#this is indeed just a wee ficlet

[stevebabey]

The drip in the roof of the trailer is what wakes Steve.

A steady plink! of water meeting wood somewhere above them. It always leaks a little in the trailer after it rains, like a gentle metronome of fat raindrops sneaking inside the cracks. While it used to annoy him, Steve just finds it soothing now.

The curtains Eddie had poorly shut the night before are askew just an inch, letting through a sliver of sunlight. A beam sneaks through, makes the room glow, walls painted golden. Steve revels in it and it’s warmth; lets out a yawn and stretches like a big cat, giving a soft groan as he does.

His elbow knocks into Eddie’s side as he does and Steve feels the familiar rush in his chest, fond affection filling every vein— and he loves it.

He loves that momentarily forgetfulness born from his sleepiness, where he forgets that he gets to wake up with someone by his side. Wake up next to Eddie, no less.

Steve loves it, adores it, because really what it means is he gets to remember it every morning.

He gets to roll closer and poke Eddie gently on the cheek, a small smidge of him just wanting to check if he’s real. If this, this love, is real and his. Eddie lets out a groggy groan, buries his face further in the pillow. Steve grins. Yep, he’s real.

Eddie makes another groggy noise and this time pulls his face out of his pillow slowly. He looks like a disgruntled cat, hair still stuck to his cheek, some small patch of drool left on the pillow. Eddie makes a soft ‘hmph!’ and one hand reaches up, wiping across his face lazily. His eyes peek open.

And as much as Steve loves his own secret moment in the morning, it’s blown out of the water by this every time — the moment Eddie sees him. Brown eyes see him and Eddie just softens. Like butter in the sun. Sinks further into his pillow and smiles, sleepy and wonderful.

Normally, they both let sleep comes and go, drifting across the sheets in half-hearted cuddles that Steve melts for every time. Today, Eddie’s smile grows into a happy grin. Then his hands are stretching out and he’s making small grabby hands across the sheets, urging his boyfriend over.

“C’mere,” he says, hands finding Steve’s side and pulling him, soft. “Gimme.”

Steve grins, heart flip-flopping. Goes without any resistance, shifting to snuggle up to Eddie, tucking up and under his chin as Eddie’s does his best to scoop him up in his arms. It’s warm. Eddie’s pulse is a small comfort to Steve as he rests his head upon Eddie’s chest, hands curled around his middle, thumbing at soft scar tissue. Thump-thump-thump, Eddie’s heart says, and Steve can somehow easily read the love in it; his stomach turns again, in a dizzy elated way.

“Mm, birthday boy,” Eddie hums, but he’s still so sleepy that birthday sounds more like birfday. Steve feels his heart jump in surprise — a moment in which he’s baffled Eddie knows. That Eddie remembers. The last couple birthdays… well, he hadn’t been friends with Robin til after his birthday in ‘85 and then, well, with everything in ‘86… It’s been awhile since someone has remembered is all.

He doesn’t mean to sound as surprised he does when he murmurs, “You remembered?”

Eddie hums again, a sweet loving noise. His arms around Steve tighten and Steve feels his heart keen when his lips brush across Steve’s temple. A gentle kiss is pressed there. It feels like everything he needs — this quiet small moment of wonder, a tiny moment of tenderness, just for Steve. He presses his own kiss back, lips against Eddie’s collarbone.

“S’look,” Eddie continues, dragging his arm off Steve to point somewhere on the wall. Steve follows his gaze and then— there it is, on Eddie’s calendar. Circled in red is April 29th. It’s covered in sloppy hearts, so much there’s no room for any word other than ‘Steve!!’ in the middle; his birthday. Marked so Eddie would remember, wouldn’t even dare the chance to forget it.

Eddie drops his arm, returning it to where it was, hooked over Steve’s side so his hand can run soothing soft touches down his back. He sighs again, another sleepy noise, and Steve could probably cry.

“Precious birthday boy, mm,” Eddie mumbles lovingly. “Lovely precious birthday boy,” he warbles on, voice gooey enough that Steve know he means it. Actually thinks that— that he’s precious, and lovely, and everything more. “What d’ya wanna do t’day?”

Steve tightens his cuddle and whispers, “Just this.”

He can feel Eddie’s grin, in response, and then there’s another kiss to his head. Just this. It’s the complete truth.

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

[squireofgeekdom]

a tiny wee ficlet, (if you can even call it that), under the cut, with spoilers for season 2 of good omens. because. well. aziraphale has had a bookshop for a century or two with the intent of Not Selling Books. the comedy* wrote itself. *okay, and just a piiiinch of bittersweetness

There are two things of note on the Supreme Archangel's Office Door.*

*It is first of note that the Supreme Archangel has an office door at all, or, indeed, an office to go with it. Gabriel, of course, had considered themself far too important for an office.

The first thing was a sign, which read as follows:

I open the office on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the office as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the office open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need to do some light work on heavenly affairs. On days that I am not in, the office will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the office during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays).

Aziraphale, Supreme Archangel

The second thing was even odder, and created some confusion. It was, to all appearances, an ordinary white cardboard box, but with a rectangular opening cut into the top. Next to it appeared a stack of blank notecards and several small pencils.

The box was labeled Suggestion Box.

[elwenyere]

🛒🎃 !

Thank you so much for these top-shelf picks, brigit!!! I enjoyed this very much. <3<3<3

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Mmmm it was really fun to think about how I would answer this question on both the sentence level (similes for describing physical sensation, HANDS, a character doing something - like crying or moving toward someone or going in for the kiss - before they've consciously formed the intention to do it) and on a more structural level (characters who have learned to bury a feeling deeeeeep down being put in a situation where it's definitely going to come out, non- or not-entirely-linear narratives, and so so so many "waking up in medical" scenes).

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

Oh, I love this one too, because one of the first self-conscious, "improve my writing" projects that I set myself was an early ficlet collection that included short holiday stories (set, in this case, in the Domestic Avengers Universe). And one of the most personal fics I've ever written is a repeated New Year's Eve fic (5 times Sam and Bucky didn't kiss on New Year's Eve + 1 time they made up for it). Here's a wee snip from that one below the cut:

“They’re a little disgusting,” Natasha commented, and Bucky managed not to jump, but it was a near thing. “Speaking of which, I’ve been watching you scan the windows and doors for at least fifteen minutes, so I think you should just ask me what you want to ask me.”

“You know, just because a guy likes to have a decent handle on the fire-safety situation -”

“Sam’s sitting out by the dock,” Natasha interrupted him.

“Oh,” Bucky replied, his eyes searching the large glass windows that backed up to the lake. “Okay. Well. I don’t want to bother him if he’s looking for some quiet.”

Natasha sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly Russian. 

“James,” she said more loudly, “one option in these kinds of situations is to ask him.”

“Natalia,” he replied, “I think we both know that getting information out of people is your strong suit. I’m more of a - you know, a ‘work from the shadows’ kind of guy. Just contemplate possibilities for a few years, and then there’s a step in the middle there somewhere, and then eventually I hit my target - boom - at just the right moment.”

“Okay then, Léon the Professional, let’s make it interesting,” Natasha suggested. “Target for target. If I ask someone out tonight, you ask someone out tonight.”

“No,” Bucky said immediately, “I’m not - that’s not an even trade. You and I are not working with remotely the same hardware or software here.”

“Ready,” Natasha started counting down.

“No,” Bucky repeated. “There’s no ‘ready’!”

“Set.”

“I already told you, Nat: I’m not -”

“Go.”

“- taking the deal. I’m not - and she’s gone.”

And indeed Natasha was already weaving her way past the couch and chairs where Steve and Tony were now chatting with Rhodey, slipping neatly up to the kitchen bar where she leaned over and whispered something into Pepper Potts’ ear. Bucky could see Pepper leaning gradually in the direction of Natasha’s voice - the two of them twisting toward each other until it was just a matter of inches for Natasha to brush her fingers over the hand Pepper had curled around her wine glass - and then they were walking toward the stairs, a slight flush on Pepper’s face and a satisfied smirk on Natasha’s.

“I didn’t take the deal,” Bucky mouthed in her direction, and he thought he could make out the words “excuses are for quitters” in her reply. 

“Fuck,” Bucky swore, just to burn some feeling, because he obviously had taken the deal at some point, and how the hell did she do that?

[sardinesandhumbugs]

“Congratulations, you have invented a new kind of stupid.”

I think you know which two characters this is for.

A/N: I know you intended this to be Ratty & Toad, but since you didn't specify (and because someone else has actually submitted the exact same prompt & characters) I'm going to play ignorant and apply this to Mole & Ratty instead. :D Also this is set after @a-place-to-come-back-to's recent ficlet, which I've very kindly been given permission to follow up because I needed to return fire the angst.

x

Rat didn't remember much of being sick.

He supposed that was a blessing of sorts.

(In the weeks that followed, fleeting déjà vu would unsettle him – in a turn of phrase, in the looks that haunted him – but right now he was simply tired and aching and borne down with the effort of waking.)

Mole entered, and Rat blearily recalled the parting words Badger had thrown his way earlier. "I've been told," he said, aiming for humour but sounding hoarse instead, "that you might have some choice words for me."

Mole sank into the chair beside the bed, and his failure to rise to the teasing tone unnerved Rat more than he cared to admit. There was a presence in the corridor beyond the room also, that of Badger and... Toad? Their shadows caught the edge of the threshold, uncharacteristically still in the latter's case. There was a heavy silence thickening the air, the kind found on hallowed ground, or libraries.

Or funerals.

Rat decided he didn't like the last comparison.

"Mole–"

"How do you feel?"

Hadn't he already answered that for Badger only a few minutes...? Or was it an hour? Hazily, Rat realised he'd dozed in Badger's leaving and Mole's arrival, and time had slipped from him. He couldn't be sure the reddened sky was dawn or dusk, or indeed if it was even the same sunrise/set that he'd previously woken to.

Better to be dusk, he thought. Wasn't that the phrase? Red sky at night, sailor's delight? Red sky at morning, sailor's... something. Mourning? No.

"Ratty?"

Mole's prompting brought Rat back to the present, and he refocused on the question. "I feel as fit as a fiddle," Rat croaked. It wasn't in the least bit convincing, but anything to curb that grieving fear that his home had seen far too much of. "Give me another hour, and I'll be doing cartwheels."

There was a harrumph from the doorway, followed by a gruff, "Least he's feeling well enough to joke about it," that Rat suspected he wasn't meant to catch. Regardless, the crotchety tone reassured Rat. It was far more familiar than the desperate relief he'd encountered upon his first waking.

Beside him, Mole gave a snuffling, tired laugh. "You've never done cartwheels in your life."

"I've just never had need to."

"You'd trip over your tail."

"Name one time–"

"On the open road," Mole answered instantly, just a smidgen too smugly for Rat's liking. "Several times. You got rather drunk that first day in the caravan."

"Oh." Rat attempted to remember it, but between the vagueness of his post-illness mind, and the inebriated haziness of the original memory, he had no hope. "Well," he grumbled, "that was the drinks' doing, not mine."

"Sure, Ratty."

They lapsed back into silence, and Rat could feel the mood shifting as Mole prepared to broach whatever subject Badger had alluded to with his 'choice words' remark.

In the emptiness, Rat's mind eddied. It swung between the cacophony outside – the birds sang, was it in their rising or their dawn chorus? – onto if it were the latter, how sparingly had his friends slept? There was certainly the fatigue of sleepless nights about in both Mole and Badger – before the train of thought slipped away entirely in a fit of exhaustion and he was momentarily only aware of how his whole form ached.

"Why didn't you tell anyone how bad it'd gotten?" Mole eventually demanded.

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" Ratty demands. The room is warm, too warm, and still the older animal shivers. The creeping sickness is stealing his father away in inches, but only now does Ratty see how the finishing line for this fatalistic race is a matter of feet, not miles.

His father answers in that rattling breathlessness that has become so cruelly familiar. "I didn't want you to worry."

In the here and now, Rat hesitated. "I..." The memory crowded his mind, and he refused to echo the past a second time. "I thought I'd get better. Without having to wo– without having to inconvenience anyone."

Mole snorted. "Well then, congratulations," he said. "You've invented a new kind of stupid."

Even through the post-sickness, Rat had the energy to look indignant. "I find that hard to believe when we're both familiar with Toad–"

"If you'd just admitted to this earlier, we could have got the pneumonia seen to before it got this bad," Mole snapped. "Instead I had to get Toad and the doctor involved on a matter of urgency, then fetch Badger late into the day, and Mrs Otter has been round twice, and when you wouldn't wake–" Mole faltered, anger and fear choking the words. "I don't give a fig about the inconvenience of it all, but since you do, perhaps you should have considered that before deciding that hiding it away would be a kindness."

"How long have you known?" Ratty stands in the too-hot kitchen with shaking paws. He clings to the anger. It hurts less than the grief.

"Ratty–"

"How long?"

Though his nose might not have been as sensitive as Badger's or Mole's, Rat could smell it now. The fear. Potent and tearstained and the type that preceded grief. It mingled with the scent of worm stew – one of Mrs Otter's specialities when it came to home cooked offerings for Rat's housemate – and, all in a rush, he recalled another time the house had been a recipient of the otter's culinary kindness.

"For you," Mrs Otter says, pushing the dish into Ratty's paws. "Thought you might not be eating much after... well–" she glances subtly but not subtly enough to the empty chair along the jetty, "you know."

He looked back to his friend now, the past ricocheting and overlaying the present in uncomfortable parallels. "I'm sorry. I should have – should have told you sooner."

"You should've," Mole agreed. "And we won't make that mistake again, will we?"

Rat rather felt that that was a rather pointed usage of the royal 'we.' "No, we won't."

The tap of the cane denoted Badger's entrance. It sounded louder than usual, as if Badger was leaning heavily against it. "Right then, now that's all sorted out, it's time that some animals got some sleep." He laid a paw on Mole's shoulder. "You too."

"I'm fine–" Mole began.

"Dozing on and off through the wee small hours of the night does not count as fine," Badger told him. "I'm not having two animals collapse on my watch."

With only a small amount of protesting – which betrayed just how tired he was – Mole was ushered out, leaving Badger alone at the bedside.

"So," Rat said, "I guess you're on invalid duty?"

"I'm off to fetch the doctor," Badger said. He grinned. "Toad is on invalid duty until I'm back."

As if on cue – and, to be honest, Rat couldn't be sure that Toad hadn't been waiting in the wings for the perfect entrance – Toad staggered in under a small mountain of blankets. "Don't you worry, Badge, I have this all under control! I've had my staff bring over the finest blankets from Toad Hall, so much better than any ratty old throw you probably have here, no offence, Ratty–"

"Offence taken."

"–and my chef is cooking up enough chicken soup to keep you going through 'til next spring. By the time the doctor comes round, you'll be so well recovered that she'll wonder why she was summoned."

"Toad?" Rat implored Badger. "You're leaving me alone with Toad?"

"It wouldn't have come to this if you'd come clean sooner," Badger said, with just a dash of tell-tale impishness to his words.

"I'm sick! I need rest!"

"And you'll get it," Badger said. He added, in a tone that belied a semblance of pity, "I won't be long."

"This is cruel and unusual punishment!" Rat wheezed.

The door swung shut behind Badger, and Rat was left to warily eye his assigned caretaker.

Toad, in comparison, didn't seem the least bit perturbed by Rat's outburst. He patted Rat's shoulder. "All this stress will do you no good, Ratty, but fortunately, Toad is on the case and I know just what you need."

"Peace and quiet?" Rat offered hopefully.

"Entertainment! Distraction! And, luckily for you, I happen to have discovered the most intriguing hobby. You see, it began last week while I was dropping by the town, and who should I encounter, but..."

Rat didn't remember much of being sick. But, it turned out, he would remember every moment of the recovery.

Whether or not he wanted to.

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics Ficlet -- All the Time in the World

A/N: @wickedgoodbooks came to my inbox yelling ‘GOOFBALLSIES’, so here they are! Another thermodynamics ficlet. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

(You can find the main story here and on AO3)

                                                     ~~~~~~

“How is she?” 

My voice came a bit too loud, my breath too short. Before I had time to walk into the room, Jamie rushed to me and crushed me against his chest in a smothering hug. We had hung up less than ten minutes ago but I wanted to make sure that nothing had changed while I was trying to find my way to the waiting room.

“So? Do we have any news?” I asked again with the little breath I had left, wiggling in his arms so I could see him. His auburn locks were falling haphazardly on his forehead and the lack of sleep was evident in his eyes. 

He’d come back from Michigan a week ago, determined not to miss Jenny’s delivery, and I joined them during the weekend. We spent the majority of our time with Jenny and Ian, following Dr Haffer’s orders and taking long walks in the city, but kept the nights to ourselves, locked into the small guest room of Jenny and Ian’s apartment. Time seemed to expand in the little room, like every time we eliminated the space between us. We lived in every second, every minute, drinking in each other -- the murmur of our voices not coming through speakers, the caress of breath on bare skin, the feel of our bodies coming together. The feeling of being home. 

When Sunday night came and Jenny wasn’t in labour yet, Jamie walked me to the train station because I couldn’t skip Monday’s practical. I saw him raising his hand through the window, mouthing ‘I love you’ and once again, I left a part of my heart with him. The biggest part, if I was to judge by the way my chest was caving in and my irregular breathing. It was always like this when one of us had to go and I supposed if I wasn’t used to it yet, I never would.

However, here I was again, only two days later, after receiving a call from a Jamie in the middle of the night. Hovering between excitement and panic he informed me way too loudly that they were on their way to the hospital. I had taken the first train to Edinburgh.

Jamie was a lot calmer now and he was tracing lines on my shoulder blades to calm me as well. 

“Nah,” he smiled and planted a kiss on my forehead. His gaze moved to my lips and a moment later his mouth was on mine. When we broke apart he was smiling.  “We’re still waiting, but any time now…”

I couldn’t stop the grin from my face. “You’ll be an uncle,” I finished his sentence.

“Aye,” he beamed. “Jen will have wee lad. Can ye imagine, Sassenach?”

I thought of the thousand speculations we had made with Jenny over the phone during the last seven months. It was ridiculous, really, how the image of the baby changed according to our whim. First, it had Jenny’s blue eyes and Ian’s brown hair, then Ian’s warm eyes and Jenny’s elegant nose, after that Jenny’s black hair and Ian’s cheekbones. Jenny always ended up saying that she only wanted their baby to be healthy. Healthy and happy. I couldn’t wait to see the amazing mum she’d become.

“A little boy,” I murmured, biting the smile on my lips. “It feels like a miracle.”

Jamie grimaced. “Ian told Jenny so, about two hours ago. It didn’t go well.”

I laughed before cringing at the thought of my friend’s ordeal. “That bad?”

“‘What a miraculous pain indeed’, were her exact words.” I chuckled because that did sound like Jenny. “She was almost there once, but nothing. She got a bit disappointed after that. But the doctor said ‘tis normal for a first-time mum to labour for fourteen to twenty hours. We’re still at fifteen.”

“She going to make it and once she holds him in her arms she’ll forget everything else.”

“You think so? She’ll forget all about the pain?” Jamie doubted as he took my hand and lead me to the chairs. 

“No,” I said, sitting down. “Science doesn’t back up the claims that women forget the pain of childbirth. It’s a myth. What I meant was that she won’t care anymore.”

“I dinna think she cares for the pain that much now, either. She just wants the baby to be okay.”

“That’s our Jenny.”

It was at that moment when Jenny’s scream pierced the air. Jamie shot out of his chair and started pacing back and forth. 

“Babe,” he said in a low voice after a minute or two, coming to a stand in front of me. “I was thinking…” he trailed off. “Now that I know…” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ye ken…”

“What?” I stood up, alarmed. “Jamie, what is it?”

“I ken we’ve never talked about that and I’m getting ahead of myself. I dinna think that’s the place where we should talk about it for the first time either… ‘Tis hardly romantic. But… Seeing Jenny… I dinna want ye to go through this pain, mo chridhe.”

“What do you mean?” I took a step back, frowning.

“Jenny is a tough one and yet ye heard how she just screamed... I dinna think I’ve ever heard her screaming, apart from when she attacked Ian and me like a wee banshee at Lallybroch when we were children.” 

“Screaming is good,” I tried to reassure him. “It releases tension.”

“Aye, maybe. But ye, going through this? I dinna think I can bear your pain, Sassenach. It will tear right through me.” 

“What are you saying, James Fraser?” I said, my tone ominous and my hands on my hips. “You mean to say that your sister is tougher than I am? That I couldn’t handle giving birth? What is that supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s eyes got wide, then wider, black eating up the blue. “No, I didna mean… I hardly thought of comparing…”

“Well?”

“All I meant to say is that I don’t know what I would do if it were you screaming in there. I wish I could protect ye from this pain but I won’t. I can do nothing about it. So I was thinking…”

“Jamie,” I interrupted him. “You could be in there, with me. Like Ian is with Jenny. You could hold my hand. You could brush my hair off my forehead or wipe off my sweat or whatever else husbands do when their wives are in labour. You could be by my side. You could be there.” I cupped his face, forcing him to look down at me. “I don’t care about the pain as long as I can crush your hand with every contraction.” I paused, thinking, then added, “And as long as you won’t say that you know what I’m going through.”

He laughed. “Aye, I can do that.” 

His smile was sweet as I pressed my lips on his. Our kiss was tender, a promise for a future resembling a vague painting -- the colours intermingling, the figures taking every form we could imagine. 

“So I take it that you want children?”

“Aye,” he said and the light blush on his cheeks turned him to an insecure teenager, uncertain if he’d said the right thing to his first love. “You?”

“Yes,” I smiled and kissed him again. “Just not yet, okay? We have our degrees to get and, you know… Live on the same continent.”

He laughed and shook his head. “We have all the time in the world. I just want you to know that that you don’t need to go through this if ye don’t want to. If we want children we can adopt…”

I ran my fingers against the stubble on his cheek, the smooth cheekbone, marvelling into the man he was becoming. “We could have children and also adopt one. To give them a home and the love they deserve.”

Jamie beamed and leaned into me to kiss me again when an awkward cough broke us apart. I turned reluctantly around to see Brian carrying three cups of coffee. 

“Welcome back lass,” he said with a nod as he handed me a cup. 

“How are you?” I asked as I took two coffees from him, giving one to Jamie. 

“Impatient.” His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Any news from our girl?”

“Apart from a scream, no. Nothing yet.” Jamie’s countenance changed again, his concern coming forward as his eyebrows almost touched above his nose. He was adorable.

“Dinna fash, lad. ‘Tis normal. Yer Ma was in labour for eighteen hours before Jenny came to the world.”

The mention of Jamie’s mother remained suspended in the air, vibrating with anguish and loss. 

She should be here, I thought. The tall woman who read The Cricket on the Hearth to her children and smelled like almonds. 

I saw the pain on Jamie’s face before he retreated further into himself, as he usually did when guilt attacked his common sense over the loss of his mother and brother. I grabbed his hand and squeezed tight, in a desperate move to bring him back to the present. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He should stop punishing himself for what wasn’t his fault. He gifted me with a sad smile that wasn’t enough but was better than nothing.

I kept his hand in mine, trying not to sigh. Once, at Lallybroch, I had vowed to Ellen to take care of her red-headed lad. I breathed in deeply and renewed my promise, extending it to encompass all the Fraser family. To love them more, for her.

“Jamie, lad,” Brian said in a soothing voice as he moved closer to his son. “We’re here together and your Ma and Rob are with us because we carry them in our hearts every day, aye?”

It was a sweet thing to say, but when I looked into Brian Fraser’s eyes I realised that he believed it. Each word. He’d never lived a day without Ellen because he carried her with him. Because he saw her in their children. He was living proof of love, of devotion.

We sat in silence, the two Frasers lost in memories of a past forever gone and I, trying to introduce a new subject to discuss and failing miserably. 

“He’s here! He’s here!” Ian burst into the room, laughing, and crying, and hugging us all before we had time to react to his announcement. “Ten fingers and ten toes, with a tuft of black hair and a wee numb for a nose.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks but he didn’t seem to notice. “He’s the bonniest lad ye’ve ever seen. A bit on the red side and covered with --” he stopped, shaking his head. “And Jenny,” he said, turning to Jamie. “Man, if I dinna find myself the bravest lass. She’s so fearless it sometimes scares me.” 

“Can we see them?” Brian asked, eyes darting from Ian to the door, as though he would run down the corridor to his daughter and grandson the moment he got confirmation that he was allowed to. 

“Aye, in a bit. They haven’t finished yet.”

We were all standing, grinning like fools as we bounced on our feet, having nowhere to go but being too hyped to sit down again. 

Ian’s announcement had broken the heavy silence that hung above our heads a minute ago, planting its cracks with a bright, pulsating feeling of anticipation. Life always surprised me in those moments; the moments that show us that nothing ever ends, that we are as complicated as we are simple. No matter what we are facing, we keep finding reasons to go on, to see the beauty, to honour our chance in this world. 

“I’m going back to her,” Ian said and a moment later he disappeared, leaving us alone in that waiting limbo. 

“He has Jenny’s hair,” Brian said, still gazing at the door.

“Yer hair, Da,” Jamie added before he hugged the older man, whose black head was now featuring a few grey hairs as well. 

I looked at them, observing how same they were, how different. Wondering if Jenny’s little man will have the Fraser charm as well.

“Congratulations,” I said to both of them when they turned to look at me. Brian thanked me as Jamie walked to me, wove an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

“Congratulations to ye too, Sassenach,” he whispered in my ear. “Ye’ll be his auntie, ye ken. His fairy auntie Claire.”

I laughed at that and kissed him on his cheekbone. “Auntie Claire,” I murmured, claiming a role in the little baby’s life as well. I looked forward to corrupting the little lad with treats and gifts and love.

When we finally got to see Jenny and the baby, we were like children opening gifts on a Christmas day. Jenny looked exhausted, but when her eyes met ours the sweetest smile curled up her lips. She was glowing. It was like I could feel her wonder at her little human, her happiness. 

“Come see him,” she bid us and her gaze trailed back on the little bundle she was holding. 

Brian moved first, unable to take his eyes away from his daughter and grandson. Jamie took my hand and I felt my feet following him towards the bed. 

“He’s like a miracle, Da,” Jenny repeated Ian’s words that had vexed her with teary eyes, looking up to her father. 

“Aye, my wee lass. Like the miracle ye were, for me and yer Ma. And now ye’re giving me yet another gift.” The voice wavered but his gaze didn’t move an inch away from his daughter’s face. I squeezed Jamie’s hand and he squeezed mine back.

Sometimes, I loved these silent conversations more than our audible ones; this secret code kept only for the two of us.  

Jenny pulled her father down to kiss him. “Thank you, Da.”

“She would be very proud of you, Janet Flora Arabella.”

Jamie and Ian barked out similar laughs that almost covered Jenny’s exclamation, “Da!” 

“And now that we come to names…” Ian started but stopped, waiting for Jenny to continue for him.

She nodded. “His name is James Robert Brian,” Jenny said with a grin. “Continuing this ridiculous family tradition and all.”

Jamie swallowed so hard I could hear it. 

“Jen…” he whispered, looking at his sister through wide eyes.

“Brother, ye ken that ye mean a lot to me. As you do, Da. And wee Rob… I dinna want him to be forgotten.”

Jamie rushed to her, speechless, and bent over her, planting a tender kiss on his sister’s forehead. 

“Thank ye, Jen,” he said, his accent heavier than it usually was. “I… Thank ye,” he repeated lamely, all other words having left him. “Can I hold him?”

Jenny extended the little bundle to his waiting arms. The baby’s head was smaller than his hand and a tiny hand was raised as though to touch him, to feel this new world.

“Hello wee one,” Jamie cooed. “Welcome to the world. Welcome to the family. I promise I’ll always be there to take care of you, even when ye’re a wee rascal and ye make yer Ma and Da mad.”

I chuckled and moved closer, peaking at the baby. He was still reddish, with swollen brown eyes and a tiny nose, just like Ian had said. Without thinking, I reached a forefinger and felt his tiny little fingers against mine. My heart banged in my chest, so full of emotion I thought it would burst.

“And this is auntie Claire,” Jamie introduced me a moment later. “And we love her, just so ye ken.”

“Valuable information,” I mocked, somewhat shy.

“‘Tis.” It was not Jamie, but Jenny that spoke from the bed, looking at as with a sweet smile.

“How do you feel?” I asked, leaving Jamie to have a moment alone with his nephew.

“God, I’m tired. But I canna close my eyes because I want to look at him and I canna do that while being asleep, ken? I dinna think I will draw anything else apart from him in the near future.”

“Nobody is going to take him from ye and ye’ll need yer strength lass,” her father advised. “Life is never going to be the same now.”

“Sleepless nights? Crying?” Ian asked, eyeing the little one who was, for now, calm and quiet. 

“Aye,” Brian chuckled. “Lots of laughter too, son. Can I hold my grandson now?”

He’d barely got the baby from Jamie when a nurse dashed into the room, informing us that it was time for the mother to nurse her baby.

“Oh, aye.” Brian reluctantly handed little James back to his mother, clearly lamenting that he hadn't asked for him before. Jenny took him with tender moves, poked at his nose and started murmuring, asking him if he was hungry. 

“We’ll see you later Jenny. You too, Ian!”

They both nodded, barely sparing us a glance before their gaze fell on their son who was blinking at his Ma.

“They’re so sweet together, aren’t they?” I asked once we left the room.

“A real family,” Brian replied, wistful and happy together.

“Are ye happy, Da?”

“Aye, son.” Brian’s voice was mellow and smooth, spreading around us like butter on bread. “You’ll never know how much happiness Jenny and ye have brought into my life until ye have yer own children. Then, ye’ll understand.” He reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair as though he was a little boy and not a man more than six feet tall. 

We left the hospital feeling that the world was a little bit better than an hour ago. In the car, on our way home Jamie leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “So… Two of our own and an adopted one? Let’s say… Two girls and a boy?”

I turned to look at him incredulously but the way he was looking at me made my heart stop and my mind go blank. 

“Maybe,” was all I managed to whisper in response before I broke into a wide grin.

“We could name the boy Dalhousie.”

“You must be out of your bloody mind.” 

“Fergus?” Jamie gave me one of his lopsided smiles and I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus!” I shook my head in disbelief before I turned forward, only to see Brian through the mirror, smirking.

“I dinna think Jesus is a good name for the lad, Sassenach. Too much weight on his shoulders.”

Brian was now holding back a laugh. These Frasers. 

I elbowed Jamie and huffed indignantly. He took my hand in his and squeezed until I turned to look at him again. He kissed my temple then, whispering, “We’ll think about it. We have time.”

I smiled, thinking what Jamie had said in the waiting room. We wouldn’t start a family any time soon, but we had all the time in the world.

Two girls and a boy didn’t sound like a bad combination either. 

[surrealsunday]

Hi!! Jaime hope you had a good day! Can I ask if you have been writting that halloween Elu ficlet? It’s ok if you don’t wanna answer of course I just feel so sad because I miss you and your great stories. No pressure at all I just wanted to try my luck hehe. Big big hugs!

Hello sweet cheeks! I don’t mind you asking at all. I have indeed. It maybe, sort of got a wee bit out of control 😅 (my most common refrain) but I should still have it done in time for Halloween (you hear me brain?!). Eliott and Lucas are just doing that thing where they refuse to listen to me but I’m sorting it out 🙈. Long story short, I should have a fun, little something for you by next weekend 😘.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hiya, would it be possible to get another continuation of the Brian and Ellen Fraser AU please. Maybe a scene with them finding out Claire's secret? Or learning about Lambert and her unusual childhood? Thanks! This ficlet is so adorable!!!

anonymous asked: Will there be any more of Gotham’s Brian/Ellen AU?

Note from Mod Gotham: In Chapter 7 I did mention that Brian and Ellen know Claire’s secret - but I thought it would be interesting to write just exactly how that conversation went!

“Once they had returned from France, Faith still healing from Master Raymond’s miraculous intervention, Claire and Jamie still so freshly restored to each other - it was clear that for Faith and Claire’s safety, they had to tell the family the truth about her. Where, and when, she had come from. There had been disbelief, of course - but they had accepted it as swiftly as Jamie had. They didn’t quite understand it - but they believed her. All the more reason to protect her and the girls - all the more reason why Jamie willingly lived apart in order to keep them all safe.”

–

Brian and Ellen AU

–

For a long time after she finished speaking, Clairewatched the flames flicker in the fireplace, casting a soft glow on the richwallpaper and furnishings in the Laird’s bedroom. Finally empty of words.

 Four-month-old Faith snuffed against her shoulder. Jamiesqueezed her hand. Brian set down his empty tumbler of whisky with a soft clangon the table. Ellen shifted a bit, and a ball of yarn fell from her lap to thefloor, gently unspooling; she didn’t move to fetch it.

 “Do Jenny and Ian and Robert know?”

 Jamie cleared his throat. “Murtagh does. But no, Da –nobody else knows. No’ yet, anyway. We wanted the two of you to know first.”

 “Not that we don’t trust them,” Claire added softly. “Butit’s a lot to take in.”

 “Aye, it is.” Ellen sighed. “All of it’s true, then?About Randall, and yer first husband?”

 Brian rubbed at his tired eyes. “And about the Risingthat’s to come?”

 “Yes. All of it.” Gently Claire rubbed Faith’s tiny back.“I didn’t tell Jamie until after we were married. It’s why Jack Randall isstill alive. And it’s why we…insinuated ourselves with the Prince, when we werein Paris.”

 “Ye wanted to try to stop it, lass?” Brian reached acrossthe small gap between his chair and the settee, softly touching Claire’sshoulder.

 “We did.” She raised her chin half-proud, half-defiant. “Ithink we’ve been successful for now. But there’s no telling whether what Ilearned as history will indeed come to pass.”

 “Let’s hope it doesna, lass.” Ellen smiled at herdaughter-in-law. “Otherwise I canna rest easy knowing that Jack Randall stillwalks the earth.”

 “Ellen, mo chridhe,how can ye wish someone dead?” Brian’s dark brows raised in surprise.

 “Just that one man in God’s creation, mo dhu. Do ye want to tell me that hedoesna deserve to be torn to pieces, after what he did to Jenny? And to Jamie? Andto Fergus? And for nearly killing you, too?”

 Jamie carefully took Faith from Claire’s shoulder,wrapping the blanket – a parting gift from Mother Hildegarde – securely aroundher tiny back. “By keeping him alive, it assures Claire that she and Faith havea safe place to go, should anything happen to me.”

 “And did ye ever consider, ye wee idiot, that Lallybrochis that place?” Ellen sighed.

 Claire smiled sadly. “But what if one day it isn’t? Ifthe Rising does come to pass – there will be a terrible famine. Entire villageswill be cleared out, transported by force to the New World.”

 Brian nodded, considering. “So we must do whatever we canto prepare ourselves.”

 Jamie kissed Faith’s forehead. “Aye – starting with demarcatingevery single boundary line wi’ the neighbors. Ensuring it’s all properlyregistered at Broch Mordha. And then stockpiling extra food.”

 “But Claire – would ye truly go, if things got to be sobad?” Ellen crossed her arms, defensive. “Ye ken that Lallybroch will always beyour home – as long as Brian and I, and our family, are alive to care for ye.”

 “Of course!” Claire rose and stepped across the seatingarea to sit beside Ellen on the other settee, clasping her hands tight. “You –all of you – are my family. My true family. And Lallybroch is absolutely myhome.”

 “But Mam…” Jamie’s voice cracked. “Do ye blame me forwanting every option available to see my family safe? Even if it meant she leftus all behind?”

 Overcome now with emotion, Ellen squeezed Claire’s hands.“I – no. No, a bhailach, I dinnabegrudge ye.” She swallowed. “I – I canna tell ye how my heart soars, to see yewi’ such a well-matched wife, and wi’ such a beautiful bairn. To see ye for theman ye’ve become.”

 “You mean – the man you and Da raised me to be.”

 Brian met his son’s gaze, so unspeakably proud.

 “But could wee Faith travel through the stones, then?”

 “I don’t know, Da. It’s not like I was given aninstruction manual.” At the confused looks on the faces around her, Clairesmiled. “Never mind. I don’t understand how it all works – or if there’s evenany logic to how it works.”

 “She said that the stones make a buzzing sound.” Jamieshifted Faith to his front, holding her arms securely while she kicked her tinylegs against his lap. “And that she touched the largest one, the last time.”

 “But Jamie couldn’t hear the buzzing.” Claire bent overto fetch Ellen’s fallen ball of yarn, and began winding it back together.

 “Do ye mean – ye took Jamie there?”

 “He took me there,Ma – right after I told him this. Told him the truth.” She returned the yarnback to Ellen’s lap, eyes cast down. “He tried to send me back.”

 “This was right before I brought her home the first time,”Jamie added softly. “After Cranesmuir. We – we had only been wed for a fewweeks.”

 Claire turned now to face her husband, eyes bright andcertain. “He told me there was nothing for me on this side of the stones.Nothing except violence and danger.”

 Brian felt the electricity in the room; watched his sonswallow back emotion; watched his daughter-in-law’s face transform as shespoke.

 “He couldn’t have been more wrong.”

[rannadylin]

Friends and Monsters

OKAY SO @queen-scribbles I’m still working on Lenn and Anselm who might actually manage to be concise with their memories here, but Lottie’s kind of got a little out of control and by that I mean you get a ficlet, which is apparently what happens when I attempt to answer OC asks after two months of no writing? ;-D So I’m gonna go ahead and post it independently!

21. A memory of the first time they did an activity they love

They were old friends long before she understood how to put them together in new combinations, how to decipher their secrets on her own, the letters on the pages. She didn’t know yet what to call each of them on its own, but repetition breeds familiarity, and by the time she was two she could point to perhaps one in four words on the pages of her favorite books and echo what she’d heard Mama, or Papa, or sometimes Violy when their parents were busy with so many other little ones, say as they sat down to read that page to her. Mama always read every part in different, funny voices, sometimes even singing out some of the lines, making little Lottie laugh. Papa read with less energy and less volume, his voice as steady and gentle as his arms around each of the twins, somehow balancing the book on his lap between both of them. Lottie learned the words quickest when Violy took over reading to her little sister, though, for Violet, having only just finished her at-home learning herself and due to begin calpulli school that winter for the next part of her education, had a habit of trailing a finger along the rows of words, lined up on the page like the furrows in a field of rice, as she sounded out the words. So Lottie didn’t have to guess so much which cluster of letters made the word Violy was saying at any given moment, and she was quick to file every such clue away, only to echo them under her breath the next time someone read that book to her.

Which was frequent, for little Lottie, far more than her siblings, was forever pestering anyone and everyone to indulge her in a rereading. “Didn’t I just read that one to you yesterday?” her mother laughs now, as Lottie holds up a battered volume of Monsters of the Deadfire Archipelago.

“That’s the one I read her this morning, at any rate,” her father adds as he walks up with baby Eréndira in his arms. “Exotic tastes, for one so small. Lost interest in the children’s section of our library already, have you, dear?” He hands the baby off to Mama and bends to tuck a wayward tuft of Lottie’s hair back into its braid. “I swear, half the things she finds in there, I didn’t even know we owned.”

Mama opens the book, flips idly through some of the pages with one hand while jiggling the baby in the other (Lottie leans away from Papa’s efforts, strains to see if any of the words are the ones she’s looking for). “I think, actually, this is the one Adela gave her last month when Magda and Voltan were in town for the festival.”

“Oh, did she? That’s awfully nice of her.” Papa’s mouth quirks in the way that means he wants to laugh and thinks he ought not. “Also somewhat frightening, given that means there are two little ones in the clan with such exotic tastes. Adela being a wee bit older than this cousin of hers does not exempt her. Should we be worried you’re about to dash off to the Deadfire on an expedition, Lottie?”

She beams, eyes wide at the thought, already beginning to compile a list in the back of her head of the things she must see on such an expedition – but that brings her back to the immediate expedition, or at least errand, or anyway, the question to be resolved. “Papa,” she asks, “do the zulani snakes come from Deadfire?”

Her parents exchange a bewildered look (not the first in Lottie’s three years, nor will it be the last) at this glimpse into her thoughts. “Er, not to my knowledge,” Papa says. “And I would think, after reading this Monsters book to you so often in the last month, I would remember if it mentioned zulani snakes…”

Lottie purses her lips in determination and reaches to Mama for the book. “It called them something else. But Violy was reading me ’bout the animals in the Plains, from her book for school, and zulani do that thing, you know, they twist round something then they eat it.” She demonstrates this by twirling around several times, skirts swirling wide, clutching the book ever tighter with a squeal of giggling.

Her parents still look bewildered when she comes to a stop, momentarily dizzy. So she sits down and opens the book from Adi on her lap, flipping through in search of words she has only recently come to know. (She is three now: far more than one in four have become friends, recognized with delight in new sentences as she would be delighted to see her cousins or calpulli playmates or even her various siblings in some place where she never saw them before, and to find them still the same people though out of their proper place.)

It still takes her some time to find it, for the book did not use the name zulani, even if she knew (she does not, yet) what form that sound would take on a page. But Violet’s book used other, less particular words for the creatures too, and she took note of their shapes: snake, serpent. There it is! She thrusts a finger at the rice-furrow where Winding Serpent grows. She says that part out loud, and Papa’s eyes widen as he crouches beside her to see it. She doesn’t recognize all of the words following after that part; seldom have her narrators read this far in this book, and Deadfire serpents appear to attract to themselves many words she has not yet met in other, safer rice-furrows. Well, they are Monsters, after all, so that seems proper.

But she presses on and fits together this much, slowly reading aloud the bits she can: “…shoot up out of the…the…”

“Ocean,” Papa supplies, and she flies on, not before adding that one to her growing collection of word-friends.

“…landing on the deck, coi…coiling and…winding their way a…around, snapping up any crew…” Lottie pauses. This one is an odd friend, for she’s heard them read it enough that she could make the sounds to go with that bunch of letters on the page, but, “Papa? What’s crew?”

“Dawnstars preserve us,” Mama mutters, still jiggling the baby, “when did she learn to read?”

Papa glances between the two of them and diplomatically opts to answer his wife first, or at least to respond, for what answer to that mystery could he know? “Explains her recent selections from the library, at any rate. Or maybe it’s the other way around?” He proceeds to Lottie’s question. “Crew are the kith working on the boat, dear. The sailors and such.”

She takes this in with eyes and mouth wide and round. “Ohhhh,” she sighs with tiny disappointment. “I thought it was some animal I hadn’t heard of before.”

Papa chuckles. “Not to worry, my curious one. There are yet plenty of those to discover, especially since it seems that no book in the library shall be safe henceforth.”

She briefly wonders what henceforth looks like on a page, but does not think it would be on this page of Monsters, so she returns to the question that sent her to this book in the first place. “I think it’s the same, though? Winding Serpent, it’s just like the zulani?”

“Oh,” Papa says, adjusting his spectacles so that she is not sure if she imagines the gleam in his eyes or if that’s just the light flashing off the glass. “Because they both constrict their prey.”

“Constrict?” She glances back to the book, wondering how that one looks on the page, because it seems likelier to be in this passage than henceforth, since Papa is actually talking about the snakes now.

“That twisty bit,” he grins, twirling a hand in imitation of her demonstration earlier. “Winding and coiling around, yes, and then they do indeed eat it.”

She brightens. “So they are from Deadfire!”

“Hm. I suppose there could be some common ancestry. Not quite the same creature, though, Lottie. For one, zulani are much smaller than these Deadfire sea serpents must be. I’ve never heard of an orlan attacked by one, at any rate. Mostly they go for rabbits and things. So don’t you worry about zulani coming after you, my wee clever girl.”

She blinks at him in surprise, ears flicking forward. “I wasn’t worried,” says Lottie. “Just curious.”

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

A/N: Thanks so much for the patience guys! I was knocked out for most of the day, just trying to recover from that post-convention exhaustion LOL 

If you missed my little apology ficlet though, check it out here!

Also, it’s a wee bit nsfw just at the end of this chapter. Jetlag!Claire is just so perfect for pillow talk chapters, amirite?

Claire’s finally back on Scotland time, Jamie’s dreams are blurring into reality, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Thirteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Fourteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] Part Fifteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Sixteen: [Chapter 1]

Part Sixteen: Happy Returns | Chapter 2

His dreams were getting ahead of him.

In that blurry space just before consciousness, he was lying in bed, in some nondescript room, unknown to him cognitively, but with that odd sense of expected familiarity only found in dreams.

He knew this place, or he would.

And, whether awake or not, he felt Claire stir in his arms, shifting herself closer to him.

The room melted away like a stone thrown into pond reflection and he cracked his eyes open against the light filtering in.

Claire was still there, in his arms like she always was, but the room was distinctly Lallybroch.

She was stirring awake too, further blurring the line between his dreams and reality.

Which, he supposed, is what happened when your reality was quite literally the stuff of your dreams.

He could barely remember the time before he and Claire started dating, as long ago as it was. But he remembered every dream because, frankly, they hadn’t changed.

Waking up in Lallybroch with Claire curled up beside him. The only – staggering – difference was that it was all real, she was real and there with him.

Christ, over half a year with her and he was still utterly astounded that it was actually happening.

“I can hear your brain from here,” she mumbled into the pillow and he chuckled, seamlessly easing back to the present as he – just as seamlessly – pulled her closer to him and peppered her neck with kisses.

“Mornin’,” he rumbled.

She hummed, turning to him and, with eyes still closed, pursing her lips for a kiss.

“Good morning,” she said, slowly revealing that perfect shade of whisky. “What have you got planned today?”

“Nothin’, just you, mo chridhe,” he said, rubbing his nose into her cheek. “Did ye sleep through the whole night?”

“I did, indeed.” Her smile widened, naturally enticing his too. He kissed her again.

“Welcome back to our time.”

“Hmph, ‘our time’,” she chuckled, ending on a sigh. “You know what that means, though. I’ve got to clear out my room on campus this week, and sort out all of my classes.”

Jamie stretched his legs out slowly under him, groaning contently as he readjusted his hold on her.

“What is happening with yer classes anyway? You and Joe were supposed to graduate this year, no?”

“Well…” She blew some hair from her face as she turned in his arms, melting into his chest. “Considering all the courses I was supposed to take were in the winter semester, I’ll have to make them up then, which leaves me all of fall semester to study for medical school.”

“Fall semester,” he chirped, “that’s a year since we first met, aye? And, hang on—”

“Hmm?”

“Does that no’ mean ye’ll graduate—”

“With you, yes,” she said, not even trying to contain her smile. “Not in the same ceremony, of course, but—mmph!”

He wasn’t trying to contain his joy either. Lips on hers and arms coiling around her waist as he rolled her onto her back, shared giggles floating up to the ceiling.

Somewhere between her half-hearted attempts at “stop” as he nuzzled her neck, she tugged the shorter hair at his nape and he looked up at her.

“It’s a little ways away,” she started, “but I wanted to know if—maybe—you’ll be staying in the dormitories again next year?”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Havena given it a thought just yet, no,” he laughed. “Though, I wouldna be surprised if John needs an extended break from my sorry self after all I put him through.”

“But, does that mean—I mean, are you…?”

His fingers pressed into her.

“Out with it, woman.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, some odd mix of excitement and trepidation swirling through her features, as if she didn’t already know she could tell him any and everything.

“Well, I was just thinking, if you haven’t settled on a campus room yet, and since we’ll have another semester together—maybe you’d like to stay at Uncle Lamb’s estate—with me—during the school year…? It’s a longer commute, but closer to campus than Lallybroch and—and stop smiling at me and let me finish, damn you!”

“Are ye asking me to move in with you, mo nighean donn?” He was smiling, grin getting wider and wider as she stumbled over her words.

“The housekeepers comes once a month and his old colleagues usually rent it out during the school year, but since I have the semester off, I figured we could use the space—if you’d like.”

“A whole house just for us?”

He turned his chin up, considering.

Imagining.

Coming home after class to find her studying at the dining table and getting lost in the way she swept her curls from her neck as she leaned into her book. Lazing around empty rooms on quiet Saturday mornings, just like today, and loving her slowly, leisurely, with no one around to hear or interrupt.

“I can tell one part of you agrees,” she said, rolling both her eyes and her hips between them.

“There’d be plenty of room, aye?” He bent his head and sunk his teeth into the soft skin behind her ear. “No one around but us?”

She practically purred as he pressed her into the mattress.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Emphatically,” he growled, taking her mouth once again and swallowing her moan as his hands slipped under her gown.

“Summer with ye, and then living together when school comes around—ah!” Her hand found the heat of him and his head fell into the crook of her neck.

“Will the blessings never stop?” he said into her skin, grinding his hips against hers.

“I think we deserve it after the last few months.” She hooked her leg around his hip – the leg that had caused most of their troubles in the first place – and eagerly answered the motion of his hips.

He agreed, of course, and he showed her just how much. Over and over again, like so many times before, but with the promise of times to come, times alone, times to look forward to.

And in his post-bliss daze he saw the room from his dreams again and knew, without a doubt, he was seeing their future.

Read Chapter 3

[thiscrimsonsoul]

A Witch and a Leafling

This is a wee ficlet between my muses Wanda Maximoff ( @thiscrimsonsoul ) and my fandomless leafling OC, Jix, ( @xleafyheartx ). Both are available for threads, if anyone is interested. Just shoot me a message!

The diminutive leafling crawled through the ventilation duct, all smiles, wondering where it led. Oh, sure, he’d been advised by Tony Stark not to go crawling around through the inner workings of the Avengers facility lest he get hurt or stuck somewhere, but Jix was much too curious and adventurous to pay the human’s advice any mind. Taking care not to snag any of his branches, he crawled along on his hands and roots, his beady eyes wide open with wonder. “Ooooh, is so dark and shiny in here. So many places for Jix to explore. Is exciting. Voice is doing the echoes. Having all the funs,” he murmured to himself, his tiny voice indeed echoing through the vent.

When he came to a little grate, he frowned, peering through it. “Hmm… what is in here? Is secret place?” He pushed on the grate but it would not move. “Have to push hard. Have to curl roots around the metal things and push. Puuuuuuush!” His efforts proved fruitful, but that meant the grating fell into the room, and him along with it. “Waaaaahhhhhhh!” he cried out as he fell, landing square on his backside. “Ohhh…” he groaned, feeling up where his branches and leaves were. Nothing hurt, except his backside of course, so it appeared he was fine.

Wanda heard the grate fall with a loud clang! and shot up in bed whirling around to seek out the cause of the sound. Seeing the vent cover lying on the floor and something moving beside it, her eyes widened. “What the hell is that…?” she whispered to herself, not expecting the creature – insect? plant? – to answer her.

When he heard someone speak, he looked up and was immediately offended by her choice of words. His hands curled to rest on what might have been hips, were he human. “Hey-heeeeey! Am not hell! Am leafling!” he protested from way down on the floor carefully standing up to his full twelve inches of height including all his branches and leaves. “If is not good time, can say, ‘not right now, Jix.’ Do not have to say Jix comes from hell. Is rude!”

Wanda’s eyes widened with startled incredulity. “I… I’m sorry…? I-I didn’t realize you could talk…” Her brow furrowed sharply as she struggled to understand what she was looking at.

“Is okay. Apolly-gee accepted. Let’s start again, yes-yes? Hi-hi! My name is Jix. Am not putting best roots forward here, I know, but… was exploring the vents and fell down. Landed on butt. It hurt.”

“Oh,” Wanda said sympathetically, looking up at the vent opening. It was a fairly long fall for such a tiny creature. “Are you okay?” she asked, getting up from the bed and walking to the little creature, crouching beside him. Goodness, he’s cute. “My name is Wanda,” she said, smiling.

“Am pleased to meet, Wan-da! Yes-yes, am okay. Ego bruised more than butt. Is always true for Jix. Bad at climbing. Fall a lot. Need more practice,” he admitted, rubbing his backside, but then he smiled up at her. “Hi-hi…” he said again, much softer this time, for he noticed how red and puffy her eyes were. “Are having bad day? You fall down too? Jix used to cry years ago when I was sapling but now I don’t. Am tough. Bruised butt is no problem for Jix,” he said proudly.

Wanda was a little surprised that this tiny creature noticed that she’d been crying. That was more perceptive than she would have thought such a tiny being would be capable of, but then she supposed she shouldn’t judge. She’d never seen anything quite like him before. “No, I… I didn’t fall. It’s okay, it’s… not your problem,” she said, standing up and moving to sit on the bed. To her surprise, the leafling followed, jumping up to grab hold of the blankets and climb them until he was sitting beside her.

“Ohhh, you have problems? Is okay. You tell Jix. Talking with friends makes the problems go away,” he said with an innocent smile, idly kicking his long roots over the side of the bed.

“Um….” Wanda said shyly, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, my problems aren’t fixable, Jix.” Was… was she actually being counseled by a tiny plant creature?

“No-no?” he asked, his smile fading and his beady, black eyes blinking a few times. “Can still tell Jix. Will try to help.”

“I… don’t… want to upset you or anything… I’ve never even met one of your kind before, so I don’t know… how, um…” she stammered, not quite sure how to relate to him.

“Ohhh, you think Jix is sapling because am so small. Nope! Jix is adult! Just turned twenty-six in Febby-wary. Tell Jix all the problems,” the leafing insisted, reaching out to pat her knee.

His little pats with his tiny twig-like fingers made her smile. “You’re twenty-six?” Wanda asked, completely taken aback by that. “You’re older than I am.”

“Wooooow…!” Jix giggled. “Is funny because Wan-da is so big and Jix is so small,” he said. “Come on, tell problems to old grandleafy Jix,” he joked.

“Okay… well…. I recently lost my brother,” Wanda said. “And… we were very close… and I miss him a lot.”

“You lost brother? Can not find?” Jix asked.

“No, not… he’s not that kind of lost…” Wanda said, but she didn’t want to explain any further.

Jix waited for her to keep talking, but when she did not, his little mind filled in the blanks. “WAHHHHHH! Oh noooooooo! Brother went to big forest in sky?!”

“Something like that, yes,” Wanda said.

“Oh noooo… What happened?” Jix asked, truly sorry.

“It’s a really long story…” And one she didn’t have the strength to tell in full at the moment.

“Hmm… is not fixable problem. Wan-da was right,” Jix whispered, still kicking his roots, albeit slower now. After a moment, he looked up at her again. “Jix is one of seventeen saplings.”

“You have seventeen brothers and sisters?!” Wanda asked.

“Yes-yes! Leaflings have big families. Fifteen to twenty at one time. Anyway, was only close with one. My sister Ki-mi! Jix and Ki-mi did all the things together. Aaaallll the things. But… then, one day, decided we needed to find own paths in great big forest of world, you know? Said the goodbyes and went own ways. Have not seen Ki-mi since. For all I know, could be lost like Wan-da’s brother or not. May never know. May never see again.”

“I’m sorry. That’s so sad,” Wanda said. She was beginning to think that this tiny creature really did understand how she felt. He seemed so human-like in his intelligence, and wise for his size and age. After all that she had seen recently, Wanda thought that nothing should surprise her anymore.

“Point is… Jix had many happy years with sister Ki-mi. When sad, I think of the fun things, the silly things, the happy things. Thinking about never seeing Ki-mi again is not good for Jix. Can not change. I do the cries and get de-hydra-uh…. dehydradat- no… um… Jix needs all water. Wan-da have good times with brother? Then think of those! Push self to smile, and after while, self will smile on own.”

“I know…” Wanda said, but she looked and felt unconvinced. “It’s just not that easy, Jix.”

“Is hard, Jix knows. But… have to try. Is okay to be sad and do the cries, but… if Wan-da has the sads for too long, sads will change her. Is not good. Remember pos-i-tive things about brother and push away the sad stuff. Yes-yes? Is making sense? English is not Jix’s first langy-widge.”

“Really? It’s not mine either,” Wanda said smiling a little.

“What Wan-da speaks beside English?” Jix asked with immense curiosity, his roots kicking a little more.

“I speak a few languages, but my native tongue is a Romani dialect,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Is old form of Gaelic. Is what fae speak. Jix is tree fae. Look like tree but am not tree. Am tiny tree person,” he said, smiling brightly. Branches and leaves and roots are like the plants, but... inside Jix... is tiny skelly-ton and tiny heart and tiny lungs. All the tiny things that people have.”

That... was amazing! He really was like a little tree person. “How did you get here, Jix?” she asked, wondering why she had never seen a leafling before in her life. “Are you from earth?”

“Yes-yes, am from earth. From biiiiig forest. Well… used to be big. Forest was cut down by mean humans. Got scared. Had to hide to keep self safe, but… got bumped on head! When Jix woke up, was in dark place with no light and could not escape! When dark place was opened, Jix jumped out and scared all the humans. Did not mean to scare, but… was scared too! Just trying to get back to forest! Was whole big thing. Such a mess! Humans grabbed Jix and put in cage and asked if I was en-hanced. Don’t know what that means, but then Jix was sent here. Big human with metal clothes let Jix out of cage.”

“A big human... with metal clothes?” Wanda asked. “Vision?”

“Hmm…? No-no. Jix’s eyesight is fine, thank-thank. Said name was Tony,” he replied.

“Oh. Tony Stark,” Wanda said, nodding and chuckling at Jix’s misunderstanding of Vision’s name.

“Yes-yes! Said Jix could stay here. Should stay here. Because… forest is all gone now,” Jix said, looking sad for a moment. He sighed. “Home is gone.”

“My home is gone too, Jix. And I know what it’s like to be kept in a cage,” Wanda shared.

Jix looked up at her, his tiny eyes blinking as he considered her words. That was sad, if she had the same things happen to her. It only made Jix even more determined to cheer her up.

“But this is our home now, and we’re not in cages anymore,” Wanda said to him with a smile. “So that’s something to be happy about, right?”

“Yes-yes,” Jix said, smiling back and nodding. “Can be friends and talk about lost siblings together?”

Wanda chuckled lightly. “Sure, why not?”

“Yay! Jix made a new friend! But… Wan-da have some water? Jix has the thirsties…” he asked, looking up at her hopefully. “Have them so bad.”

“Of course,” Wanda said, getting up to go to the kitchen area while Jix tried to climb down off the bed. He got halfway down and was left dangling with his roots flailing. “Do you need some help?”

“Yes please. Jix might fall again…” he said, waiting for her to put her hands underneath his roots before he let go of the comforter. His roots curled around her fingers to steady himself. “Thank-thank!” he said, but then he looked down at her hands. “Why Wan-da have metal braces on fingers? Broke fingers somehow? Ouchies.”

“Braces…? Oh, my rings? They’re just decoration. They’re part of how I express myself,” she explained, carrying him to the kitchen counter and letting him step down onto it while she got him a bowl of water.

“Ex-priss?” Jix asked, his tiny face scrunching up in confusion. “What means?”

“Um… it’s how you show off your personality. What you like, what makes you happy, things like that. That’s how you express yourself personally. How do you express yourself, Jix?”

“Wahhh…” Jix sighed, thinking for a moment. “Don’t know! Have never thought of before. Have things that make Jix happy, but… do not wear them on self.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda said, putting a bowl of water next to Jix. “Anything you enjoy that’s special to you.”

“Thank-thank for water,” he said, bending over and practically dunking his face into it as the leaves on his branches fluttered around. “Ahhhh… is good,” he said, but then he stepped into the bowl, wetting his roots. “Roots will do rest so Jix can talk to Wan-da. Well… Jix loves sunny-shine and friends and tasty littles!”

“Tasty littles?” Wanda asked, leaning her elbows on the counter. “What are those?”

“Are pretty, colorful, tiny sweet things. Sometimes sour. Strawlittles are Jix’s favorite!” the leafling explained.

“Oh, fruit? Are you talking about fruit? Like apples and oranges and things like that?” she asked.

“Yes-yes! Are big-littles, though. Applies and orangies and greatfruits and peachies and mah-may-toes... Are bigger than littles. Is okay. Jix likes those too. But… littles are favorites.”

“Little fruits… Berries?” she asked, finding his strange way of talking rather adorable.

“Yes-yes! Is weird word, though. Why humans names things that do not tell what the things are? What are bewwies? What does bewwies tell Jix about the tasty littles? Nothing!” He threw up his thin arms for emphasis. “Are little. Are tasty. So call tasty littles! Is done. Can move on to other things. But no-no, humans have to think of whole new name for the littles. Why humans have to mess around with words that are not the things? Can explain to Jix?”

Wanda giggled at him, unable to not be at least a little bit cheered up by the leafling’s animated and odd way of speaking. “Well… I guess it’s because we want to be specific about things. If I call all berries tasty littles, then how do you know whether I’m talking about strawberries or blueberries?”

“Can look,” Jix said, shrugging. “Strawlittles are red, bluelittles are blue. Is easy to tell difference. Both are tasty.” He grinned.

“But what if you can’t see them?” Wanda asked.

“Invisible littles?!” Jix asked, his eyes growing as wide as they possibly could. “Wan-da do that using the magics?!”

Wanda laughed again. “No, Jix… I’m saying what if they’re nearby but you just can’t see them? For example… I have some berries in my refrigerator right now.” She patted it behind her. “I guess you could call them tasty littles. So what kind are they? If you guess right, I’ll let you have some.”

“Ohhh… ohhhhhhh Jix wants the littles. How to know if in fridgy-eater? Jix can not see!” he said, fretting with his hands.

“That’s the point. That’s why humans need more specific names for thing. I’m still waiting for you guess…” she said playfully.

“Hmm… Is tough for Jix,” he said, staring at the refrigerator – he knew it was a big, cold box with food inside, for he had seen others rummaging through one on plenty of occasions – as if simply staring at it would somehow tell him the answer. “Would not mention the strawlittles and bluelittles if ones were those. Want to throw Jix off. Must be something else… like rasplittles. Unleeeess… Wan-da knew Jix would think that, and it really is strawlittles or bluelittles in fridgy-eater. Oooooh is puzzle too hard for Jix...”

He was trying so hard to guess and she couldn’t stop smiling. For the moment, she had forgotten her sadness, and that was worth its weight in gold to her. She would have to find a way of thanking Jix, but she had a feeling he would like what she had in the refrigerator anyway. And of course she was going to let him have it no matter what he guessed.

“Okay. Is time to make the guesses. Jix will guess strawlittles, because… are favorites and if are in fridgy-eater, do not want to miss out. If miss out on other types of littles, is okay,” he said definitively.

Wanda went to the refrigerator and pulled out a slice of cake. “You’re right!” she said, putting it down in front of him. “This is strawberry shortcake. I stole it from the common kitchen.” Taking out a knife and another plate, she scraped off some the strawberries on top and cut a sliver of cake for Jix, pushing it closer to him. She then got a fork for herself.

“Waaaahhhhh! Guessed right! Jix is genius!” he exclaimed. “Such beautiful strawlittles… And Jix loves cake too. Am learning that I like many sweet things humans make with littles. Is good.” He grabbed one of the strawberries and took a big bite out of it. “Mmmmmm!” he hummed. “Mmmumumum…” His eyes closed in contentment as he chewed. Once he had finished that mouthful, he reached for some of the cake. “Is sooooo good. Is time for cake now,” he said, grabbing a handful of it. “Thank-thank for sharing cake and tasty littles with Jix, Wan-da!”

“You’re very welcome, Jix,” she said, starting on the rest of the cake herself. “Thank you for the pleasant distraction from my thoughts.”

“Not bad for falling out of vent and onto butt, yes-yes?” Jix asked, winking at her.

“Not bad at all,” Wanda agreed.

[booai]

Erratic (Felam ficlet)

It had been two weeks now.  They had reached Vivec city last night past midnight and passed out in the comfort of the moderately soft inn beds. Elam breathed in the salty breeze of the ocean before him. It was a brilliant and sultry morning of late summer. The faint smells from the fish market, the lively chatter of the town, it all made his head feel oddly light although his heart was torn asunder.

Fen had agreed to come with him. He had hesitated to ask, hesitated about many things. Oh, what a wonderful two weeks they had had indeed. Taking it all for granted is what he hesitated about.  

Elam had never planned to stay in Molag Mar that long.  His plans had been thrown out the window about day and a half after meeting the other dunmer. After collecting up his courage to knock on the door on the second night he got to know him. After a fortnight of deepening that knowledge in ways he had never quite explored or known possible before.  

And now he shuddered in self-doubt, leaning onto the railing of the canton, sun bright and askew above his head. What was he afraid of even? There was no promise, no expectation. He had simply suggested, and Fen had agreed.

To travel together. On his research journey.  A journey with no clear goal or destination in sight. That fact he had forgotten to mention to Fen. Not that he had even questioned it. Why hadn’t he questioned it?  

Elam sighed shakily, clenching his fists together before him on the railing. What if Fen thought he had only asked him to join him on the journey to Vivec? He cursed silently. Cursed his own awkwardness and ability to bungle up even the simplest things.  

He turned around, looking around for anything to distract him from his dreadful thoughts. Guards and canton tenants passed him, without even a glance. Acolytes paced back and forth around the Temple Compound, ever so diligent in their tasks. Even if his eyes would have found something, his mind and heart were completely occupied with something else.  

In his chest, there was a burn that made him anxious and fidgety. He had felt it for while now. Usually he could sit down and focus on a book for hours uninterrupted. Delving deep into the teachings in the texts made him feel pure and uncontained joy – but this thing, whatever it was, made it impossible for him to concentrate. Or to have clear thoughts.  

He breathed in and swallowed another curse. It was fine. All he had to do was ask Fen again, confirm that they had indeed had the same thought. It would be all solved with a simple conversation. Why he dreaded it so?  

This is what he hated – feeling entirely frustrated and foolish at the same time. There was absolutely no reason he should be this worked up about the situation. Elam straightened himself up and started stepping down the walkway.  There was no way around it, the problem, only the way straight at it.  

With determination he made his feet move toward the crafters market. Fen had left the room early, mentioning some business he had to take care of there. They had promised to meet around. The thoughts took over Elam again. Maybe he had indeed only agreed to come to Vivec under the guise of that business, whatever it was.  

There was a lump in his throat and the hectic rhythm of his heart matched his rigid steps.  A wave of gloominess washed over him suddenly. It made him slow down his walk. Was he prepared to hear an answer he didn’t wish to hear? He pursed his lips.  

Having reached his destination, Elam glanced around the market in search of a white head of hair.  They should have agreed on a time, the market was as busy as any trading center on a weekday morning.  Just as it was starting to feel like an impossible task, he spotted Fen. He was deep in barter with a grocer, only a few stalls away from Elam.  

He looked at Fen. His long locks of hair, his tall frame and proud, unsullied face. He thought of his gentle hands and playful mouth, his strong arms and warm chest. He thought of those countless silly things he had whispered into his ear at wee hours. How secure and good it had felt to tangle his fingers into his own for the night. He looked at him and his heart ached.

And then he thought – how could he possibly let go of something that had consumed him this completely?  

He wasn’t prepared, and he wouldn’t let it happen. Almost shaking, Elam stepped into his line of sight.  

Looking up exactly at the right time, Fen saw him and smiled. He finished the trade with the merchant and wobbled toward Elam with his arms full of things.  

“There you are. Didn’t run away yet, I see.” he said while walking up to Elam, who suddenly felt frozen in the spot. He tried to smile up to Fen, as naturally as possible.  “I went to find Maeri in the Refugee, but she wasn’t there.” the white-haired mer explained, still fumbling with the pile of apples he had just bought.  

“Said she’s been gone for days. So I had to leave a letter, and it took me a while to come up with enough insults to fill the paper.” Fen guffawed and kneeled down and resumed to stuff all of his purchases into one bag. It all fit, expect for one apple that he flipped in the air, caught and bit down on ravenously.

“Maeri?” Elam asked faintly, squeezing his hands together hard behind his back. Keeping his eye on the apple rather than the other mer.  

“Yesh.” Fen said, mouth full, in between bites. “Y’know. The one who owns the... shack. In Molag Mar.” he frowned for a second. “Now that I think about it, I don’t actually know if she owns it or anythin’.”

People passed by them, left and right, but Elam felt isolated and suffocated at the same time. He breathed out shakily, anxious to blurt the question out. The other mer was too occupied on his own to notice his nervousness.  

“So... she wants it back, or?” he asked, not really concerned with the shack at all.  

Fen looked up to him, biting the apple. “Well, I hope not, after what we did with the place.” he chortled with amusement.  Elam let out a feeble laugh. Fen stood up, flinging the bag over his shoulder, adjusting to its weight, but then let it fall to the ground again. He was watching Elam now, observantly.

“No, but I told her that it will be vacant again from now on. Seemed like the polite thing to do.” he shrugged, tossed the gnawed apple core over his shoulder and looked the shorter mer straight into his eyes.  

Elam’s heart thudded empty in his chest for a few beats. Then he inhaled-

“Y-you did? I mean- You want-” he jolted forward, in haze of over-exhilaration, grabbing the front of Fen’s vest in his fists. He let go a second later, and leaned away. Blushing, fumbling. “I m-mean...”  

“Want to what? Join you on your trip?” Fen filled in, lifting his brow amusedly. “I said yes, didn’t I? Isn’t it why we’re here together?”

“Yes. Yes, quite... right.” Elam fidgeted some more. “I just... wasn’t sure. Sure you had thought what I had thought, about journeying around and...”  

Fen cupped his face patiently. Elam felt his face was red hot under his cooler palms. The gesture should have calmed him, since he could no longer fidget in the spot, but instead it made his heart race even faster.  

“You have too many thoughts.” Fen said, now quite close to his face. “I’ve had some good times with you. I’m not about to let them end anytime soon.” he smiled and placed a soft, slow kiss on Elam’s lips. Elam instinctively brought his hands up to the ones holding his face. He was about to explode in the sweetness of it all.  

Fen leaned back, let go and slid his arms to pull Elam snug against his chest. Elam sighed in defeat and wrapped his own arms around Fen, only a little cautiously. He then proceeded to exhale exaggeratedly.  

Extensive blush was still covering his face. He was embarrassed and relieved. There, in the middle of a crowded marketplace, in the embrace of Fen, he felt so stupidly lucky to have it all. To have it all ahead of him and them. He wanted desperately to learn how the other mer felt, too.

“You have dumb thoughts! You are having them right now. I will squeeze until they pop out of your brain.” Fen squeezed Elam playfully until he complained. Then they detached and smiled at each other.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’m a fool. No more over-thinking. I’m just going to... let it be. ”

“You are forgiven, for being an adorable fool.” Fen smirked.

“But seriously,” he continued “let’s get going soon. I hate this place, I feel like the two-colored baldy is stalking my every move. ” 

Elam shook his head and chuckled, ignoring his casual blasphemy. “I need to see if I can find some books I need in the library.” He looked back at the cantons. Their stone shined like dull bronze in the direct sunlight.

“Remember, we can’t eat books. I bought some supplies and food for the road.” Fen squatted down and patted the grocery bag on the ground. “Some drinks too, of course.”

“Good... then I’ll go now, to the library. Meet you at the inn?”

“I’ll meet you alright.”  

----

@siiliprinssi ‘s Elam & my sweetie Fen being dumb...... there might be many more parts... or then not :^)

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Devil is in the Details

Chapter 9 of the Fíli-Ficlets, a series of vignettes all about Fíli!

Fili and Kili try to do something special for Dis

Art by Mintnatt on DeviantArt!

It was ultimately Balin’s fault, Fíli thought.

Standing in the epicentre of destruction, he followed the chain of events in his head, and it was definitely Balin’s fault.

Earlier that week…

“Amad says there’s a celebration of Amads in her Amad’s old Mountain,” Gimli proclaimed, during their break from Balin’s lesson on the Orocarni, which Fíli had found somewhat interesting, and Kíli had mostly slept through. Gimli had his lessons with Balin’s younger apprentice, Ori, learning his letters, but he joined his cousins for break time and caught the tail end of Kíli’s moaning about the customs of the Orocarni.

“A celebration of Amads?” Kíli asked, interrupted in his rant; a habit clearly passed down from Thorin’s side of the family, though Fíli didn’t bother to listen to more than half of it. He had surmised Kíli’s current frustrations regarded their tutor’s long monologue about the importance of astronomy – specifically the Moon – in Orocarni customs in combination with Balin’s insistence that Princes ought to remember these kinds of fact for future diplomatic relations. Fíli was not quite convinced that held true for Princes in Exile in Ered Luin; the only Orocarnul Dwarf he knew was Irak’amad Vár, and she was just the daughter of an Orocarni Dwarf who’d ran off to marry a miner from Ered Luin. Vár’s amad had never cared to observe any of her family’s customs, however, as far as Fíli knew, but when he had told Balin that piece of information, the Uzugbad had made him stand in the corner for five minutes for cheek. Sometimes, Balin was mean.

“It’s called Nurt Amadu,” Gimli replied, the smugness of knowing something his older – and somewhat idolized, Fíli had to admit – cousins did not clear in his voice and his tiny face shiny with poorly hidden glee. Fíli – considering himself the wiser, older cousin – pretended to ignore the smugness, though Kíli scowled. Fíli elbowed him swiftly, making Kíli yelp and shift the target of his glare. Wee ‘Gimmers’ – Fíli had called him that as a pebble and the name had stuck as an inside joke between the brothers – looked a little perturbed, but when Fíli smiled at him, he continued bravely in the face of his other cousin’s displeasure. “Amad says you’re supposed to do nice things for your Amad and Irak’amad and Sigin’amad on Nurt Amadu to show them that you ‘preciate all the things they do for you on other days. She says it should be a thing here, then she wouldn’t have to cook for a full day… but I don’t really want it to, because Adad makes all weird food.” Gimli added the last as an afterthought, though Fíli silently had to agree. Having been subjected to Glóin’s cooking before – rock cakes were not actually meant to be made of rocks, he was sure – Fíli then spent several minutes on horrified imagining of the situation in their own home if neither Amad nor Amadel were allowed to do the cooking… he hoped Dwalin would be home if this celebration ever happened in Ered Luin. Uncle Thorin had managed to burn water. Amad said so, the last time she shooed him out of the kitchen, and Fíli didn’t doubt Dís’ truthfulness on the matter; Dwalin had simply laughed his booming laugh and pulled Thorin’s temple braid, which made Uncle Thorin scowl at him and wonder why Dwalin wasn’t leaping at the chance to defend his Prince’s honour. Dwalin had laughed harder at that, though Fíli hadn’t heard whatever he replied that had made Uncle Thorin look all funny and storm outside.

“We should do that!” Kíli exclaimed, his earlier annoyance forgotten in its entirety. Fíli was startled out of considering whether Thorin was worse than Glóin at cooking, and felt a foreboding sense of trepidation at the sight of Kíli’s bright smile.

“Do what?” he asked, having missed his cousins’ actual conversation in full being lost in increasingly terrifying visions of Thorin and Glóin challenging each other to baking and cooking competitions.

“Nurt Amadu, Fee, weren’t you listening?” Kíli bounced on the balls of his feet. Fíli knew it was only a matter of time before he’d begin poking his arm too and sighed. “C’mon, let’s ask Balin! I think it’s more fun than whatever moon-related feast he was going to be going on about next!” dashing off – Kíli never did walk if he could do anything but – the younger Prince of Durin’s Line left his older brother shaking his head with an indulgent smile on his face and his tiny cousin waving a somewhat ink-stained fist after him. Fíli kindly steered the younger dwarfling back to his lesson, before running off after Kíli’s disappearing dark locks himself.

 “Yes, Kíli, Nurt Amadu is indeed an Orocarni celebration of Amads,” Balin was saying when Fíli re-entered the study where he lectured them about the long history of their race – with emphasis on Durin’s Line, as was proper, of course, for the Heirs of Thorin Oakenshield, Prince of Erebor. “However, it has never been formally recognized by the other six Clans, and is exclusively a Blacklock celebration in the Orocarni as a whole as far as I know.”

“That’s daft,” Kíli rebuffed Balin’s attempt – it was a poor effort in Fíli’s opinion, and Balin should have known better – at dissuading him, “Longbeards and Firebeards and all the other Clans also have Amads. We should all be doing nice things for them!” Fíli couldn’t argue with that point, and neither – it seemed – could Balin, who gave Kíli one of those sighs that meant he would argue but couldn’t see the point and thus he’d give in and maybe complain to Uncle later. Fíli winced at the thought, but Kíli breezed right past Balin’s unvoiced admonition, probably not even noticing it, to be fair. “Gimmers said we should cook instead of Amad, but should we also do other things?” Again, Balin sighed. Fíli added his own gaze to the persuasive power of Kíli’s hazel eyes – which always seemed to work better than Fíli’s at getting him out of trouble, to the elder brother’s constant vexation. Balin crumpled before the unstoppable onslaught.

“The celebration involves a number of things, Kíli.” Balin listed the items on his fingers, “Firstly, you should wake your Amad with a meal prepared from all her favourites. Then, you are supposed to give her a small card, perhaps decorated, with a poem or short note about how much she means to you. In some Blacklock families, the dwarflings will do all the chores usually done around the house by their Amad, and then you should cook dinner for the family.” Kíli nodded along with the list, and Fíli felt slightly uplifted. He was decent at drawing and more than passable at fancy letters, while Kíli had already learned how to make bread. They could clearly do the first parts of the day, with little trouble, even if doing chores was duller than sparring with Fat Hargo, who usually tripped over his own feet due to his large belly and cried when he got bruised. Fíli had often wondered why Hargo’s Adad paid for him to remain in Dwalin’s class, the lad clearly did not wish to learn. On the other hand, Fat Hargo was a brilliant baker, everyone thought so, and that gave Fíli an Idea. Normally, Ideas were Kíli’s specialty, but sometimes, Fíli’s brilliant mind came up with something so jaw-droppingly perfect that he had to implement it right away. With Hargo’s help, they could make Amad’s favourite cake! Cinnamon swirly cake! Fíli could almost taste the sweetness.

 Earlier that day…

“The bread is done!” Kíli said, gravely, making Fíli struggle to keep his composure. Uncle Thorin had sounded just like that during the last council meeting when the nobles once more tried to make him declare Sigin’adad Thraín dead and officially accept the mantle of King. They tried that once every three years or so, it seemed, but Uncle Thorin didn’t budge. Fíli didn’t know whether it was foolish or brave, considering Thorin was the only one who believed Thraín would return to the Folk of Durin. “Now we wait for it to cool a little.”

Raising his recently finished knife – he had used the occasion as an excuse to finish his newest creation with a partially serrated edge – Fíli cut into the still-warm loaf, a couple of thick slices landing on the plate Kíli had artistically drizzled with orange jam. A mug of weak cider and a cup of tea finished the tray; they had drawn lots to determine the privilege of serving, and Fíli had won ‘Afternoon Cake’, so Kíli picked up the tray carefully, walking determinedly out of the kitchen.

 Dís did a credible imitation of waking up when Kíli walked into her bedroom with his carefully balancing tray. Kíli’s attention was on his balancing act, trying to make sure the mugs didn’t spill, but Fíli noticed the hastily concealed paper she had been reading before he opened the door.

“What’s all this, lads?” Dís asked, far too alert for having just woken up in Fíli’s opinion.

“Happy Nurt Amadu!” they chorused, making her laugh. Kíli put the tray down with a flourish.

“It’s a Blacklock thing,” Fíli explained. Dís nodded. “Balin told us about it.”

“We’re supposed to do all your chores and cooking all day!” Kíli exclaimed. Dís chuckled, pulling him down to knock her forehead gently against his.

“Well, badgith[1], that sounds nice,” she smiled, making Kíli beam like a small sun.

 An hour earlier…

“Hargo said to whisk it,” Fíli said stubbornly. Between his hands, a large bowl of eggs was failing at turning white and frothy like Hargo had shown them earlier that week, borrowing a space in his uncle Kjalarr’s foodhall-kitchen to teach the young princes how to make their Amad’s favourite cake. Kíli hadn’t paid much attention, though Fíli had believed himself more than capable of mixing together the ingredients at the end of their lesson. Kíli had spent the time entertaining the mining crews who ate in Kjalarr’s Foodhall and spreading the word about Nurt Amadu. While it had seemed like a good idea at the time – and made several greybeards call them adorable, which both Fíli and Kíli had later agreed never happened – now Fíli wished they had prioritized differently.

“Maybe you’re whisking it wrong,” Kíli suggested, looking at the yellow gloop dubiously. Fíli silently had to agree that he had certainly done something wrong, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit as much in the face of Kíli’s earlier success with the bread. “Think we should ask Amadel?”

“No,” Fíli replied, though he really wished Frís would come through the kitchen doors and save them. “We’re supposed to do it ourselves, Balin said!”

Kíli conceded the point, nudging Fíli’s elbow companionably. “Maybe we should just add the flower and the cinnamon.”

“I still don’t know why we have to add a flower,” Fíli complained, staring at the small white one they’d found after three hours of scouring the surrounding mountain slopes.

“Cos it’s for a lady? Think Amad said the cake was invented by Men, lady-Men like flowers.” Kíli replied, but Fíli knew the confidence was faked; Kíli had no more idea about the necessity of the flower than he did. “I think Amadel usually pounds the cinnamon into powder first,” he added, just in time for Fíli to yank back the hand holding two pieces of fragrant rolled up bark.

“You do that, then, go find one of Uncle Thorin’s spare hammers.” Feeling better for re-establishing himself as the one in control of this venture, Fíli returned to his bowl. Hargo had given them some very finely milled white powder, and Fíli remembered him adding quite a lot of it. When he opened the bag, however, a cloud of white rose from the depths, giving him a clear view of what he would look like in 250 years. Fíli shuddered, trying to brush the whiteness off his clothes and into the bowl. Grabbing his spoon once more, he gave the gloop a vigorous stir.

“Found it!” Kíli exclaimed, holding Uncle Thorin’s largest hammer aloft in one hand. That turned out to be a miscalculation, when he slipped on some of the white stuff Fíli had covered the kitchen with and fell down with a yell. Shortly thereafter, he yelled once more, louder, as the massive hammer landed on his foot.

 The present:

“What in Mahal’s name is going on here?!” Dís cried out, staring aghast at the scene that met her eyes when she walked into her kitchen. Fíli looked like he’d lost a brawl with Time itself, covered in flour, which did explain some of the state of her kitchen floor.

“We were..” Kíli began, but Dís held up a hand for silence. Turning on her foot, she left the kitchen. The brothers stared at each other for a long moment of silence. Fíli sighed.

“I think… we should probably clean this up,” he muttered, Kíli nodded.

 “Thorin, you have to come see this!” Dís could hardly contain her laughter, pulling her brother away from the pile of paperwork he was attempting to get through. Thorin threw a final glance at the stack, but followed her with a shrug.

 Entering the kitchen, the Prince and Princess of Durin’s Folk shared an incredulous look, before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

Fíli was staring at what ought to have been a nice cake, brown in colour and decorated with ribbons of white frosting. It was brown, which was the best compliment Fíli could give the result of his labours. It was also burnt, harder than rock, lumpy, wonky, and part of it seemed to have exploded, which was the reason for the gloop slowly dripping from the hot stones of their oven. That description did not even begin to cover the rest of the kitchen, nor the two brothers, who were both streaked in white, making Kíli resemble a small badger, his dark hair turned grey when he ran flour covered fingers through the strands. Fíli was mostly covered in the stuff, looking like he had spent time in a very localized blizzard – the rest of the kitchen supported this theory, with flour dusting almost every horizontal surface. The laughter of the suddenly appearing parental figures did not make Fíli feel better about his current predicament.

“It’s all Balin’s fault!” Fíli blurted, panicking. Beside him, Kíli nodded vigorously.

“I think your Heir has inherited the cookery style common to the dwarrow of Durin’s Line,” Dís stage whispered at Thorin, who was startled into another involuntary chuckle as the two dwarflings stood frozen before them. Thorin scowled at his unrepentantly grinning sister, until the corners of his mouth began to turn up, becoming a fond smile. Just before Kíli’s large eyes would begin glistening, Dís pulled him into a one-armed hug, catching Fíli up in her embrace. Pressing a bristly kiss to each batter smudged cheek, she hugged her sons. “I appreciate that you tried to do something special for me, lads, it was kindly meant. I love you, my wee lads,” she whispered, wiping a single tear from Kíli’s cheek when he sniffled. Fíli remained stoically expressionless, though he couldn’t stop himself relaxing into almost boneless relief when Thorin joined the hug, wrapping his thick arms around all of them, his hum a wordless tune of comfort sinking into their bones.

“We are not angry, lads,” he promised solemnly. “Though you will be cleaning this mess up before Amadel returns!”

Fíli winced, feeling his Amad’s low chuckle reverberate through her chest and into his own. “Come on, my little kitchen-terrors,” she chuckled, “let’s get some water on. Kíli, go fetch a broom. Fíli, the cleaning rags. Thorin…” she looked up, smiling wryly at her scowling brother, “do see if you can get that… substance… off my ceiling.”

[1] Little dream (I totally headcanon that Dís would use terms of endearment a lot)

@life-is-righteous

[takemeawaytocamelot]

Master List Post

At the request of a few of you, I’ve made this Master List post. Full disclosure, I’m sure there’s a number of things on here that haven’t been updated or stories that are probably missing. If you find a link that doesn’t work, or you think a story is missing, please feel free to DM me or send me an ask. I don’t check the links often so I don’t know if they don’t work. I’ve tried to organize it as best I can, but as @outlandishchridhe knows very well, I’m a rubbish organizer. So. Hopefully this works.

It also seems I write a lot... So, I have to put some of this below a cut so it doesn’t bog down everyone’s dashes. Let me know if it doesn’t work.

Modern AU:

Furniture Shopping

“We’ve all seen too much!” (Or the One Where Wee Frasers Complained About Their Parent’s PDA’s)

“We’ve all seen too much!” Part 2

Strip Poker

Sweetness in Starlight

Honeymoon Movie Night

Unwedded Lodging

Tied Up

Bend it Like Beauchamp

Some Boudoir Photos

Tight Round Arse

Lovebites

Next To Her Heart

Modern Dougal

Crimson Dress and Jealousy

Brazilian Wax

Naughty Pictures

An Encounter

Angry/Jealous Jamie

Angry Jealous Claire

With the Fifth Wee Fraser

On A Beach Vacation

The One Where Roger Teaches Jamie

Straight Hair

Sweet and Smutty (Jamie Loves a Pregnant Claire)

Mile High Club

Love and Waterfalls

Sweet Torture

The First Time After Faith

James Fraser, Masseur

Naughty Church Service

—————————————————————————————

Canon Divergence:

Honeymoon Quiz

The Kama Sutra for Dummies by Dr. Fraser

Claire Gets Her Courses,

Jamie Tends Claire

Jamie is Visibly “Uncomfortable”

Honey Works Just as Well

—————————————————————————————

Multi-Part:

AU Honeymoon: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Home to Lallybroch: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Virgin Bedchamber: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

First Bairn: Part One, Part Two

Exes AU: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Drabble

Which is Better: Part 1, Part Two

Seen Too Much (Jamie and Claire Version): Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Halloween Through the Years: Year One, Year Two, Year Three, Year Four

The New House: New House, Blurb, Willie, Tree House

Snow Day: Snowy Day In

Secret Santa - Switcheroo: Part One, Part Two

A Wild Night in Vegas: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 8-ish, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Red Jamie and the White Lady AU: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

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Collaborative Work:

Trading Wine for Whiskey (Bookshop AU):

Lovely to Meet Ye, Tea for Two, Captain Murray

JAMMF The Knight: A Collaboration with @thescarlettpeacock

White Knight, Trapped Knight

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Ficlet Challenge: Sweet Affectionate Moments

A Kiss Makes It Better

No One’s Home!

Able To Breathe Again

A Sad Kiss

Anniversary Dance

Come Have A Bath

Caught in the Act!

Awkward Attempts at Kissing

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Secret Santa - Switcheroo:

Part One, Part Two

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Smutterday:

Jamie and Claire

The Sauna

The Scavenger Hunt

The First Time After Faith

James Fraser, Masseur

Naughty Church Service

Sleigh Bells Jingling

Murtagh Hears Too Much

Always Knock First

Building the Treehouse

Merry Christmas Indeed

Anatomy Lesson

Why’s There A Stocking on the Door?

Breaking in the Kitchen

Young Ian and Rachel

Hunting Wi’ A Quaker

Second Honeymoon

Cooking and Seduction

Murtagh and Suzette

Murtagh Appreciation Day

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Visual Prompts:

Negligent Negligee

Murtagh Appreciation Day

Breaking in the New Shower

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Missing Scenes:

Quiet Moment at Lallybroch

Butter Churn Incident

Love in the Glade

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One Shot:

Fast Learner

“I didna ken ye could do that.” (Or the One Where Jamie Learns it Can be Done Like Horses)

For SCIENCE

Microscope

A Pic Prompt

Punishments

Creeper Dougal (Again)

Printshop Drabble

Love in the Glade

Dreams

Taking Things Into His Own Hands

Wee Stockings

A Talk About Discipline  

The Grant Raid

Trousers

A Surprise for Claire

Headstrong Frasers: Mandy and Jamie

The Indians and The Frasers

Claire is my Wife, Not Yours

“No One Has Died From Abstinence!”

Through Murtagh’s Eye

Skinny Dipping

“So ye need me, to give ye a bairn?”

Drunk Claire is  “juuuust fiiiine!”

“Ye may kiss yer bride” (Or Jamie’s Thought During the Wedding)  

Barn Rendezvous

More Barn Love

Tickle Spot

A Kilt For Two

A Wee Basket From Mrs. Fitz

Caught in a Thunderstorm

Rupert and Angus Visits Lallybroch

“What’s to do next Sassenach”

Brianna’s Imaginary Friend

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Young Ian and Rachel:

Young Ian and Wee Rachel

Second Honeymoon

Cooking and Seduction

Hunting Wi’ A Quaker

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Ian and Jenny:

Ian Learns From Claire

Ian Ships It

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Short and Sweet One Shot:

Short and Sweet: To Lallybroch

Short and Sweet: We’d Found Each Other Again