vampiredom, and that the sending the young ones to high school bit is something he does solely because he gets his evil fix by feasting on the emotional toil it inflicts on them. Also why he’s a doctor; he can ignore the call of blood, because being surrounded by the pain of patients and their loved ones already keeps him fed. I mean. He was chilling with the Volturi way back when, and Aro gives off a handsy vibe. No way he didn’t get his mind read in every which way, and if that happened - if he were reaaaalllyyyyy that nice, why would he still ping them as a threat of any kind?)

(This has holes in it, I know. And clashes with my other pet crack theory, which posits that the whole immortal child/Let’s Catch Them All: Cullen Edition was in fact the fallout of a Very Bad Italian Breakup, with Aro being the pissy ex who wants sole custody of the kids.)

Whatever. It still makes more sense than them going through “the inert state between active periods” when. My dudes! College is right there. Some places you can even sit out 90% of lectures and still get your diploma if you don’t feel like faking one, so Jasper would be all set! And you can pick different subjects! Diversify! Why must it always be med school rehashes, there are other worthy professions! And whole fields that are useless for getting-a-job purposes, but still interesting and enriching for those who have the luxury to pursue them. Let Emmett do Viking Studies, for fuck’s sake!

This amuses me much more than it rightfully should. I’m a child.

The Cullen clan tries to pep talk Jasper into not getting his murder on. Jasper is like OMG WILL YOU GUYS LAY OFF, while Edward is busy doing his judgy Edward thing and thinking to himself that Jasper should accept his limitations, that it’s a bad idea to have him at school at all, blah blah bleh, and you know what, I’m with you there, Ed.

Although we all know that this is just setup for the irony that will ensue as soon as Bella the Delicious klutzes her way into his line of smell.

Oh yah! Enter Bella. Edward can’t hear her thoughts. Jessica Stanley is a b-word. Edward wonders whether not being able to butt into the new girl’s head may be a red flag for vampire Alzheimer. Biology class next! The teacher is a man “of no more than average intellect” and, lord. It’s lucky that Edward is the mind reader in the family, because imagine if it were one of the others and they had to put up with listening to him bitch about the world at large, nonstop, at all hours of the day. And night, since these guys don’t sleep. Angela Webber is the only soul in the whole school whose thoughts have the Edward Cullen seal of approval. I feel sorry for her. I also feel this weird sense of hey, this all seems familiar in senses other than being a retelling, have I been here before?

Wait.

WAAAIIIIIITEEEEE.

*googles for the old version*

*runs first chapters through copyleaks*

*kubrick stare* MEYER, YOU LAZY SO AND SO, HOW COULD YOU!

*slams head on desk*

Well. At least I know what I’m in for. HONESTLY! It’s been. It’s been THIS MANY YEARS since the leaked version appeared, and that was a first draft, how in the… she’s way better than this, now! Was this novel produced in a terminal state of $#%CARING#NOT?&FOUND?! Is half of it just going to be the same old thing with a thin veneer of polish? I’m.

*sigh* You know what, I’m okay. We’re just going to call this first part a re-read. It’s been ten years, so I remember not a whole lot of the specifics, so at least I won’t be bored. BUT COME CHAPTER 13 I EXPECT TO BE SWEPT OFF MY FEET, DO YOU HEAR ME?!

Biology. Bella walks in right past a fan and gives Edward a throbbing throat boner. How awkward. Then she goes and sits right next to him and saucily tosses her hair around like he’s not actively plotting her murder and that of the rest of the class. The cheek of the thing!

Fortunately, Bella’s tasty ass is momentarily saved by a stiff breeze.

…I think we may have found the solution to Jasper’s control issues. The Cullens just need to start carrying air freshener around and spray the murder out of him every time he starts looking peckish. It would look weird if anyone else did it, but since they’re all pretty and rich, it’s more likely that the trend will catch on and cause Febreze sales to skyrocket.

Anyway. We’re not done victim-blaming Bella for…

…at least another couple of pages, but at least Edward gets his head out of his ass long enough to recall that hey, vampire! Oxygen is optional! But he still spends another lot of words grumbling about what a hassle it is to be forced to hold his breath in order to dampen his murderous urges. This is why you are a virgin, Edward. No, I don’t mean the planning the assassination a classmate’s assassination, plenty of serial killers still manage to get laid heaps, consensually, even! It’s the fact that you’re this much of a buzzkill that’s the issue.

Live, laugh, love, you dumbass disco ball!

Yep, he’s still on about how he’s going to kill her, totes kill her, he feral dangerous vampire, rawr. The miracle of adequate indoor airflow only got him to railroad a quartet of brain cells into thinking up smarter ways of snuffing Bella out. Now he wants to lure her to the forest. No, he’s going to kill her at home! He hates her! No, he hates himself and is projecting!

So he flees to his car, plays some calming music, breathes in and out and thinks about his family and how disappointed they’d be in him if he were to help himself to a Swan shake. Well, I’m nobody to shit talk anyone’s self-soothing routine. I’d probably throw in a truck of food + a bath, but he’s had 100+ years to figure out what coping mechanisms work for him, so let’s just let him do his-

Edward.

EDWARD.

…do you actually think this is an appropriate time to start a ginger-off with some random desk lady? Yes, we know you’re the One True Redhead To Rule Them All. (Though Kvothe from Name of the Wind may beg to differ, and I don’t know who would win that fight.) I mean, really? You pull this crap when you just barely talked yourself out of a murder? And then you call her eyes flat! What!

One of my favorite comic book series, Y the Last Man, features a scene where two characters discuss what it is that truly binds people together. One of them presents the argument that stronger bonds are formed not by shared love, but by shared hates. By which they mean not a kiss-kiss-slap-slap, enemies-to-lovers relationship dynamic, but like… you, being someone who really hates coleslaw, having a partner who likewise hates coleslaw, with whom you can indulge in tireless verbal roastings of coleslaw and who will never get tired of your complaining, because the fire of their loathing burns every bit as hot as yours.

I’ve always felt that this concept resonated with me deeply. And if you apply it to Bella and Edward, by its standards, they have the real deal. Go through the namesake chapter in Twilight-the-book, and you find Bella thinking similarly judgy thoughts, being irked by the same shit that no one normal would bat an eye to, going “Ugh!” and “Gah!” at everything that makes Edward wince internally. So their love will be eternal for sure. Perhaps not in an epic way. They’ll live boringly ever after, until they’re ancient and onion-skinned and lurking at passerby humans through the geraniums on their windowsill, exchanging “Holy crow, I can’t believe she bought a hydrogen engine car just to show off!” / “Awful! She should know that thinning the deer population so that they produce less flatulence is the most sound way of controlling toxic emissions!” And then probably gazing at one another like idiots for an ice age or two.

Edward wants to be moved out of Biology class. Goes back and forth with the desk lady, who obviously wants to tap that, because of course she does. Every hot-blooded woman within spitting distance must crave his alluring icicle, even as he mentally eviscerates every minuscule detail of their appearance.

Except Bella, because she’s soft, translucent, deep-eyed and edible. And, I mean. You can complain all you want about “you’re different from anyone else I’ve ever met, you’re SPECIAL, better, more beautiful, more everything!” being a dead horse of a trope so old and beaten that by all rights it should have turned to smelly glue, but. That pony is still kicking. And by kicking, I mean selling. And it sells because being made to feel special, even if it’s happening by proxy while you’re immersed into the thoughts of a fictional character, is nice. Readers enjoying that experience and seeking out fiction that provides it shouldn’t be considered so… mock-worthy as I’ve seen it be, in discussion of works that feature the trope prominently.

Which doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t be nicer if Edward’s narration were focused solely on elevating Bella, instead of also viciously kicking down everyone in the vicinity. Man, we get the message, okay? You don’t need to act like you’ve swallowed a Simon Cowell before coming in for school.

I swear, it’s almost a relief when Bella interrupts, heralding the triumphant return of the throat boner. Edward’s thoughts about the people around him are actually LESS gratuitously bitchy when he’s contemplating how to best murder them.

At least this time he is able to extract himself from the situation and flee speedily. (Which… in Biology, what exactly was preventing him from asking for a bathroom break? Or just saying he was feeling poorly and getting the fuck out of there?)

He meets the sibs. Only Alice has any clue of what is going on because visions, and she doesn’t explain anything to the others, who just stand there baffled while Edward decides to get his shiny ass in his shiny Volvo and run off to Alaska. Probably because it would ruin the serious mood of the scene if she told them and Jasper started doing happy cartwheels at the prospect of no longer being the only fuckup in the family.

END CHAPTER. Same time tomorrow, hopefully, and I’ll TRY to be less longwinded. Try.

#TWILIGHT #MIDNIGHT SUN #EDWARD CULLEN #GRISREADSMS #MIDNIGHT SUN SPOILERS

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its-flicked-switch · 5 years ago

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Transitive Property of Equality

All of the moments leading up to the COTP, candlelight confessions, and the revelation of miracle baby #2. This work remains canon with the events of S11, filling in the gaps of Mulder and Scully’s relationship and their leap of faith forward for the future.

SMUT to be found in all the places you would expect.

Rating: Explicit

This story is my baby.

I initially drafted this work to be 10 chapters - one for each of the S11 episodes, but that quickly expanded into 20 chapters. With that being said, posting the full length of this work on Tumblr seems ... excessive, so I’ve made the decision to just post the first chapter and link the rest. In the future, I will post my longer works here just as I publish them on AO3 and ff.net, but with my Tumblr account being new, posting 60k+ all at once would be madness. Should you read this first chapter and be interested in reading the rest, it’s linked here.

CH 1: THE PLACE WE CALLED HOME

Post 11x01 - My Struggle III

Mulder takes Scully home.

SCULLY

It's true what they say about doctors being the worst patients, but to be fair, my medical history is extensive and complex. Providing a full and accurate medical history would take hours and most likely result in a psych consult, so I've learned to only ever disclose what is absolutely necessary. Being a neurologist myself, I can appreciate my doctor's concern, but she doesn't have all the of the facts and wouldn't know what to do with them even if I gave them to her. So for the second time today, I sign myself out of the hospital against medical advice.

After reviewing my MRIs, there is little doubt in my mind that the impulses driving my abnormal brain activity were somehow generated by my implant. The dull ache and burning sensation that coursed through the base of my skull and down into my neck just before losing consciousness doesn't fit the etiology of any known medically based seizure.

Eighteen hours later my neck still aches, but for an entirely different reason. One that may or may not be related to the visions I have received from Willam.

The man who entered my hospital room earlier this evening is someone that Mulder recognized as working for the syndicate, but our sources within the FBI have yet to formally identify him. All of this should frighten me more than it does, but at the moment, all I care about is getting out of here and going home to sleep in my own bed.

By the time Mulder and I leave the hospital, it's close to midnight. He hasn't let me out of his sight since he returned from Spartanburg. Under normal circumstances, I would find his zealously overprotective behavior to be suffocating and would insist that he give me space, but tonight I don't have the energy to fight him nor do I think that it would matter even if I did.

The force of my assassin's hands has left me stiff, sore, and hoarse, limiting my responses to brief and very brief. So when he asks me if I'm hungry, I merely nod, settling into the passenger seat and resting my eyes as he merges into traffic.

—

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I come to we are pulling up to the house.

"Mulder," I croak, "I thought you were going to take me home?"

As soon as I say it, I regret it. Although I haven't lived here in close to four years, the house is still technically mine. I tried to sign it over to him after we separated, but he refused to sign the papers.

"This will always be your home too, Scully," he says softly, not meeting my eyes.

I didn't mean for it come across as a dig, but it clearly has.

Great. As if today wasn't shitty enough.

"I'm sorry Mulder, I didn't mean … I'm just exhausted, and I don't have any clothes here."

"I stopped by the impound lot and cleaned out your car, so I have your keys and overnight bag. They're in the trunk."

I clearly slept through that pit stop.

"Oh … okay … thank you," is all I can manage to say.

"It wasn't a big deal. Common. Let's get inside. I think there might even be something that's eatable in the fridge," he says placing his hand on my thigh and giving it a light squeeze before exiting the car.

We climb the porch stairs together in silence. Once inside, he places my overnight bag at the bottom of the stairs and then makes his way into the kitchen.

"I'm going to start some tea. That should help soothe your throat."

"Mulder, you really don't have to—"

But he cuts me off before I can finish, raising his voice.

"Stop thanking me and telling me that I don't have to take care of you. If I hadn't come in when I did, that man would have killed you … you do realize that right?"

The look on his face stops me cold.

"Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?"

Grabbing the top of the one the kitchen chairs, he shifts his weight and looks down at the table in an attempt to calm himself. At first, I say nothing. Mulder is one of the most controlled people I have ever known. Even with everything we've been through in the last 25 years, I can still count on one hand how many times he has raised his voice at me in anger.

But anger isn't what I see now. What I see now is pure, unadulterated fear.

"I'm sorry Scully, I didn't mean to … I just—"

"It's okay," I say, interrupting him. "I buried you once — so yes, I have an idea." It comes out low and raspy, strained by events of the last 24 hours, but it silences him nonetheless.

As my words register, his eyes return to mine, and the fire in them dissipates.

Loss is something that we are both intimately familiar with.

Sighing, he releases his hold on the kitchen chair.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Scully. You've always been able to do that, but we still don't know for sure who sent him or why. Until we know, more I don't want you staying alone. If something happened you … something that I could have prevented … I would never forgive myself."

I don't know how to respond, so I don't.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" he asks softly. "I have some yogurt in the fridge if you just want something light."

"No, but I will take some tea."

He nods and turns to turn on the stove, filling up the kettle and placing it over the burner.

"Why don't you head upstairs and take a shower. I'll come up in a minute with your tea and change the sheets."

"I'm sure they are fine."

"I haven't washed them in a while. I usually just sleep on the couch."

His tone is soft but final, and his message is clear. He's going to take care of me, and I'm going to let him because he's not taking 'no' for an answer.

—

Mulder wasn't kidding. The bed is made and looks as if it hasn't been used in months, but other than that, the room we once shared has changed very little in my absence.

My eyes are immediately drawn to a picture he has framed and prominently displayed on what was my bedside table. It's a picture of the two of us that I have never seen before. As I take a closer look, I recognize the scenery and the clothes we are wearing. The trip to the Keys had been a surprise anniversary gift. He must have had the film developed after I moved out and had it framed.

The realization causes a lump to form in my throat that is painful to swallow in more ways than one.

"There are some clean towels under the sink," he says, startling me as he enters the room behind me.

Although it's clear that he noted my interest in the picture, he doesn't say or do anything to draw attention to it, and for that I am grateful. I can hear him stripping the bed as I retreat into the bathroom.

It's not until I turn on the water and begin to disrobe that I realize that I have a problem.

Somewhere between the seizure, car accident, and struggle with the mysterious assassin, I have lost the ability to put my arms behind my back. I silently curse at my bra for a few moments before relenting and shutting off the water so that I don't have strain my voice to speak over it.

"Mulder?"

There's a periodic moment of silence before he responds.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a minute?"

"Um … yeah, sure, Scully, just ... give me a minute."

Within a few seconds, he's at the door.

"What's wrong Scully? Are you OKAY?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I just … I'm having trouble with the clasp, can you undo it for me?"

He steps into the bathroom and freezes.

"Jesus, Scully."

I'm half naked, but that's not why he's cursing.

"Is this from the accident or from …?"

His fingers gently trace over the bruising as he spins me to take a closer look.

"I'm not sure, but I can't quite get the … can you …?"

"Yeah."

He unclips my bra rubbing his hands lightly over my low back and shoulder blades until he reaches the tops of my shoulders. My back is to him, but his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

"I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was this bad. Do you have any pain meds?"

"No … I'm okay … just going to be sore for a couple of days."

He doesn't believe me, but he doesn't press the issue either. Instead, he kisses the top of my head and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I half expect him to be lingering around when I get out the shower, but he isn't.

The bed is covered with fresh sheets, and the clothes from my overnight bag are laid out at the edge of the bed. If I weren't so tired, I would probably be more embarrassed by the fact that he found one of his old tee shirts in my overnight bag. Although we've been separated for nearly four years now, I still find myself sleeping in his clothes. I silently curse myself for packing something so intimately personal in an overnight bag prepared to use on company time.

"Scully?"

"Just a minute," I say as I gingerly finish dressing.

When I open the door, he's waiting on the other side with a steaming cup of hot tea.

"Thank you."

He smiles.

"Got everything you need?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay. Well … I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, I'll be down here."

For a moment, we just stand in silence, neither of us knowing quite what to say.

As I gaze into his eyes, I realize that what I want more than anything is for him to come to bed and wrap his arms around me, but I have no right to ask that of him. I threw that right away the moment I left him, so instead of asking him to stay, I allow him to kiss my forehead and then watch him walk away.

—

I wake up to hands on my body.

I want to scream, but I can't because there is no air in my lungs.

Panicked, I kick, claw, and fight for my life, but my efforts are fruitless. Everything is moving in slow motion, and I am powerless to stop it. That's when it hits me … I'm dying … this must be what dying feels like. Unable to fight any longer, I surrender to fate and still my body. Just as my field of vision begins to darken into a black blur, I hear a familiar voice. A voice that clears the fog and fills my lungs with air.

He releases me quickly, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted as I bolt up out of bed.

"SCULLY … SCULLY … It's me … It's just a dream. It's me. Mulder."

I'm gasping for breath and unable to speak, but relief floods me as my vision clears.

"It's just a dream, Scully," he repeats softly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Once he sees that I have oriented back to reality, he wraps his arms around me, pulling my head into his chest.

I try to swallow the sob before it leaves my throat, but I can't. The tears quickly follow.

"Shhhhhh … It's OKAY. I'm here. You're safe."

This only makes me cry harder.

He lays us down gently, cradling my head against his chest — taking care to not to apply too much pressure to my bruised and battered body.

Neither of us speaks for quite some time.

When the tears subside, and my breathing normalizes, he's the one to break the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I sniffle, trying to clear my nose and throat so that I can speak. I've made a mess of the shirt he's wearing. It's so wet in places that it's sticking to his skin, but I don't care, and I doubt he does either.

"I couldn't breathe."

It's likely not the detailed explanation he was looking for, but it's the only explanation that is required.

He takes a deep breath and pulls my body more tightly against his.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Scully."

"You can't promise that, Mulder. No more than I could promise it to you."

"I've gone to the ends of the earth for you … killed for you … and I would give my life for yours in a heartbeat. You know that."

I do know, but this conversation is quickly heading in a direction that I'm not ready to go. Not tonight. So I don't respond with words. Instead, I snuggle into his chest, wrapping my arms around him and intertwining my legs with his. I don't want to live like I'm living on borrowed time. I want to go to sleep in his arms comforted by the fact that I still have tomorrow to say all the things I need to say. So instead of making confessions of heart, I close my eyes and surrender to sleep as I listen to the beat of his heart.

#the x files #xfiles #xfiles season 11 #msr fanfic #mulder and scully #transitive property of equality #xfiles plus one #scully pregnant #atths_twice #cotp

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aschenink · 5 years ago

Note

Wait what. Zelda fanfic??

Me, seeing this in my inbox: “my sins have caught up with me”

I feel obligated to start this with the disclaimer that the reason I really started writing (ie actually committed to a project and started developing any inkling of skill) was so I could write unrealistic gay smut Zelda fanfic when I was 13. Also, I’ve got a Navi tattoo on my foot so I’d like to use this opportunity to just go ahead and declare the LoZ-trash throne for myself.

So yeah! I’ve been quietly working on this gigantic Skyward Sword canon-divergence/post-canon story for a couple months now? I was at my parents’ house for spring break in March and on a whim set up the Wii to play SS, which was a weird experience since I hadn’t played it for several years and on loading it up was faced with the reminder that I’d named Link “Baby~” to get a kick out of Ghirahim saying it, and after all the cringing that invoked, I was drop-kicked by the reality that my memory’s not entirely faulty and Ghirahim–and honestly all of SS–really just Is Like That.

And once I got over that bout of cringing I realized Ghirahim actually still vibes with me and 13yo me knew what she wanted and was onto something; I simultaneously redeveloped my hatred for SS!Zelda and figured I should shove all of that into one fic, because, why not? And then the stars aligned and I didn’t sleep for three days because the fanfic writer in me had taken back over and punted me to 2012.

Anyway the concept for my fic is under the cut to spare innocent souls but unrelated takeaways:

This fanfic is the only writing project I’ve literally ever had where I’ve sat down and been able to plot the entire thing in one go and have it make sense and I’m… still overwhelmed by that.

I wrote 30k in 4 days because of this bad boy *slaps fic*

I love writing for Legend of Zelda. The fandom itself is very chill and that’s great but, imo, more importantly the characters are perfect to write for. There’s so little canon characterization (esp. for Link) that you’re really just given a few core concepts and get to run free with the characterization–canon is huge so there’s infinite space to run there and, simultaneously, the vague characterization makes it easy to transpose into AUs.

Skyward Sword spoilers under the cut but it’s 2019 sooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay secondary (& tertiary) disclaimer: it’s absolutely a GhiraLink fic because it’s what 13yo me would have wanted and it’s what current me wants too tbh but Ghirahim is out of character because… man, I love him, but his canon behaviors are just A Little Too Much for me and I’m incapable of recreating that (and unwilling to try). Imagine if Ghirahim was like… five years more mature. And looked like Matteo Martari. And had at least five brain cells.

:’) I pretend I’m bigger than this but I’m not, and we should all know it.

Anyway the premise is basically: What if Hylia wasn’t necessarily a benevolent goddess and Demise wasn’t necessarily a world-eating demon, and it was only portrayed this way to convince the bearer of the Triforce to side with her and keep the world under her influence? What if Link wasn’t necessarily destined to be the bearer and it was essentially a role up for grabs, one that Ghirahim desperately wants for himself? What if they’re equals? What if--

What if none of that is necessarily true either, but it’s what Ghirahim tells Link to further his own plans?

And it sort of goes on like that for a while.

It’s super long and starts out with canon and follows the entire game with minimal divergence, with the exception that Ghirahim works with Link to temper Fi’s blade because Link is slow, Ghirahim can’t do it himself, and also it’s kind of fun for both Ghirahim and I to watch Link torment himself about having Friendly Feelings for his rival only for Ghirahim to stomp on his throat. Also, Ghirahim rather bluntly comes out and warns Link that he’s being used and Link, who’s reasonably resentful about how Hylia’s using him and his feelings for Zelda, sort of just goes

Alas, it’s not enough, Link is a Good BoyTM and Demise gets sealed away and Hylia wins, canon as usual. Except Link likes Ghirahim an embarrassing amount and Ghirahim manages to bind to him before Demise can completely crush him, which is great!

Because now we’re like 90k in the hole and finally getting somewhere!

Ghirahim’s in an absolutely horrid state after the battle with Demise and Link, after his own recovery period, is pretty desperate to get away from Hylia, so they (angstily) agree to do whatever it takes to repair Ghirahim, which is basically to temper him the way Fi was tempered but with demonic flames instead. The flames are in temples based off of Ocarina of Time’s Shadow Temple, and Twilight Princess’s Temple of Time & Snowpeak Top.

So they’re alone on the road together for months, and: Emotion! Angst! Saving each other’s lives! Several deadly sins, but especially lust! Slow reveal of Ghirahim’s Tragic BackstoryTM! Quicker reveal of Ghirahim bathing because emotionally I’ll forever be 13 years old and will never get over my desire for stupid flamboyant villains! Ghirahim reveals magic that doesn’t just throw kunais, like heating spells that require them to cuddle when it’s cold and they’re camping in the wild!

What. I already said I’m trash and not above anything. Cuddling is the fastest way to a hero’s heart and that’s the hill I’m dying on.

Oh. Important: I headcanon that Fi doesn’t actually have to physically manifest to speak with Link, and could just talk to him in his head--so now that Ghirahim is sword-bound to Link, he’s the one in Link’s head. That generally goes about as well as can be expected and is why Ghirahim is almost constantly physically manifested, because Hero Trauma has made Link’s head a MESS

Hylia also happens to be able to weasel into Link’s head, which is a source of Big Angst, bc Link has definitely caught feelings for one (1) stupid tall demon, and Ghirahim...

I mean, I said Ghirahim has five brain cells and at this point that’s more than even I have, so he’s got a plan that’s much bigger than what Link knows of. One way or another, he’s going to be one to pry that Triforce from Link, he’s going to be the one to live forever in a reincarnation loop, and he’s going to be the one who decides which way the world tilts in the grand scheme of things. 😈

I’m not posting it anywhere yet because honestly I’m an overwriter and self indulgent and frankly it’s a huge concept!!! I’m convinced this fic is gonna be at least 250k words so I don’t want to post it until it’s completely written bc the odds of me drafting half of it and then giving up are Very High. But like. I have so much fun with this project (currently titled En Passant, after the chess move, for, uh, symbolic purposes I guess), it’s super relaxing to work on in comparison to original fiction 😍

If you’ve read this to the end I owe you my soul and I am so sorry for my nonsense.

#im sorry this is Not the answer you were looking for but i lost my self control #this is SUCH A LONG ANSWER IM SOOORRRYY aklsfjahshfljwkafj #im such a wreck #can you smell the repressed loz fangirl all over this post?#hoo boy #skyward sword #ghiralink #aschenink #fanfic #ask #klywrites #legend of zelda #en passant

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blackcoffeeandteardrops · 5 years ago

Link

Finally got around to writing my post FFH fic. Family reunions, just the way I like it. Under the cut & also at the above link.

The staccato beat of Pepper's heels hammering against the floor caused Peter's heartbeat to quicken as he slowly opened the door to the lake house.

"Listen, I have already been on hold for ten minutes. I don't care that he's in the middle of a meeting, go in there and get him out. I'm staying on the line until you do," Pepper said, clutching her phone to her ear, turning just as Peter made his way into the house. "Hi, Peter. You guys made the trip okay?"

Peter let out a shaky laugh. That she could go from demanding to motherly in the matter of seconds was slightly alarming, but considering the fact she genuinely was a mother, he guessed that probably shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, letting his suitcase fall to the floor with a thud. "Happy is out with Aunt May getting the rest of the bags from the car. Thank you, by the way, for--" the rest of the sentence dies on his lips as Pepper held up a finger, pointing to her phone and smiling apologetically before striding off into the kitchen, berating whoever was on the other end as she did so.

"And this is the last of them," Happy said, wheeling two suitcases in, looking about as he did so. The sound of Pepper raising her voice from the other room seemed to satisfy whatever question he'd had, so he focused back on Peter as May came in, closing the door behind them. "I'm not sure what rooms she has you two in, but--"

"I do!" Morgan exclaimed, quickly bounding down the stairs, all but tumbling into Peter's legs when she ran to greet them. "Mommy said you guys are coming for a sleepover! She even said we could have cheeseburgers for dinner, and we can eat on the couch! They usually don't let me do that, but mommy said it's a special oca…" she paused, fiddling with her sleeve and furrowing her brow as she tried mastering the more complex word. "Occasion," she declared, grinning proudly, oblivious in the way only a child can be of the chaos that had brought them there. "Plus, it'll be even cooler when you find out--"

"Morgan, sweetheart, why don't you help me set up dinner, hmm?" Happy chimed, gently nudging the girl towards the living room as he removed the sack of burgers from where he'd carried it at his side.

Peter frowned, as if he was missing something, but before he got the chance to dissect it any further, Pepper strode back in the room, nodding at May in greeting. "I've spoken to the lawyers, who are drafting a cease and desist as we speak. We also have a team digging into how and why the Daily Bugle got that video in the first place. It doesn't cover all our bases, but it's a start."

"What about the other sources that have picked up the story since the video was plastered over every screen in the city? You can't unring a bell, and Peter can't exactly hide here forever," May said trying to be a voice of reason, only to have Peter cry out in frustration beside her.

"Peter is standing right here! Is--is it even safe to be here? Safe for you and Morgan, I mean. I don't want anybody to be at risk because of me," he replied, anxiety bubbling in his gut. The scent of the burgers wafted over and it was nearly enough to knock him over. Within minutes of the video playing the first time, Happy had somehow tracked him down, driven MJ home, and then gone to the apartment to where Aunt May was already halfway through packing their things. He hadn't had a chance to even think about food until that moment.

"Here is essentially the safest and most secure place you could ever be. Besides, Peter, you're family. We want to help you as best we can," Pepper replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you something to eat. We'll worry about the rest later, okay?"

Peter nodded reluctantly, her use of the word "We" sticking out like a sore thumb in his mind. Pepper meant her and Morgan, of course, but it was moments like this that made him miss Tony more than ever. How Tony would react was something he'd caught his mind drifting to several times throughout the car ride to the lake house, and he couldn't help hoping his mentor turned pseudo-father would have been there to help him figure out what to do. Pepper's heart was in the right place, threatening legal action and offering him a place to stay until the dust settled, but Peter felt off kilter in a way he figured only Tony would understand. Sure, Tony had a hand in revealing his own superhero identity to the masses, he wasn't immediately labeled a villain or looked at in mock horror by his closest friends--the look of shock MJ had upon watching the video still burned in his mind--but he still badly wanted to have Tony's support. The fact he was gone weighed heavier on him, just as he looked up to see May and Pepper watching him expectantly. "What?"

"She asked if you wanted to eat," May supplied, eyes brimming with concern.

"Yeah. Totally," Peter replied, forcing himself to act positive when he caught Morgan glancing over at him. The last thing he wanted was having to make her worry about him, too. He sat on the couch, pointing to the bag as Morgan sat cross legged at the coffee table near his feet, ketchup staining the corners of her mouth. "You think there's a cheeseburger in there for me?" he asked, watching as she all but leaped into action, happy to help him and triumphantly pulling a foil wrapped burger from the sack. It was enough, at least for a few minutes, to sit among friends and eat food, while some Disney sequel he knew nothing about played in the background. He was lulled into a sense of safety, of warmth and protection he feared he'd never experience again, so much so that the sound of feet shuffling into the room behind them didn't even alarm him, despite the fact that everyone he knew to be present was already accounted for.

Three things happened almost at once. First, he realized there was another burger sitting wrapped on the table, though everyone had already eaten. Second, he saw Tony's jacket draped over the arm of the chair, as if he'd come right back for it. And third, he heard someone that sounded like but couldn't possibly be Tony, clearing his throat and speaking behind them.

"You guys seriously ate without me?"

“You’re supposed to me resting,” Pepper said, immediately jumping up from where she’d been sitting. “Besides, we talked about--”

Peter pressed his hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight, as if doing so would cause him to fade away from his current surroundings. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t. He had to have slipped into an alternate reality somehow, or maybe he’d been trapped in one of Mysterio’s more elaborate schemes. He felt sure that if he were to turn around, Tony wouldn’t be standing behind him. He simply couldn’t.

“Oh, my God,” May said beside him. Distantly, he heard the sound of what he knew to be her glass hitting the floor. “But--”

“I know, we have some explaining to do. And we’d like to, but--”

“This isn’t real,” Peter said, willing himself to stand and turn to face the man he’d so badly wanted to see. Standing mere feet away with only the couch separating them was Tony, looking a bit worse for wear but nonetheless alive. “No, you couldn’t...you wouldn’t lie…”

“Hey, kid, I get it. You’re mad. I’d be mad, too. But I didn’t lie. I never--”

Peter started shaking his head, hot tears burning his eyes. Absently, he heard Pepper instruct Happy to take Morgan upstairs and help her get ready for bed. May was still sitting on the couch, clueless but somehow less angry than he was.

“Peter, honey, I’m sure there’s a valid reason. He’s been through a lot, we all have,” she said, trying and failing to be the voice of reason.

“I almost just died, again, trying to save everyone. You...you could have helped. You could’ve come--”

“And what? I’m only at about sixty percent my normal strength, with one real arm and one robotic one that still needs tinkering. I wouldn’t have been any good for you,” Tony replied, apologetic. For a moment, he thought he’d maybe gotten through. Peter rounded the couch, andTony turned, opening his arms, only for Peter to breeze right past him towards the door.

“I told you we shouldn’t rush him,” Pepper said, clinging to Tony’s good shoulder when he tried running after him. “He needs time.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to sit holed up in my room until I’m instructed to make my grand appearance?” he said, spinning to face her, all frustration fading when he saw the look on her face. “I’m sorry, Pep. But some jackass that tried to kill him just blasted his name all over the world so now everyone knows who Spiderman is, and now they’re going to paint him as a villain. And what’s more, this guy used to work for me. You can’t seriously think I’m going to stand idly by, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I know enough about you to know it’s taking about every ounce of strength you have to not go running after him right now. But what he needs right now is a chance to cool off, come to his senses. Once he realizes?” Pepper said, locking eyes with Tony and raising an eyebrow, hoping he understood.

“It’s a little crazy, he’s not biologically related to you, Tony,” May said, standing awkwardly from where she’d been sitting on the couch. “But he gets a lot of his behavior from you. It’s nice to know that you’re, uh…” she gestured vaguely between them before pointing towards the stairs. “I’m going to go see if Happy needs any help with Morgan.”

Pepper nodded, watching as May headed upstairs. “And I’m going to clean up and jump on another call. We need to stay on top of this thing,” she said, opening the front door just a crack in case she might get a glimpse of Peter. She paced back to Tony, cupping his cheek and leaning in to give him a kiss. “Give him a few minutes and then you can go check on him, okay?”

Tony leaned into her touch, holding her hand to his face and turning to plant a kiss against her palm. “I’ll do my best.”

Peter sat on the dock, his legs dangling over the edge. He’d walked around the property, getting more comfortable with the place he’d only been a few times, stopping to give Gerald some berries, before settling to stare out at the water. He didn’t actually intend to leave, just needed some time to think, but when he heard footsteps behind him, he tensed up ready to bolt.

“If you want me to leave, I will. Although, I mean, this is my house. I kind of come with the territory of you hiding out here,” Tony said, waiting a few seconds to see if Peter would run before settling in beside him. He watched as Peter tore fragments from a weed he’d picked, slowly tossing them into the water, not even bothering to look up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter replied, dabbing at his eye with his sleeve.

Tony sighed, wishing it were easier. “No, it’s not. None of this is. There’s not a guide book for how to help your superhero kid get through having his identity revealed,” he said, glancing over to see if Peter would react. There was a hint of an uptick in his closed lips, but not much. “I hate what he did to you, but we’re going to fix it.”

“It wouldn’t have happened had you been there. You were just relaxing here, just living your life, not even bothering to tell me or anyone else that you weren’t, you know, dead. And I show up here because Pepper is nice enough to let us stay, and I’m just supposed to...what? Act like it’s normal? It’s not,” Peter said, slamming his fist onto the dock so hard it shook. “I gave him your glasses because I really thought he was a good man. I told him he was an Avenger, and he just sat there and lied to my face. My friends almost died because of--”

“Because of you? Believe me kid, I know the feeling,” Tony replied, laughing self deprecatingly. He shook his head, staring out at the reflection of the moon over the water. It seemed unthinkable, that everything be so calm despite all that had happened recently. “And for the record? Until recently, I wasn’t just here living my life, as you so nicely put it. This thing here?” he said, waggling the fingers on his artificial arm. “Wakandan tech. After the battle with Thanos, I was as good as dead. They took me to Wakanda where I was in a medically induced coma. Countless skin grafts, surgeries, and when I woke up? I was alive, but every inch of my body burned. It was like I was cooking from the inside. I might’ve been alive, but I didn’t want to be. Not for a long while. But when I was well enough to speak, to make sure I’d make it through? They flew Pepper down, and we stayed for a few more weeks. It took Morgan a while to get used to it, but she’s come around. Physical therapy, medication, and rest...it’s about all I can do.”

“It looks so real,” Peter replied, shaking his head as he watched Tony grip a therapy ball in what he now knew to be an artificial hand. “Miss Potts wasn’t angry when she found out you were alive?”

“Oh, she was livid. It’s still a point of contention. But she was more angry with the situation than with me,” Tony replied, tossing the ball in the air and catching it. He smiled triumphantly, waggling the ball in Peter’s direction. “It took me two weeks to learn how to do that.”

“To catch a ball?” Peter asked, doubtful.

“This may look real, and it’s wired into my body with the best neural interface I’ve ever seen...so good I’m jealous I didn’t create it myself. But yes, two weeks to catch a ball. At least twice that long to put any sort of pressure on it. Pepper can testify. Until recently, I haven’t been fun to be around,” Tony replied, watching as Peter nodded slowly. “Look, Pete,” he said, darting his tongue out to moisten his lips. “You really think I didn’t want to be there? You honestly think I was content just sitting idly by while one of my kids was in danger? It was terrifying. But it would’ve been worse had I gone and not been able to stop it. I’d never be able to forgive myself. I was monitoring the systems, watching...if there was ever any moment that I really doubted you’d be okay? I’d have put a stop to it,” he swore, giving it a few seconds to sink in. He expected Peter to jump in, lauding him with tales of what happened in his Europe trip, of how he’d fought, but was met only with silence. “Pete, I’m--”

“One of your kids?” Peter replied, his voice cracking.

“That’s what you picked up on in all that?” Tony replied. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. They’d not been very good with the whole emotional thing before the blip. He hadn’t communicated the way he thought of Peter as one of his own, but the way the boy’s eyes lit up at the implication made him realize that he wanted to try and be clearer with his line of thinking. “Well, yeah. You’re one of Tony Stark’s roaming band of misfits,” he replied, elbowing him in the side. “Seriously though, how are you holding up? It’s not every day your cover gets blown to the world.”

“At least you had a choice,” Peter replied, closing his eyes upon realizing how bitter he sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that--”

“That I didn’t have my cover blown by a psychotic maniac bent on revenge from beyond the grave? Yeah, I get it. Not quite the same,” Tony agreed. “Pep’s in there doing the best she can to keep this under control. It won’t be easy, and it’ll take some time, but we’ll get you there.”

Peter’s chest grew tight and he shook his head, struggling to keep his breathing calm. Were it not for his certainty that Tony would jump in after him, he’d kick off the dock and make himself sink, if for nothing other than feeling something other than the crushing weight of trying to make his new reality make sense. He dug his fingernail into his palm so tightly it began to bleed.

“Breathe,” Tony replied, rubbing small circles against his back. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he continued, gritting his teeth. That anyone would put someone he cared about through so much pain and him be at a relative loss to stop it was maddening, but the least he could do was try and help him through it. He watched as Peter’s breathing returned to normal, waiting until the boy appeared calm to keep speaking. “That’s not the first time that’s happened, is it?”

Peter hung his head, shrugging his shoulders, but surprisingly not feeling as embarrassed as he might've expected. "I haven't exactly been sleeping well since everybody came back," he conceded.

"I'm sorry, Pete," Tony replied, clapping his hand against the boy's shoulder. He watched as his lips twitched; a fraction of a smile, there and gone within a second. The image of Peter's body dissolving into ash and slipping through his fingers flickered across his vision. He'd spent more time mourning Peter it seemed like than actually knowing him, a fact he thought about not for the first time. "I shouldn't have drug you into this. I shouldn't have put you at risk, allowed you to participate in the Avengers. If I hadn't, none of this would've happened."

Peter started shaking his head before Tony even finished speaking. "I chose to jump on the ship. I mean, I didn't do it knowing I'd die...sort of...on some alien planet, but I still chose to do it."

"You did," Tony agreed.

"I was on a date," Peter said, the words popping out before he realized what he'd said. "Before the video where Mysterio told the world I was Spiderman. MJ and I were finally--"

"That friend of yours? You finally told her how you felt?" Tony asked, genuinely curious. Peter wasn't yelling at him anymore, and if he was still angry at him he was no longer showing it, so he considered it a step in the right direction. "Before...everything," he continued, gesturing wildly. "We were in the lab. You were up way, way past your bedtime, getting to that point where you were practically delirious, and you started talking about her. It's good, I'm happy for you."

"I'm not," Peter replied, gripping the edge of the deck and leaning forward. "The look on her face when that video played? I don't think she'll want to see me anymore. Besides, I don't want to put her in danger," he paused, cheeks burning red. "You've got enough to worry about right now, what with coming back from the dead and all," he continued, giving Tony a pointed look. "You don't wanna hear about what I'm going through."

"Whose idea do you think it was for you to come here? I'm kidding, it was Pepper's, but I backed her up one hundred percent. I wouldn't have done that if I didn't care about you," Tony insisted. He heard Peter let out a soft laugh and frowned in confusion. "What?"

Peter stared up at the pin prick stars, remembering vaguely what it felt like to hurtle through them. "We never used to talk like this."

Tony could count on his one hand the times he'd hugged Peter, and on the same hand the number of times they'd had such serious discussions, in non-life threatening situations. It wasn't intentional, a by-product of the facade he'd hid behind over the years. He hadn't had a good relationship with his own father, Lord knew, so it made sense that he'd struggle communication wise with the child he considered his own. Still, he vowed before bringing them all back that he'd do a better job at it. "No, we didn't," he replied. "But as it turns out, losing fifty percent of the world's population including the protege you love like a son, getting married to the smartest woman on the planet, and becoming a dad before nearly dying at the hands of an evil alien bent on destruction really changes your outlook on life."

"Pepper's the smartest woman on the planet?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Of course she is. She's going to figure out how to get you out of this mess," he replied, already picturing her pacing back and forth inside demanding answers from whoever she was on the phone with. He shifted a little, wincing as he felt a sharp pain radiate up his side. He held up his arm in Peter's direction. "Come on, kid. Help me up. Let's see what progress she's made so far."

"Are you okay? I mean, you survived despite the power of those stones literally coursing through you, and seriously, how real your fake arm looks is kind of weirding me out, but--" he cast his eyes downward at the look on Tony's face. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No, it's okay," Tony assured him. "They had to take a piece of my calf muscle to help fix the side of my face. But hey, I'm officially part robot now, so I guess I've got that going for me."

Peter smiled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. As they walked towards the house, he caught a glimpse of Tony's scars, some of them faint but still proof of all he'd gone through in the name of keeping the world safe. Before he could stop himself, Peter launched himself at Tony, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I'm really, really glad you're okay."

Tony had nearly lost his balance from the unexpected hug, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He waited a few seconds before pulling back. "Me too, kid. And listen, about what you said before? About being afraid of whether MJ would want to see you anymore? If she feels half as much for you as you do for her, I think you're going to be fine."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. There'd be time to talk things through--with Tony, with MJ, with Aunt May--but he knew not everything would be solved overnight. "Should we go inside?"

Tony nodded, leading the way. He listened quietly for the sound of Pepper's voice, wanting to seek her out and discuss what their next steps were in terms of figuring out Peter's life post-identity reveal. He knew it would take time and some not altogether pleasant decisions, and there was a part of him that wondered just how well he could help whilst still being declared dead to the world. Still, that night all the people he cared for most would be under one roof, causing him to feel more relaxed and to breathe easier than he had in a long time. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

#tony stark #peter parker #ffh #iron dad and spider son #fanfic

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