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thewritewolf · 4 years

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Mari Christmas And A Happy New Adrien

Summary:

Lost in the aftermath of Hawkmoth's defeat, Adrien loses complete track of time and before he knows it, the holiday season is upon him. Will a Christmas visit to his girlfriend's house be just what he needs to move on?

Hello and welcome to my piece for the @mlsecretsanta event! My giftee, @lesslinette, asked for among other things, Adrienette, family bonding, fluff and just a bit of hurt/comfort and I aimed to please!

I had to do a good amount of research into French and Chinese Christmas traditions (including interviewing my long-suffering French friend - thanks @emsylcatac!), so hopefully I didn't get anything *too* wrong.

Read on Ao3

Enjoy!

Marinette 💖: You still up?

Adrien: Yeah Still not sleeping great House was always too quiet Never thought it could get more quiet tho lol Whats up?

Marinette 💖: :( Just wondering what u were doing 4 xmas Since You know

Adrien: Since father went to jail and mom died again? Haven’t thought about it Guess ive still got time to figure it out

Marinette 💖: … ..Its the 23rd of Dec Like 2am Not a lot of time left

Adrien: oh Guess uh Stay at home?

Marinette 💖: Adrien Its been like two months Youve been going crazy in there Youll just be stuck in there all by yourself Why don’t you come over?

Adrien: I don’t know… I don’t want to bring anyone down Or ruin anyone’s christmas

Marinette 💖: Adrien ‘Kindest Boy in Paris’ Agreste

Adrien: Oh no she used my middle name

Marinette 💖: You are coming over tomorrow And letting me pamper you And letting my family - your REAL family - love you And that is the end of that ...Is that okay with you?

Adrien: Whatever you say ma’am

Marinette 💖: Good Be here no later than fifteen hundred Let me know if I need to pick you up

Adrien: Will do

Adrien laid back down, his face lit up only by the glow of his phone and the only noise in the room being Plagg’s snoring. Putting his phone to sleep, he turned over, closed his eyes, and honestly smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time.

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Adrien reached the door to his girlfriend’s house with a gift under one arm, an envelope in his pocket, and a weak smile on his face. The latter wasn’t because of a lack of feeling on his part - the exact opposite, actually.

It had been hard to go to sleep after their conversation that night, a swirl of mixed emotions keeping him from getting the rest that he craved. Last night wasn’t much better and he was left exhausted. He’d even been half tempted to call and say that he couldn’t make it, but somehow that only made him feel worse.

So here he was. He’d shambled his way to the car, driven himself there through blurry eyes and frequent yawns, and turned the doorknob. Maybe they’d understand if he just dropped off the present and headed home.

Well, maybe not home, but just where he lived.

The instant the door opened, a wave of hot air buffeted him. Not only did it warm his freezing face, it brought all sorts of wonderful smells on it. There were the expected scents - baked potatoes, salmon, chicken. But then was something else, something a little harder to place.

After puzzling over it for a moment, he shook his head and stepped into the house. No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he heard some voices calling out from deeper inside.

“Wait, was that the door? The family wasn’t supposed to be over until tomorrow, weren’t they?”

“Tom, that has to be Adrien!”

There was excitement in Sabine’s voice that warmed his heart, but not quite as much as when he’d taken a couple steps into the house and was blindsided by Marinette bursting out of the living room to wrap him in a hug.

“Worried I might not show?” Adrien whispered after they parted from their kiss.

“Not even for a moment, chaton.” She smiled up at him before her eyes wandered down to his arms, a suspicious look on her face when she saw the one present. “Looks like you showed some restraint this year.”

“Of course!” At her continued doubting look, he added. “Come on, I’m perfectly capable of giving reasonable gifts.”

“Last year you tried to give me my favorite restaurant.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Only because I hid your checkbook and credit cards!”

Adrien snorted. “Details.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette tugged on his coat sleeve. “Follow me, you ridiculous man. You can put your gifts under the tree, we’ll open them tomorrow.”

She led him into the living room, where their Christmas tree had been set up in all its glory. There were red paper chains wrapped all around it and a huge variety of homemade ornaments - including a few that he’d made in years past. Ever since he and Marinette had started dating, he’d been welcomed into their household with open arms. And even before that, they’d been nothing but kind to him.

His eyes poured over the tree, looking for one specific ornament. It didn’t take him long to find it - with its poor quality, it stood out among the beautiful glass orbs and painted baubles. His fingers brushed over the patches of glitter, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he took in the patterns of melted wax inside it. His first ornament. They’d barely been dating a few months when he’d made that one.

Had it really been four years already?

Arms wrapped around him from the side and he looked down at Marinette’s chin resting on his shoulder, peering up at him with big blue eyes.

“What’re you thinking about, hot stuff?”

“Old memories, that’s all.”

“Hmm…” She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You just about ready to make some new ones?”

“With you? Always.”

“You two want to come in and help us finish cooking dinner?” They both jumped when Sabine’s voice reached them.

Blushing, Marinette reluctantly let Adrien go and headed toward the kitchen. “Coming, maman!”

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A few hours later and the four of them were seated around the dining room table. Some things had been moved around from what Adrien remembered from the usual arrangement, and a long table had been set up. Most of the spaces were empty - with the four of them, only about a third of the table was occupied. But while the chairs were mostly left bare, the table was not.

Even though he had helped make some of it, Adrien was still amazed at how good the food all looked when laid out on the table like this.

Most of it was pretty traditional, at least from what he knew. A lot of the time his experience with Christmas dinners were meals allowed to grow cold until he gave up on his father showing. But the roasted chicken was still steaming when they cut into it, the smoked salmon and toast still holding the heat of the oven on them. Add in the gratin dauphinois and this was just about the ideal Christmas dinner he could imagine.

Naturally, it got even better with Sabine’s contribution - spring rolls.

As Adrien shoveled them onto his plate, he asked Sabine, “Is this the only Chinese dish for today, maman?”

“Just you wait, dear.” She smiled over her plate. “Today was Tom’s turn to make dinner. Tomorrow will be mine and you’ll definitely have your fill then.”

“I can’t wait!” Adrien took some of the chestnut sauce to pour over his chicken. Which reminded him… He glanced nervously toward the oven. “I don’t suppose you made foie gras, did you?”

Marinette made a face and shivered.

Tom quickly shook his head. “Oh no, son. Back when Marinette was… what? Eight, nine? She found out how it was made and made us promise to never have it again.”

“Eleven years later and we haven’t broken that promise yet,” Sabine finished. “There are plenty of other foods in the world.”

“That’s good.” Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “It always made me uncomfortable when my father ordered it.”

“Ordered, dear?” Sabine gave him a confused look.

“Oh, we never really cooked our own dinners.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “Not even Christmas dinner?”

“Nope. Sometimes he’d have to order the dinner prepared the day before and then we’d reheat it the day of, since no one wanted to come into work on Christmas day, you know?”

“I see…” Tom shared a look with Sabine, but the meaning was lost on Adrien. “Well, you make sure you have your fill, son! We’ll be making more for tomorrow, so this is all for us.”

“Thanks,” Adrien said with a grateful smile.

The conversation meandered and for the most part Adrien was just content to listen in, drinking in the company after spending so much of his time recently just by himself. Well, mostly by himself. Marinette would visit whenever she could get the time between college classes and internships. Nino and Alya were more elusive, if only because they were outside the city so often these days.

But there was one person who was his constant companion, Adrien thought with a smile as he peeked into the breast pocket of his T-shirt…

...Only to see that it was empty. Maybe he’d gone to visit Tikki and the kwamis of the miracle box? Adrien was drawn out of his thoughts when Sabine directed a question at him.

“Are you ready for the pre-dessert snacks, dear?”

“Oh! Sure, yeah. What do you have?”

“You’ll love it!” Tom excitedly got up and hustled over to the kitchen, Sabine right behind him. He raised his voice to be heard as he went to the room next door. “We know how much you love camembert so…”

Adrien’s eyes widened. They didn’t…

Tom returned with a platter of cheeses in his hands and a frown on his lips.

“Something wrong, papa?” Marinette’s eyes glanced between Tom and the cheese platter.

“No, no… its just… I could have sworn I bought more cheese than this. And I was so sure that I had purchased camembert.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah well, there is more than enough for the three of us anyway.”

While Sabine set down a large bowl of salad in the middle of the table, Adrien glanced at Marinette. At his side, Marinette was biting her lips and pointedly staring into the middle distance, trying her hardest not to laugh. For his part, Adrien was frustrated that he couldn’t go anywhere without Plagg making a noticeable dent in the food supply.

His annoyance with Plagg was so great he almost didn’t enjoy the Yule Log that Tom had made for dessert. Almost, but not quite.

Once they were done with dinner, they cleared the table.

“So, how��d you like the meal?” Marinette asked as she dried off the dishes while Adrien washed them.

“Definitely better hot. And homemade.”

Marinette chuckled. “I’m glad the bar was so high for us. Really makes us feel like we accomplished something here.”

“How about…” Adrien bit down on his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was the most delicious meal I’ve had in months.”

“Ooo, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Years even.”

“Good, good, go on.”

“I had never known food could taste so delicious until you graced me with your heavenly meals.”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed with restrained laughter, the hint of a barely contained smile ruining her deadpan. “Glad I could finally weasel how you really feel out of you.”

“Yeah you’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?” Hands still in the sink’s soapy water, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“No fooling around now, we still have to help put up the last decorations before we relax for the night.”

“What sort of decorations?”

“Paper lanterns and paper chains. That sort of thing.” At Adrien’s politely confused look, she added, “It’ll help make mom’s side of the family feel welcome. Plus they look pretty cool.”

“Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s kick this into overdrive!”

Adrien suddenly worked in a flurry, Marinette scream laughing as she got splashed with some of the water thrown up by his breakneck pace. Marinette could barely keep up between her giggling, but she somehow managed.

With the last fork, plate, and glass sparkling clean and put away, Marinette shook her head and dabbed at her slightly damp shirt with a fresh towel.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“So my girlfriend tells me.”

Adrien relished the sometimes quiet, sometimes loud evening he spent with the Dupain-Chengs. When he went upstairs and cuddled Marinette in the cozy darkness, Adrien felt only excitement for the next day

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Morning came swiftly, but Adrien rose to meet the dawn’s first light with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Marinette was… a little less eager, but he managed to coax her out of the bed, eventually.

When they finally got down the stairs and made it to the kitchen, Sabine’s eyes widened and she even froze in the middle of folding one of her dumplings.

“Marinette? I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

Bleary eyed, her daughter simply jabbed a finger toward Adrien and grunted. Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

“I knew you’d be a good influence on her, sweetie.” Sabine patted his cheek with a warm smile. “Now, once you’ve had some breakfast I’d really appreciate some help out here. From you especially, Marinette, since you know exactly how to do it the way I like it.”

“Can’t Tom help?” Adrien made some toast for him and Marinette, doing his best to stay out of Sabine’s way. “Not that I’m not willing to lend a hand, but he’s got to be pretty good at it after all this time, right?”

Sabine laughed and even Marinette cracked a smile. “You’d think so, but no. The man can make almost any dessert known to French mankind, but I’ve yet to see him finish one spring roll or dumpling in all our years of marriage. Just about the only thing I’m trusting him with today is the roasted pork.”

“Not even the cheese plate?” Adrien asked, tongue in cheek. To his surprise, Sabine shook her head gravely.

“We don’t make one for Christmas day. After all, everyone that is going to be here is from my side of the family and we’re all lactose intolerant.”

“Oh.” Adrien glanced at Marinette, who shrugged.

“I got lucky and got papa’s tolerance for it, I guess.”

“Huh… well, can I help?”

A few hours passed, most of which Adrien spent doing vital but unskilled cooking like stirring and kneading. Although they did let him try to fold a few dumplings. It ended up nowhere near as well done as Marinette’s, but she still gave him a kiss on the cheek for the good effort. From what he gathered, Tom had never even managed to get it to stay together.

They had just put the last batch in the oven when they heard a knock at the door, Sabine quickly taking off her apron as she rushed to answer it.

Adrien’s ears perked up when he heard a conversation in Chinese start up, but between him being a little rusty and them speaking so fast, he couldn’t pick out much.

A few moments later, Sabine walked back into the room with an older Chinese couple. Marinette pulled him towards them. Sabine put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and introduced them.

“Adrien, these are my parents. My mother, Ling,” she said, gesturing towards the grey-haired woman currently hugging Marinette. “And my father, Zheng.”

The older man’s grey eyes sparkled with excitement as he held out a red envelope for Adrien, who just now noticed that Marinette had also been given one. He froze, eyes widening. Was he supposed to have gotten them something too? He hadn’t realized that anyone would be getting him anything, except maybe Marinette. There was a moment where he was about to decline but he took a shot in the dark and accepted.

The moment his hand touched the envelope, Zheng spoke in Mandarin, “Best wishes for the New Year!”

“Thank you very much!” Adrien replied automatically in the same language. While the finer points might escape him, Adrien was fluent in niceties.

Zheng’s eyes widened before he nodded sagely to himself. “Ahh, I see you’ve picked up some Mandarin from my daughter, yes?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’ve been studying since I was fourteen.”

Once again, Zheng’s eyes widened before he chuckled and looked knowingly at Marinette. “This one is definitely a keeper! I approve.”

Marinette’s cheeks were almost as red as the envelope, but she still smiled.

The bright, enticing red of the envelope made him want nothing more than to open it right then and there. But Adrien took a nod from Marinette, who had very pointedly left it sealed even as she refused to set it down. He chose to follow her lead as they all made their way to the living room.

While the Dupain-Cheng parents and the Cheng parents were getting settled there, Marinette volunteered them to go make some tea. Once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot of the new arrivals, Adrien held up his envelope with a raised eyebrow and curious look.

“You can go ahead and look at it now, it’s just not polite to do it right when you get it.” She carefully unsealed the envelope. “It's this Chinese tradition - good luck money for the new year, you know?”

Adrien followed her lead and found one ten, one twenty, and one fifty euro note inside. Glancing over, it seemed Marinette got the same. He was half tempted to just give her his euros since he didn’t have any need for it, but decided that might be tacky. If she would even take them at all. After stashing the envelopes away in a kitchen drawer, they came back with tea for everyone.

Over the next few hours, more and more family members funneled into the house. Adrien, used to seeing maybe four people during the holiday season, thought the room would be close to bursting after the first aunt arrived with husband and two kids in tow. But then came the uncle and his family, then the second aunt with her boyfriend and by the end of it fifteen people were packed into the living room. For some reason apples in boxes became involved? Adrien thought that was a pun but that was more his pun sense than his linguistic skill.

Before anyone could get too settled in, they finally got to opening presents. Despite his fears from the red envelope, no one else seemed to have gotten Adrien anything.

At least, none of the extended family had. The Dupain-Cheng family, however…

“Here you go, dear.” While the rest of the room was chattering among themselves, Sabine placed a package about as big as a shoebox on Adrien’s lap. Before he could react to it, Marinette had shoved a bag stuffed with packing paper.

“Let me go get your-”

Adrien felt a tug on his arm and looked down at Marinette seated beside him. “Open your gifts first and then we’ll open the ones you got us.”

“Okay, okay.” Adrien looked at the box on his lap and tore it open. He tilted his head in confusion as he lifted the fabric that he found there out of the box. His eyes widened when he realized it was an apron with ‘Kiss the Chef’ on it.

“Its for when you come over to cook with us!” Tom beamed down at him proudly. “Now you don’t need to borrow our aprons any more - you’ll have one of your very own!”

Adrien felt his eyes get misty and he bit his lips to keep himself from crying. After a few moments of pulling himself together, he managed to say, “Thank you, guys. I’m really looking forward to wearing it!”

“Speaking of…” Marinette prodded the bag she left with him.

“Right, right.”

Adrien removed the paper and pulled out what turned out to be a sweater, cream colored and decorated with mistletoes and black cats in red scarves. It felt amazingly soft as he slipped it on over his head, embraced in a warm hug that - he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a deep breath - yes, smelled exactly like Marinette. For now at least.

“Do you like it?” Instead of replying, Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette and pulled her close to him, nuzzling his nose against her neck. Giggling, she smacked his arms lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes, now let go!”

After he pulled his arms back, he stood up and stepped between the Cheng family members and made it to the tree before heading back to the little corner of the living room that they had claimed. He passed the envelope to Tom and the box to Marinette.

“A… gift card for an appliance store?” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted to get you an actual new stove because you’re always upset at it,” Adrien explained in a rush, feeling embarrassed that his gift felt so… impersonal compared to theirs. “But when I went to the store I had no idea what actually made a good stove and searching it up on the internet only made it more confusing and… yeah,” he finished lamely.”

He glanced up at them and felt better to see them smiling back.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Adrien! Thank you, we’ll make good use of this.”

Beside him, Marinette began opening her gift, which Adrien was much more excited for. Not because he had spent any less for it, but because that at least he knew exactly what to get.

He knew he’d done good when she gasped as she pulled out the expensive fabric she’d once stared at longingly from the otherside of a store’s window in Paris. Which, of course, meant that he was also expecting the smack on his arm from her as well.

“Adrien! This is expensive! You definitely shouldn’t have bought this.”

“Actually, you’ll remember that I get to spoil you exactly three times a year - birthdays, Valentine’s, and Christmas.” He gave her the most innocent look he could manage. “So you like it then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I absolutely love it, you cat.”

“Then that’s great!” He continued with the overly chipper and oblivious tone, knowing how much it bugged her. He rubbed his hands together. “So… when’s dinner?”

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After a Christmas dinner packed with Chinese dishes, they slowly returned to the living room.

Adrien sat in a corner of the room, taking in the warm and inviting atmosphere, the excitement and energy of so many people gathered together in such a small space.

Holding Marinette close, Adrien felt like he was part of a real family for the first time in a long time.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Love Square #Tom Dupain #Sabine Cheng #ml secret santa exchange #my writing #Mari Christmas and a Happy New Adrien

206 notes · View notes

nobody-knose--archive · 4 years

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i’ve been aching to commentate spirit phone’s commentary for ages. glad i finally got around to it, this was an ejoyable experience. liveblog below the cut

-i'm like half certain i've heard this commentary before. maybe not the whole way through & it was probably actual years ago

-nice hearing stuff like this. in-depth personal view of the album-making process. makes it seem like more of a real thing i could do myself someday

-neil cicierega real person momence

-i could probably go real in depth about neil cicierega/tally hall parallels specifically concerning like. the arc of their musical careers. but i won't, here

-wild how i legitimately don't care much about micheal jackson

-didnt we get a bunch of spirit phone stems from the needlejuice release/his patreon? we could probably hear the funny track he speaks of here in that

-i love hearing musical artists, especially neil cicierega, talking about the meanings of their songs. like, not only has this song been claimed to hell & back by the tumblr gays, but with later ones i just can't see where he gets these ideas from. also, claiming there's any one meaning or plot to a song just seems silly to me

-shoutout to neil reusing a midi from like, 1998, that he made at 12 years old, whose entire melody was reused for the main verses of everybody loves raymond. loved finding that out on my own 2 years ago. now it's common trivia in this fandom. not bad times

-it'd be neat if neil did individual trans tracks here like he did with view monstel, those things are half of why i consider it my favorite album

-it's a lot easier to ignore the creator's intended meaning behind a song when he can't even remember it. thanks neil

-seesaw effect

-and there's my joke all but 1 of my followers wont get. moving on

-what kinds of movie theater lobbies has neil been to where there are arcade machines. i mean im not one to talk but that does sound rather strange

-why do songs' titles even need to be taken from the lyrics. ive never seen that as any sort of requisite. it's like titling any form of prose you can just give it whatever name ya like

-"this part sounds pretty cool right"

-is neil's vocal range only mildly better than mine? with training i could change that

-oh i haven't processed any of the last 25 seconds hold on

-god. a shit ton of vocal modification in this song. it's like neil returned to his roots but with quality this time

-i, as an ace/aro, have never related more to an allohet guy in my life. what is the point of eyes!

-professional humming/whistling takes skill. it's different from the recreational or casual stuff. i'd know

-there's a name for the way sound (especially music) gets distorted when moving past you and i can't remember it but it's probably what neil's referring to here in the way he recorded the intro

(- update: it's the doppler effect no need to tell me cas already did)

-as someone who hasnt seen the rugrats or take me there by blackstreet i'll just say it sounded like a bouncy music box melody. nice to hear a song that messes with the typical scales though. lydian & diatonic.

-that's a rather specific thing to be glad about, but given what he talked about in his last full audio commentary about the jew harp i suppose i'm not surprised

-i know that tmbg song now. listened to it & saw the music video too. yep they're different alright

-where the hell does neil get all these instrumence from anyway

-huh. hadnt heard this part of the commentary before making my oc concerning this song but i like to hear neil's approval concerning part of my interpretation

-i love how ive heard a billion different tellings of this mellified man story from lem dem fans talking about this song and neil's is by far the wildest

-good god that does only make it worse neil

-i love making liveblogs of lemon demon albums. with the fullerenes or tally hall i cant name a specific dude to take out my woes on generally but with lemon demon i can just say neil all the time. i like being on a casual first name basis with this dude ive never interacted with once ever

-is sweet bod the one other than cabinet man with a demo in the bonus tracks? i forget

-holy shit the boston molasses disaster someone call up soapy if it doesnt already know, it'd love this

-two thousand nine. god i miss the fiddle solo. the ver with it is truly the best one

-he pronounces it jeff? i've always read it as gef with a hard g. that's what i get for knowing words that are never spoken aloud

-that's a fun meta interpretation of this ghost story that's over a century old. i like that

-i've noticed neil generally does the same synths across a whole album. it's especially more clear in the earlier ones, and does mean i occasionally mix up songs between clown circus & live from the haunted candle shop

-ah! ancient aliens! my least favorite track on this album. i cant even claim to have the least interest in a popular one i've just generally not liked this one much from the beginning. so im curious to see what neil's got to say, i think ive been in ~new commentary zone for a while now

-anyway. newest update on the loolin not realizing a song's funky time signature front: i think this one's in 6/4. or at least switches a lot between time signatures. granted i dont listen to it very often for the reasons stated above

-see the way neil describes it. eldritch horror upon being visited by the unknown at a time when humanity'd hadn't even yet had a chance to imagine such a thing occurring. should be right up my alley. but the sound itself & many of the lyrics simply turn me away.

-must i specify i don't dislike it? spirit phone is neil's best album it not being my favorite doesn't mean i think it's bad yadda yadda nobody should be surprised by this it's not like anyone in these fandoms reads my liveblogs <3

-granted i think this is. the first bit of spirit phone content i've made on my blog ever. so who knows things can change <3

-the transitions in spirit phone are much less view-monster transition tracks & more extended outros. view-monster's were a bit more intro than outro sure but they also seemed directed upon making a 2-way rather than 1-way bridge between tracks. or something like that

-.............soft fuzzy man is an incredible nickname for a cat. i'd steal that if i werent afraid of introducing my relatives to lemon demon

-jirls

-an underlying metaphor is good enough. the literal side of the lyrics are fun. nothing but agreement here neil my good man

-the transition into as your father i expressly forbid it from soft fuzzy man is the best one in this album

-buddy you ask if a musical idea has been used before odds are the answer is yes in this day & age the question is has it been used in the way you're using it. like sure this soul jazz record from the 60s that was sold out in kansas stores for a week used this bassline that youve found yourself copying. but seeing as youre using it in some angsty garage rock ballad type tune does anybody actually care

-doesn't everybody like to say things in an unhinged manner from time to time

-imagine having a guitar dad, i say, with my dad being a folk accordion/fiddle dad, which is infinitely worse in every way

-i think he was in an actual folk band at some point. idk the 90s were weird

-iron my life?

-m-more intimate? there are a lot of ways i'd describe this song but intimate isn't one of them. granted as your father is negatively intimate so from there i guess you've got nowhere to go but up

-...still glad to see his interpretation kinda supports my oc at least

-the way he says characters in songs shouldn't worry about death really strongly makes me think this is some sort of. thematic continuation of stuck from dinosaurchestra, even if there's no real death in there. interesting. would also mean that the dad from these past 2 songs is named carlos betty (no last name)

-i literally never assumed this was a flute solo. piccolo at best. it's pretty clearly a recorder

-my mom plays the recorder. i wonder if she can play recorder better than neil cicierega

-we can throw a party in honor of the crushing weight of responsibility! i simply won't be the one throwing it because i have enough on my plate already <3

-what the hell does "a sense of intent" mean

-i've never heard rush before however i disagree with neil's understanding of 6/4. 6/4 is meant to have emphasis (onbeat or another term i can't remember) on the 1st & 4th beat of every measure, which is greatly different from a measure of 4/4 then a measure of 2/4. it's why his 5/4 always sounds weird, because while it's recognizable in sequences of 10/4, it's more 2 measures of 4/4 with one of 2/4 tacked on the end. that's also how it's different from 3/4. i don't know much music theory but what i do understand i will fight to the death about

-"canonized" that's. a very interesting term to use when referring to a former president

-from now on i will interpret every love song directed at some unseen "you" to be inviting me to marry them for tax purposes. thanks neil for being an aromantic icon

-ah hell yes hell yes man-made object is my favorite goddam song on this album

-short & sweet & good damn vibes. neil's thoughts on it all are only making it better

-wild how he uses very few vocal effects for a song that he clearly is straining his vocal range for. go off neil

-the qualifier of man-made is a wonderful thing. oldest or biggest thing? oldest or biggest man-made thing? what a incredibly important specification. a world of possibilities lie between the two. oh i love it

-just gets me thinking yknow! what we consider weird/impressive in another species, in our own species- what kind of equivalent to that would there be from an outsider looking in? are there alien versions of the significances we place upon things, that we could never imagine? the limits of the human imagination mean we could never conceive of something else in the world that isn't, in some way great or small, just like us- and are we wrong for thinking that? such a juicy topic i wish there were a name for it because it's kinda hard to explain concisely

-spiral of ants. my second favorite song from this album, in fact. a good one to experience

-the vocals are just another instrument. they really truly are. i wasn't going into this commentary expecting to feel solidarity for neil cicierega in this chili's tonight on more than one occasion but here i am.

-like, his whole stance on interpreting songs is something i agree with almost entirely. you can take it at face value, you can dig to their very depths, you can listen to songs without caring what the lyrics mean whatsoever, and those are all fun. & yeah while any of these people can be annoying as one of the types who enjoys gliding on the surface more than anything i find those who dedicate themselves to figuring out the whole meaning of a song over anything else to be both slightly scary & slightly annoying <3 keep up the good work

-i want to make songs for my siblings the way neil makes songs for his sibling(s)

-spinch

-neil really shouldn't be allowed to be this funny like this whole album youre thinking golly! he's just a normal man this neil cicierega! and then he starts listing the cat hacks jokes & you remember he's had ridiculously consistent viral success with all his humorous endeavors and holy shit it's neil cicierega in action talking about his music. god bless you neil

-you're welcome, no problem, my pleasure. good eveternoon, radio audience!

#lemon demon #spirit phone #pretty sure this is my first bit of spirit phone content on my blog. hi greater lem dem fandom nice to see y'all. go listen to deporitaz #loolin liveblogs #i enjoyed this less for the content the commentary contained & more for the way i handled it. more pleasant than some times ive had #tis i #i havent listened to spirit phone in general in ages. i know why. so this was nice #to the world and back again

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crazybagelbitch · 4 years

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unsure if youve done something like this already but chim and ryan having a daddy daughter day and when maddie gets home theyre both tuckered out on the couch with toys and books and bottles all around and shes 🥺 about the two of them

I’ve been doing a lot of sad flashbacks in this universe, so here’s a happy present day in the AU where Ryan is about to turn one.

Chimney smiles as he looks down at his daughter, who is peacefully sleeping in his arms after a long day of chasing her around and keeping her entertained. It’s exhausting, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He had wanted to be a father for years now, and despite how rough Maddie’s pregnancy was on the the both of them and how unideal the circumstances were, fatherhood has been everything he’s dreamed of and more. Ryan is quiet and sweet and curious and was relatively easy as far as newborns go, so maybe that was a gift from the universe after all the shit that he and Maddie had to go through to be in a better place to bring her into the world.

Now her first birthday is in two weeks, and he can’t help the tears that spring into his eyes at the thought. His daughter has been in this world for almost a full year now, and despite how tough it was in those first few months, it’s been the best year of his life.

He’s so caught up in the memories of the past year with Maddie and Ryan that he doesn’t even realized that Maddie has entered the apartment. That she’s entered their apartment, which also feels like a dream because for a while it was uncertain that they’d ever be able to be more than friends and co-parents after what Doug had done to them both.

“Oh my, she kept you busy all day, didn’t she?” Maddie laughs, looking around at the various bottles and toys and picture books laying around.

“The busiest,” he smiles, blowing her a kiss instead of the usual rushing to give her a real kiss once she comes home from work because their is a sleeping baby on him.

“You two are...” Maddie trails off, trying to find the words, “you two are everything to me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he grins, “and you two ladies are everything to me. I love you and I love our little family.”

“I’m so happy,” she sighs, tears pooling up in her big brown eyes that Chimney loves so much, “I never thought... she’s almost one and things are so, so good. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get to have that.”

“Me either,” he shakes his head, “but we’re here now and this little one brought us back together. Well, she’s still little but not nearly as small as she used to be. Remember when she was just the tiniest thing?”

“Oh, do I remember,” Maddie laughs, “I remember you awkwardly staying over on my couch the first few weeks because we weren’t together yet, and Ryan couldn’t be away from my boobs and you were there to help out. She was tiny and we were so terrified and awkward and I was crying all the time because of stupid baby hormones but... you were still so kind.”

“Anything for my baby mama,” he smirks, “what do you say... sometime in the future. Not now because that first pregnancy was... but eventually, what do you say we have another?”

“Really? You want another baby?” she asks, eyes lighting up and he knows she’s on bored.

“Not yet, but yeah. Someday.”

“Someday,” Maddie nods with a grin, “but for now, let’s just soak up our family of three.”

“Four!” he protests, “can’t forget Pepper. She’s a dog but she’s also essentially our joint therapist.”

“Four,” she laughs, “Pepper is definitely our family, too.”

#ry-ry

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poptod · 4 years

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hey there! hope i’m not bothering u. maybe a snafu x reader after the war where he tries to impress them at a bar with war stories but y/n was an air force pilot and it turns into a debate of who was more badass during the war? sweet at the end maybe? i’m addicted to ur writing lmao. thanks again for always answering my requests!

notes: not a problem at all :) unfortunately the power has been out at my house for a day or two so this is a tad late, but youve got fun ideas so i dont mind writing them at all. hope you like this one too

It had to be past midnight – somehow despite that fact, you were still wide awake. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't taken your sleeping pills, or the pounding loud shouts of the bar's drunken patrons, but you did not lag behind your friend. She'd dragged you there, saying something about getting free drinks since she was banging the bartender. Before either of you knew it, she was off flirting with another man (which the bartender did not like), and you were ordering your third drink. Not the most you'd drunk in one night, not even close, but it was enough to give you a pleasant buzz, allowing you to relax against the bar counter and look out across the crowd.

Within the next several hours most of the crowd had filed out, making way for a new wave of soldiers, ones that had just arrived home and were celebrating their life still belonging to themselves. You were once part of that menagerie; the only difference was you had become a marine before the war ever started, and while you were there for the beginnings of the war, your contract with the marine corps ended soon after. It left you feeling apart from both citizens and soldiers – someone who didn't know the horrors of war, but who was traumatized enough that society didn't care to love them anymore.

Unlike many returning soldiers, you did not turn to alcohol to fix your issues. For the most part you distracted yourself with work, working and working till there was nothing in your head but work – there was little else in your life besides work now, the one exception being your friend, Penny. She made sure you ate, made sure you got outside and had human contact. For that you will always be grateful.

Your attention wavers from her only when one of the returning soldiers stands right beside you at the bar, ordering a bottle of beer before noticing you, his posture suddenly changing as he does so. His back straightens out a little, his hips a little more forward, elbows on the bar behind him so as to show off toned forearms and a skinny waist. He stares for a little while – you pay him no mind. When he gets his drink, that's when he actually speaks to you.

"What's a doll like you doin' here?" He says, and you almost roll your eyes. What a typical start.

"Keepin' a friend company," you answer him quietly, taking a swig of your own drink. It's not entirely a lie, although you feel you're keeping less and less of her company the more she drifts off to the side, caught up in the stare of a rather handsome man with a fair amount of scruff.

"Really? You come here often? I'm - jus' curious. I've never been here before," he says, clarifying that he isn't that stupid so as to use that specific line, a clarification you appreciate.

"This is my first time. My friend though, she comes here often, says she likes the atmosphere," you tell him, nodding in the direction of Penny, who is currently in a corner with the stranger. "You're a soldier, right?"

"Yessir," he says with a proud nod, "just returnin', actually."

You nod absently, looking out across the general crowd before you at last meet his eye. In the neon red lights you can barely see him, the shape of his face against the black mass of people, the color of his eyes against long eyelashes that flutter when he scans you up and down. All you can tell about him is his voice – rough and deep, drawling his words and humming his thoughts.

"You meet many marines?" He asks, and you can already tell he's gearing up to tell you some horrid stories of the war. Unfortunately, you don't know him well enough yet to know if he's going to tell you the truth, and a small part of you hopes he doesn't tell the truth. The truth is gorey and dangerous and heartbreaking, and you're not ready to live out such memories and tales again. Not yet.

"I've met a few," you say vaguely, watching the way a grin cracks across his face as he chuckles smooth and low.

"All I gotta say is you're lucky I ain't no army kid, those assholes are weak as all hell," he says, something you fully agree with, and something that has a sweet giggle coming involuntarily out of you. He smiles even bigger when he watches the way you laugh.

"My father was a marine," you say, coming down from your high. "He said the same thing."

"He's right, y' know... me n' my troop, we was out on that godforsaken island in the Pacific, hot as hell every day – humid, too. We saw hell n' back, shootin' at Japs n' gettin' shot at, sitting in all those damn trenches, up to ya knees in mud, and there go the fuckin' army soldiers, prancing around like goddamn deer. Funniest shit I ever seen, though to be fair, I don't think any a' us had much to eat that day," he recalls fondly, but you can tell he's suppressing the worse memories. You don't ask on that – it'd be rude, and it's not a subject you want to talk about. Nonetheless, he continues. "An you know, you're sittin' in mud all day n' night, you're gonna get pretty dirty, right?"

You nod attentively. If there's one thing you're still good at after your time in the marine corps, it's listening well.

"So we're all covered in mud, and they come by in a neat row, with their freshly washed hair and white as all hell skin – I made a bet with this one fella, Burgie, a' said they'd get so sunburnt after a week on that island, they'd be cryin'. I was right, of course," he says, motioning with his hands as he told the story. At the end he rubs his nose and turns back to you, watching for your reaction, and loving the way you still manage to enjoy his story.

"So you're tellin' war stories now?" You ask, leaning in closer and smirking imperceptibly when his breath catches in his throat. "What's your best story, then?"

He doesn't skip a beat, another one of those sweetly impure smiles coming across him as he starts.

"Hell, there's a lot to choose from. I do remember though," his hand comes up to his shirt collar, unconsciously toying with it, "this one Jap snuck into our camp, still don't know how, but he was one a' those damn kamikaze soldiers, the radical ones. He shouted somethin', don't remember what, but everyone went for their guns – I did too, an' we all pointed at his chest, cause it's easier to aim that way, y'know? But the bombs were tied to his chest, so a' aimed at the head. Shot him dead center between his eyes," he tells you with an air of pride and a hint of disgust. You don't blame him.

"That's a good story," you say with a small smile.

Anticipation creeps up on you as you wait till he's done prattling off little details, just waiting till you can watch the light die in his eyes as you tell him your own war story.

"I think my best marine story would have to be when I was flyin' over this active war field, there's fighter pilots everywhere in the sky, and sometimes it's hard to tell which jet belongs to which side in the moment. Everythin' goes by fast, but I saw this Jap flagged plane drop a bomb the size of a whole person. Immediate reaction was to shoot at the bomb, and I got pretty lucky – it blew up midair, and I was far enough it didn't hurt me," you say, unable to stop a grin from coming to you when the man slowly realizes that he's talking to another marine.

"Oh, you're a marine too, ain't you?" He says, but it's not a question – no, it sounds more like a challenge, and one you're completely willing to participate in. "Where you stationed?"

"I was in Hawaii at first," you say quietly, and he immediately gets the implication. Although you both now know what you saw, and the topic is in your heads, neither of you explore that further. "Later got stationed at some place in the Pacific. Like you. Though, I was on the ocean, not an island."

"What's your kill count?" He asks, and he leans forward just a little bit, drawing closer to you.

"Does it really matter?" You ask in return.

"'Course it does. You gonna be out here tellin' me you didn't count?"

"I didn't," you say truthfully. "A bit hard to see how many y' kill from a thousand feet in the air."

"Y'ever do parachute drops?"

"Once," you say. "Did you?"

"Nah, parachute drops ain't nothin' compared to the shit I did," he says, dismissing the notion as if it wasn't important. Now he's trying to impress you – again.

"Really?" You ask, almost sarcastic, but you manage to hold that part back. "What is it that you did then that was so much more terrifying and dangerous than freefalling through the atmosphere?"

"Try carryin' mortars on ya back in searing heat, n' all the while you n' ya company's out takin' a little hike 'cross a whole island filled with Japs," he says cockily, angling his chin upwards in a motion that accentuates his already sharp-as-hell jawline.

"Wow, a whole island," you say sarcastically, but he sees the humor behind it.

"Hey, Japan's an island too an' they big enough that they got the whole nation in uproar," he points out.

"Whatever makes you feel better," you say, taking a sip of your drink.

"What's your rank anyway?" He asks as he puts his drink on the counter, crossing his arms.

"I'm a major," you say, and once again the light dies in his eyes. You almost want to spare him the embarrassment of telling you his own rank, but you are curious, and it's just too fun to let him off. "What's your rank?"

"... corporal," he answers quietly, and you have to hold back a laugh. You try really hard, you really do, just so hard not to laugh, but you end up snorting anyway, and you can't even begin to work on your smile.

"Alright, corporal," you say, still trying not to laugh. Placing your own drink down on one of the bar coasters you turn to him, curling his loose tie around one of your hands and pulling him forward, practically devouring his nervous delight. "Y' really wanna play this game?"

"I'm the one who started it, ain't I?" He says, and you admire his tenacity to talk back to a superior officer.

"What's your full name and title, Corporal?"

"Corporal Merriel Shelton," he answers softly, his eyes suddenly stuck on the words that form on your blushing lips. "Ma' friends jus' call me Snafu, though."

"Mmm," you hum, looking him up and down much like he'd done to you earlier, "the hell you do to earn that kind a' name?"

"Oh, I'm just reckless, baby," he says with a smirk, gaining the confidence needed to lean into your touch more. You can feel his hips almost pressed against yours, the feeling doing nothing but making you pull his tie even more, a smile beginning to tug at the edges of your lips.

"Mind showin' me?"

"Not at all," he says in the impossibly low voice of his, and with that you're his, if only for the evening.

#merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #the pacific hbo #rami malek #rami malek character #gender neutral reader

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starbuck09256 · 6 years

Text

The bed you’ve made Part 2

Author Notes: I know I know I’m terrible person for not getting this out sooner. I’m so sorry. Life right? A huge thank you to @peacenik0 for fixing my terrible grammer and making sure this stays in character (grammer can slide but characterization is a big one for me). Thank you to all the wonderful peeps who said they wanted to read more, I love those notes and those totally fuel me through the day with positive energy. Ok so stop rambling and post the dang fic!

the ivf works but Mulder is sleeping with Diana.

Part 1 https://starbuck09256.tumblr.com/post/183232727829/the-bed-youve-made Part 2 The bed you’ve made

Scully leaves quickly with another chaste kiss on his cheek. That smile of hers is going to be imprinting on his brain. His cheek still tingles from her kisses. His penis still limp from his escapades with Diana. He closes the door. Letting his head rest against the oak door. Fuck he thinks. Diana says nothing gathering her things. The bra shoved under the side of his couch. She looks at him with those cold eyes of hers, he once thought he could seek solace in them, the darkness wrapping him up in a warm cocoon. What the fuck is he doing? What does he do? He told Scully, he fucking told her he didn’t want to change anything. How does a .002% chance work? He thinks of all the times she’s saved his ass, going to the north pole, pulling him out of that shit camper in the middle of nowhere, when they tried to upload him into a simulation. That’s how it works, every time they have a .002% chance of survival and somehow, someway, those odds are in their favor.

Diana stands silently waiting for him to break the tension in the room, with not the impatient sigh he is used to from Scully, not an accusatory tone or doubt creeping into her voice. Diana isn’t like Scully, not in looks, not in spirit, not in mind. After a few short years together, Mulder has seen inside Diana’s mind, she is cold and calculating in a way that shocked him at first. She showed him how simple it is to care and not care all at the same time. That people care only for themselves in that moment, and only if those feelings will benefit them long term.

Diana doesn't bring any feelings into this, she probably didn’t have any the first time either, now that he thinks about it in a rational way. But she did have the intelligence, his weakness is smart women, women like Scully, Phoebe, not that they are anything alike. But damn if smart isn’t the sexiest thing to him. DIana is no exception to this so smart in execution, in planning, in every last detail. She doesn’t believe in .002% chances. She works each system and finds each loophole, each small flaw and strikes to her full advantage. She took the x-files because they were never going to give them back to him. Used her own leverage to play both sides. At least that's what she has told him. Another way to steer him towards her own agenda, he wanted to believe so bad that she came back for them, that one day after she had left and he felt destroyed that she would put him back together again the way the x-files had done the first time. She knew, god, she knew that he would do anything to keep the things that make him feel validated. Originally it was her, validating his beliefs that the paranormal might really be an explanation for it all, that the answers were hidden for them to find together, now she was using the same idea to keep them for herself. Anger had raged through him when he found out she had been assigned and not him and Scully. “fox, they weren't going to hand them back to you. After everything we went through to get them in the first place? Shouldn't at least one of us have them?” Almost like Scully in rationalizing her position. Scully doesn't rationalize being a traitor, stealing something away from him. Scully would fight tooth and nail for injustice. But scully like him doesn't have the files, Diana is holding them hostage. Using his love of mystery and intrigue to keep him close to her, keep him invested in their fucked up version of fuck buddies. She lets him hack into Spenders files, she brings over a case file while wearing lingerie in his favorite color. What is her end game here? Split him up from Scully?

His precious Scully does she have lingerie like this deep navy with lace edges? Would Scully let him use her to his own selfish ends? Is he any better than the supposed man who is his real father? Using women to meet his own selfish needs, playing the odds to propel his own cause? IS he any better than Diana? Hasn’t he used his own mind games on Scully? Keeping her with him by using her own love for him against herself? He pulled that card in the hallway. Manipulated her feelings for him to give her false hope? Was it really false? Was he not working out some hidden desire to have his cake and eat it too? Have Scully and the x-files? What should he do now? Should he say nothing? Pray that Scully doesn’t come back, that she didn’t see the bra. That elation has blinded her extraordinary investigator skills, and buys him some time. He needs time. Diana touches his arm, it’s brief non-threatening, Diana is too good at this, good at making things seem as they are, pretending there is no deep agenda. He looks up at her, losing himself again in pools of black with specs of gold.

“I’ll see you later,” her voice soft and void of any emotion.

He use to love that about her, that she could separate herself so effortlessly. Scully shows emotion, she has rage and pain, fear and anger, and as of just now she has joy and love. How could he get involved with two women at the same time, after having no one for six years? The world is cruel. He swallows hard opening the door for her to step out into the hallway. The hallway he almost kissed Scully. A kiss that luckily ended, because it was out of desperation, desperation to keep her by his side. Isn't that what he is doing with Diana now, using sex as a desperate plea for her to give him access?

Diana slips past, there is no kiss goodbye, no acknowledgement of what has happened. He groans as closes the door. He’s not sure what the next steps are, he’s not sure he wants to know. He thinks maybe sleep to use his dreams to once again answer his questions. Maybe that’s what has been going on now, he’s been dreaming of Scully, dreaming of a life together. Does he really want that? Or is he trying compensate for his own guilt? A life he doesn’t want or need, a life that might cost him the only thing Diana thinks he cares about. A child though is different, it's an answer he hasn't wanted to ask. What's at the end of the road? Where does this end and how badly does it hurt?

He is lucky, the weekend passes quickly, Scully doesn’t show up again unannounced. She gives him space, he isn’t sure that it’s good, he figures that his luck has clearly run out. She knows about Diana, and she is taking her time to come up with a way to let him out. But now all he thinks about is a daughter with her eyes, a son with his nose. A child with a stubborn loyalty who will be far too smart for their own good. He still doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Does he go to the appointments? Will he get to hear his childs heartbeat in her body. Will he be there to cut the cord? Will she let him? Does he want her to? Does he give up his quest, his crusade and lose sight of justice? What if he does, what if he gives it up and in 5 or 10 years it all shatters anyway because he didn’t bother to stop it? That the day comes while he is sitting in a parent teacher conference discussing why his child already knows how to dissect worms and speak Klingon. But the aliens knocking at the door are where the real fear should lie?

He groans pulling on his running shoes for the third time today. Maybe exhaustion will win out? Maybe their child will love the feel of the wind rushing pass as the sounds of their footfall hit the earth in cadence.

It’s Monday morning. He feels better, he has a plan he is going to play it cool. Take a play out of the Diana book. This is Scullys’ call, she can be the one to tell him what she’s looking for, what she wants from him, and he can hope that saying yes was enough, that she understood this was her decision and while he wants her to be happy he also won’t sacrifice himself. He brings Scully her favorite coffee and a blueberry scone. He wants to see that smile again, the one that lit up her whole face when she told him. He wants to feel her happiness radiating through his body, it’s almost as good as an x-file.

Diana is an issue though, one that he can’t ignore. The file she slipped him yesterday was thrilling, a new case filled with his favorite things. Diana plays games in a way that makes phoebe look like a novice, she’s said nothing of seeing Scully as his house or the conversation, she left and only met him yesterday to give him a breadcrumb but still kissed him deeply. She is playing the same game as him, the wait and see if it works out game. Wait to let Fox fuck it up to let his guard slide. He wonders if this will be the catalyst for her to slip up as well. Will he finally see what her end game is? She was always a master at chess. When they met Gibson all he could think about is how Diana could beat him. Was this the surprised move that will make the queen fall. Will she need to sacrifice herself?

The crowded bullpen of agents on phones as fingers fly across keyboards, he steers clear trying to navigate the cramp quarters. Chatter reaching into his brain makes him miss the basement; the quiet mornings of coffee and crullers especially the sound of the slides clicking through the spindle.There she is in his favorite blue shirt, the one that makes her eyes sparkle slightly more her hair shine so brightly. Has she always looked so breathtaking? Has he been so consumed that he never bothered to notice?

Scully smiles and blushes all at once at him. He can’t help but smile back at her holding up the treats. As he walks to her desk, Mulder wonders what new literal crap Kersh has shoved down their throats this week. She looks up at him. Her eyes shining and her skin glowing in the terrible fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” she chuckles still blushing. You’d think she spent the whole weekend sprawled out in his bed.

“Hey,.. I uh brought you coffee.” he mutters she looks up at him. Has she always smiled like that? Has it always made his heart melt like this. Is he sure this is a good idea? Can he really try to play it cool with her? The only person who sees through him like no one else?

“Is it ummm… decaf?” she whispers the last word. He is confused, they’ve had numerous discussions of decaf coffee being the most pointless thing on the planet, there is a time and place for decaf coffee; and that is never and in the trash. Her hand reaches out to his brushing it briefly.

“Let’s umm go for a quick walk huh? The fresh air will be good.” He follows her as she walks around a desk trying to look incompiscous but running into the edge of the table, biting her lip and groaning. He wants to reach out to her but she shakes her head. She points to the scone left in it’s little white bag on her desk. “Bring the scone, I’m starving.” he grabs it quickly as they head out.

They are sitting on the bench at the mall. The one they always sit at and debate flukeman and AI, where they’ve made the list of people they would come back and haunt if such things are possible. Kersh now in the top five for both of them. She is looking around nervously. He’s nervous too, he isn’t sure what to do, what they are. Why she would ever want to drink decaf? She reaches into the bag and takes a big hunk of scone. Originally he thought they would share like they always do but she is already ripping another large piece off as the sugar crystals scatter across her lips, oh pregnant right . He smiles softly.

“Sorry,” she mumbles between bites covering her mouth with her hand. He sighs looking around at the reflecting pool thinking of a time in this same place not so long ago when Diana said she needed to go to Europe to pursue their joint interest. A temporary assignment to find out what they knew from the inside. He wonders if that is what is going on now, or if the years have molded her resolve to their own agenda.

Scully’s warm hand lands on his arm. Bringing him back to the present. The cherry blossoms are blooming framing them on this small bench with years of meetings.

“where did you go?” her voice curious.

“just thinking about all the times we've sat on this bench.” he smiles at her, his inner struggles aside.

She takes a small sip of her coffee. “I'm going to miss this,” she gestures to the coffee. “no full lead for 9 months.” he shallows hard staring out at the reflection of blossoms dancing in the wind. “Mulder, I know it's a lot to process, and honestly I know that I probably took advantage of our unique relationship in asking you.” he waits trying to still play it cool as her fingertips grip his. She didn't take advantage he did, he agreed to something trying to keep a balance and now he's so unsure if he can handle the consequences. He wants to run away like when he was 12.

“What are you looking for here, Dana?” he knows he shouldn't use those words. He knows he is the one that brought this shit show home to roost. She sighs but doesn't release his hand. She is warm anchoring him here like she always has. He rubs his face with his free hand. He doesn't want to pull away from her.

“Ideally?” she asks, hesitant. He feels the nervous energy around them. It's so different now, they've never been really nervous with one another. He turns looks at her, as she licks her lips as she moves her head back to regard him fully.

“yea ideally.” He is curious. She used medical reasons to justify asking him, used her concerns of tampering as another. She takes a big breath. Breathing out slowly and biting her lip. He feels her anxiety, it's washing over her in waves.

“I would… god this is so hard.” She deflates closing her eyes. She turns fully pulling their hands into her lap. He laughs a little, his surefire partner who backs down from nothing. He reaches up touching her chin smiling at her urging her to continue. He needs these answers before he can deal with everything else. Where are we going with this Scully? What do you need? What can I do? What should I do? Direct me because I’ve done a terrible fucking job doing what I what. He hopes she answers his pleas. Hopes she understand that he needs more guidance than ever right now.

“I want you involved in… well everything as much as you want to be” a smiles plays at her lips.

He sits back surprised.

“I would love it if you could be at the big appointments at least, maybe hold my hand.” She says sheepishly. “I'm scared, i have no idea how to do this and you always..”

She licks her lips again before swallowing hard. “you always center me, make me feel brave.”

He chuckles at her. He centers her, of all the things he has said and done he never imagined he made anyone feel centered. He sits back. He needs to think about what he wants needs to reassess. He needs time.

“when is your next appointment? And um what is it for?” his voice sounds stronger than he feels

She grins. “it's umm Thursday at 3 for the first ultrasound. It's umm a big one, we should be able to hear a heartbeat,” she finishes with a whisper.

He nods he stands up pulls her up with him. Tucks a strand of bright red hair behind her ear.

“I'll be there,”

that megawatt smile is back “really?” she questions, of course she does, she is Dana Scully but he sees the joy shining through her.

“yea, I want to be there for that,” he says smiling.

She has tears in her eyes and she wraps her arms around him. Hugging him fiercely. She pulls back and kisses him. He hesitates but her lips are full and tender. She must sense his hesitation because she pulls back quickly. Muttering a sorry as she picks up the trash.

“sorry, that I'm just..” She trails off embarrassed. He is too.

“We should get back.” he mutters she nods. He follows her out of the park, but doesn't place his hand on her back. He has just complicated the shit out of his life. His phone rings and he remembers lunch with Diana a new source a new file, a quick fuck at her house. He tells scully in a scruffy voice.

“I have to take this, I'll see you later,” she nods turning quickly.

He knows she saw the name, and the look on her face proves she did see the bra on his floor. She knows he's with Diana. His lips still tingle with sweet sugar from her kiss and he isn't sure how to breathe anymore. As he watches her walk away he sees her shoulders slum as the elation from moments ago brushed off, and defeat takes over her familiar stride.

I’m not leaving it like this promise.

Tagging the peeps who asked and some extras :)

@scully-eats-sushi @contrivedcoincidences6 @knuffelkontje @tngbabe @danaedaniels @itsclaucueva @sandymans-world @lappina @postmodernpromartheus @missmelimelis0900 @foxystarbucks @skinny-gillian @gwensghosts @wendyi111 @peacenik0 @monaiargancoconutsoy @marinafrenzy @improlificinsarcasm @today-in-fic

#mulder and scully #s6 #msr #ust #msr fanfic #thebedyouvemade #part 2 #my fic

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eturni · 5 years

Text

Day 31 - Auld Lang Syne

I did it! It’s Day 31 of @drawlight advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and we have Auld Lang Syne. It’s quarter past midnight and I was writing through into the New Year. May this be a sign of things to come.

Song is built into the human psyche. Voices are raised in song as celebration, praise and mourning alongside almost every emotion that touches a life. It was naturally linked to the first angelic choirs providing missives from On High but it seemed built into their hearts. They used their voices to reach each other the same way they reached out in times of disaster or reached out to the stars.

In the right situations and with the right intentions songs can be prayer. Where they hold hope. Where they ask for good to come or try to ease pain.

Auld Lang Syne is like that. A prayer for the future, for better.

It’s 2026 and Warlock has come back to the UK to study at Edinburgh University. Humanities, much to their father’s dismay and a certain demon’s chagrin. Aziraphale declares this the perfect excuse to go back and take part in the Hogmanay celebrations, not to mention refill his stores of the good whiskey and some select delicacies.

Warlock’s friends are entirely enchanted by the demon and angel that turn up for the celebrations. Warlock insists that they will be, under no circumstances, joining the three of them for the celebrations in spite of Aziraphale’s warm assurances that it would be no bother at all and Crowley’s evident glee at the amount of embarrassment that he causes just by being seen.

There are a significant number of “Oh, that explains.” and “They really weren’t kidding, huh?” among the general chatter that ensures Crowley knows there have been stories told about Nanny Ashtoreth and how Warlock was raised.

They’re rushed out of the flat share and towards Edinburgh centre in a flurry of stylish black and glitter that has Aziraphale looking at him with something fond in his eyes. “Alright, knock it off brother Francis.” Warlock glowers as best they can, falling back into the names they still used when they felt the two were treating them like they were still eleven.

“Of course, young Warlock,” Aziraphale grins, like the bastard he is “please lead on. I’ll trust your judgements as to the best spots for the festivities.”

There’s a sense of warmth and revelry thrumming through the city as they wander and Crowley soaks in the latent sins just waiting to be acted upon. Sometimes it’s difficult to be off the clock; especially when opportunities are so rife and spirits are so high.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52644403 or:

“Gonna be weird not hearing Big Ben, angel.” Crowley points out instead, bringing Aziraphale’s hand up to brush a kiss against his knuckles. Even half a step in front of them Warlock catches the motion and rolls their eyes.

Aziraphale only chuckles and moves a little closer. “My dear, we’ve been without before when they were doing the maintenance. And for years before. We’ll manage I think.”

“Yeah. Suppose it’s better being with the little terror for the holidays as well. We’re very proud of you by the way, young Warlock.” Crowley grins over to the teen, voice slipping back and forth between his normal voice and nanny’s soft brogue.

“Yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it.” The teen shrugs. Aziraphale all but beams at the redness that tinges Warlock’s as they continue to lead them through the streets and point out places that they went with their new little university friends.

Crowley can see hints of fires in the distance down at Princess Street and hear the pounding strains of music in amongst all of the chatter and cheer.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

He watches Warlock move ahead of them and thinks of Adam down south at Cambridge. The Antichrist and the child who might have been the Antichrist. Both of them living relatively settled lives, working on bettering themselves, and looking to a future that had seemed all but impossible when Crowley had begged Aziraphale to run to the stars with him.

There had been a time that Crowley was going to try and forget. They’d done enough damage to Warlock in the raising of the child and Adam had more than enough of the supernatural in that brush with the almost apocalypse and everything that had come with it. In the end it had been Aziraphale who’d encouraged him to try and make contact again; sensing how conflicted the demon was at having these two kids, who’d brushed with the forces of Hell, and just leaving them to it.

Now they’re practically true godfathers to two children, and that’s without counting The Them whose memories had been altered after the event but were often far too Knowing regardless and seem to have been left with some sort of imprint to their psyches.

Crowley frequently finds himself looking closely at them and hoping that they’re a sign of the kind of safe hands the world will be in within a couple more decades.

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet.

Aziraphale and Crowley had spent millennia apart and centuries close and decades together. There had been constant matches about the inherent goodness of humans. There had been constant matches about how unfair it was to expect people to behave just as well no matter the disadvantage you set them up with at the beginning.

No matter what their positions had been at any given time there was almost always a drink to be shared between them.

No matter who was doing the wiling or the thwarting their story had wound together in equal parts ill and good deed and, no matter what, in attempted kindness both given and received.

Crowley had spent so much of his time on Earth committing to kindness to the ‘wrong’ people in the name of subverting the will of Heaven. Lifting the poor, encouraging the downtrodden to revolution. Aziraphale looked back at it sometimes and wondered how he could have followed Heaven’s party line like a shield for so long from the only other person who truly understood the true potential in humans, and the true worth of them.

Aziraphale had spent so much of his time on Earth coming to truly understand the humans. Finding what they needed, understanding what was truly good beyond the rules that they set themselves. He had done without waiting for permission. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Often enough Crowley looked at this terribly brave, terribly hedonistic angel and wondered how he came to be so lucky. If it, too, wasn’t some part of the Ineffable plan that the angel liked to harp on about.

Both had found ways to be kind in a very human sense that fit neither of their roles.

surely ye'll be your pint-stoup and surely I'll be mine.

Crowley grins at the joy on Warlock’s face as they slip into their favourite local and buy a few pints to sup while they watch the world pass by the front window and let the pounding of the music thunder in echo-chamber chests.

“Mom would go absolutely mad if she knew I was drinking.” They chuckle after their first sip.

“Well, over here you’re legal. That’s all that matters to us, right angel?”

Aziraphale tilts his head a little. “Well, that and that you’re sensible when you drink. Have to remember that you don’t need to try to keep up with us.”

Crowley bit his lip at that, seeing the flash of challenge in Warlock’s eye. “He’s not kidding, you know. Aziraphale’s lost a liver before, its really not worth it when you can just enjoy it.”

Warlock takes another gulp before their glass clatters to the table. “Alright, that I have to hear.”

Crowley and Aziraphale look between each other; the angel in warning and the demon in pure glee. The firelight outside catches flame-red hair and shows a hint of truly happy eyes behind glasses. Aziraphale sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. “Alright, so, we were over in the Americas in the middle of the prohibition-”

“Oh, come on! Yeah you’re ancient but you’re not that old.” Warlock rolls their eyes in annoyance.

Crowley snorts a laugh that almost sends ale out of his nose when Aziraphale makes a sort of chalk-board squeak in the back of his throat. “Be that as it may, let me tell my story. You can decide on the truth of the particulars as you wish. Now, it’s at this time I was spending some time with my friend Ms Parker having some discussions about her husband’s behaviours and I’m afraid we got rather deep into some of the more contraband drinks.”

Crowley leans back in his seat; tuning out the chatter and the music and everything else as he watches his partner regale Warlock with old stories. He thinks of how much it’s possible to love one single ethereal being and how little of it should be his. But it is, and it will be for millennia to come. It’s still overwhelming years later and Crowley doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being in awe of it all.

We twa hae run about the braes and pou'd the gowans fine. But we've wander'd mony a weary fit sin' auld lang syne.

After a few more drinks the three of them pass back out into the street and follow streets until they find a familiar path that has Aziraphale gently clutching at Crowley’s arm with a smile. “Oh, I remember this place, my dear. There was a wonderful tailor who lived here back in the fifteenth century.”

Crowley stops in his wandering and motions for Warlock to do the same, happy to indulge Aziraphale for now.

“Yeah, makes sense angel. You always did go for the broken down districts.” He teases softly. It’s what makes Aziraphale the angel that most western humans based their stories on. A guardian angel who turned up in the harder areas and made what difference he could just by being there.

“Telling more tales?” Warlock asks archly with a roll of his eyes. Crowley knows he’s trying to goad another story out of Aziraphale. The kid doesn’t believe the stories, but they’re fascinating nonetheless. And it’s still slightly less bullshit than what they hear from their father.

“Maybe we are. You know, the castle being up on the hill like that? Great for defence but not so great for hunting. All the royals used to love that shit-” “Crowley, language!”

“-that bollocks, so they’d have a whole chunk of land set aside for them to hunt on that the commoners weren’t allowed onto. Now, if you’re an actual demon, and like causing fuss, and the laws of man certainly don’t apply to you, you might find yourself stopping to unleash non-native species onto hunting grounds. You might find yourself in a spot of trouble with the local regent. You might even find yourself helped out of it by someone who’s supposed to be your enemy, and who you thought was hundreds of miles away in Asia looking for early written texts.”

Aziraphale tuts at this. “Too many suppositions, Crowley. You’re telling it wrong. Let me, now-”

Crowley grins and falls into relative silence as Aziraphale tells one of the tales of how he had come to Crowley’s aid a few centuries ago.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, but seas between us braid hae roar’d

The two of them often had whole oceans separating them across the years. There have been times that midwinters were spent in lonely huts or new year celebrations with mortals whose faces they would not be able to remember in a few decades’ time.

There were years that they were close and yet never close enough. There were years it was a matter of rivers or streams between them.

There were years that it was their own fears alone that separated.

Invariably everything human that either of them did was made all the more special if they could share it together and that had made the last few years something that neither would give away for all the safety in the world.

Seas could roar and oceans could draw chasms between them and yet Aziraphale and Crowley had always been drawn back together, closer and faster each time. It had been pleasant to find that their natural collision actually just led them to settle into the other’s arms. Close enough that nothing but the occasional bickering argument would pass between them again.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught for auld lang syne!

The three of them are caught up at the stroke of midnight. The canon being fired at the castle echoes through the streets to cheers and laughter. Aziraphale leans in to kiss Crowley and Warlock politely does Not tell them to get a room.

Before long they’re in the midst of a small group forming a circle and taking up the strains of Auld Lang Syne. Warlock pulls a face as they get past the first couple of verses, entirely lost. Crowley leans in with a smile and leads his old charge through with the smallest of demonic miracles.

At the last verse they cross arms and link hands and Aziraphale can see the pure mischief in Crowley’s face. “Get ready to move, dear boy. We’ll all be heading for the centre.” He warns in Warlock’s ear, knowing that Crowley has no intention of telling the poor thing.

Even Warlock manages a startled laugh as they rush the centre at the end of the song, twisting around each other until they rush away again, facing outwards and into the new year.

Crowley’s face almost hurts from the smiling as he looks to Aziraphale and Warlock; the colours of the fireworks lighting bright faces in the cold night air.

They’ve gained a lot surviving the Apocalypse together and he feels like there’s only going to be more to be thankful for in the future with his heart full to bursting and an angel at his side.

“Happy New Year.” He grins, and it’s almost shy as Aziraphale turns to him practically glowing from within and wishes him the same.

“And so many more.”

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #mini fic

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

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Come he’ll or high water is excellent can you please write more I love it 🥰 please thank you 🙏🥰🥰🥰👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Eight

Rain pattered against the window while Brianna sat at the table in the corner with Isobel working through a set of simple mathematics problems. She didn’t have the heart to tell Isobel that she’d mastered both multiplication and long division two years prior. Instead she worked her way through them slowly, allowing herself the fun of observing the others in the room while they thought she was thoroughly engrossed by the numbers on the page.

Brianna had found soon after her arrival at Helwater that she couldn’t help but like Isobel—she couldn’t have borne pretending she was so far behind in her studies otherwise. But Isobel’s sweetness could become grating if not for the presence of her sister, Geneva. It was Geneva who knew exactly how to push Isobel’s agreeableness to the brink, to coax a few less-than-kind remarks out of Isobel—and then offer reassurance that she hadn’t been so unkind as to require begging anyone’s pardon.

There was more to Geneva that Brianna found mesmerizing, however. Quiet moments when she managed a glance at the older girl and it was clear Geneva didn’t realize she was being watched. In those moments she looked the way Brianna had felt when Mama and Daddy had told her the great and terrible Truths of her life—first, that Daddy wasn’t going to live with them anymore, he was going to live with his special friend, Sandy, and, just a short time after that, when her mother informed her that Daddy wasn’t her “real” father. From what Brianna could tell, it was partly Geneva’s parents who were causing her to look that way, but not because they were breaking up. No, the lady Geneva was going to be married soon and anyone could see she didn’t want to get married.

But that was why there were beginning to be so many extra people at the estate. They were guests visiting for the upcoming wedding. Several older relatives of the Dunsanys had taken to sitting with Lady Dunsany in the main sitting room while the younger guests preferred to gather in the drawing room. It was in the adjoining library that Isobel was giving Brianna her lessons but the door was kept open so Isobel might pop in and make her necessary appearances every so often. Brianna thought Isobel perhaps preferred the quieter library to the group in the drawing room.

Brianna enjoyed peeking up at them through the doorway. She could only see a portion of one setee and a fragment of the floor to ceiling windows behind but Geneva was partial to planting herself on that setee and as the bride to be, she frequently had company beside her—usually one of the two British soldiers who had startled her mother in the forest that day they’d arrived. The younger of those two often turned to glance through the same open doorway at her, which always made her flush and look down at her paper. Or was he looking at Isobel? Brianna peeked up to see Isobel looking flustered as well, no doubt aware of the soldier’s piercing gaze.

Even if Brianna could convince herself that the young man was paying his attentions to Isobel, all it took was Geneva seeing her sister’s blush to throw a wrench in Brianna’s plans of going unnoticed.

“Isobel,” Geneva called rising from the setee and floating to the door. “Aren’t you going to join us? As the sister of the bride it’s part of your duties to help me entertain my guests,” she teased with a playful giggle and glance over her shoulder. “John, Hal, won’t you help me coax Isobel into joining us?”

Isobel sighed but smiled at Brianna before pushing herself up from her chair at the table. “You’re doing wonderfully,” Isobel assured her. “Keep working on this set of problems and I’ll be back shortly to check your progress.”

Brianna nodded and then watched as Isobel glared at her sister who stood in the doorway with a satisfied grin on her face.

“Really John, you must ask Isobel about her latest obsession with playing governess,” Geneva continued, the conversation still drifting in for Brianna to overhear since the door between the rooms remained open. “It’ll be something to keep her occupied when she no longer has me around to entertain her.”

Isobel spoke too quietly for Brianna to hear but from Geneva’s subsequent, “Oh come, I’m only playing,” she assumed the young lady had rebuked her.

“It is the curse of younger siblings to always be tormented by the older,” John remarked, lightening the mood even as he too scolded Geneva.

Brianna set her pencil aside and leaned forward over the table, straining to see if she could catch a glimpse of them but they must be standing near the fireplace. The rain outside was unrelenting in a spring that was already slow about taking root. That was one of the things about this time that Brianna found most frustrating and quietly terrifying—how cold it was without proper, modern heating and how afraid she was that she would get too close to the hearth or that she’d knock over a candle and go up in flames.

“I know Isobel’s attempts to improve the poor child arrive from the best of intentions,” Geneva assured the others and Brianna could hear the eye roll in her tone. “I just think that when it comes to the staff and their families, it’s not our place to interfere. They have their lives and we have ours.”

“And the fact that their livelihood depends upon our whims doesn’t matter?” Isobel challenged more vocally, clearly surprising the others.

Brianna rose from her seat and tiptoed closer to the door to hear better and maybe sneak a better angle through the door so she could see them while remaining hidden in the shadows. If she was truly lucky, there’d be a mirror on one wall that would let her watch their reflections—she couldn’t remember if there was a mirror in the drawing room though.

“So long as they’re paid for their services, I’m not sure I understand to what you might object,” the older one—Hal, Geneva had called him—said gently.

“They require decent pay to support their families,” Isobel agreed, “and sometimes they’re compensated in other forms—for instance, housing or their meals—but what about their other needs, especially for their children? Is it not our duty to guide them towards being productive members of society where their parents are either lacking the means or the opportunity?”

“And what makes you think the Mackenzies are lacking the means and opportunity?” Geneva countered. “Did you ask them if they wanted it when you asked for their permission? Shall we ask the little lady now?”

Brianna panicked for a moment as she heard Geneva’s footsteps crossing toward the door but her instincts quickly kicked in. She started walking for the door herself and nearly collided with Geneva.

“Sorry,” Brianna muttered, backing away. “I was just coming to ask Miss Isobel if she might excuse me to go help my mother. Miss Isobel should be spending her time with your company, not with me just now.”

“I don’t mind at all, really,” Isobel insisted but Geneva made a dismissive gesture, keeping her eyes on Brianna.

“The child is quite right, don’t you agree, John? It’s terribly rude of Isobel first to ignore your presence and then to ignore her young charge’s. If she had a nursemaid, we might turn her over to so she doesn’t inhibit her mother in her work. Should we engage one for her, Isobel?” Geneva asked, looking over her shoulder at her sister. “Would that be more of the means and opportunities that our hired servants are lacking? I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye on her ourselves then. Come child,” Geneva turned back to Brianna with an overly sweet smile. “Join us in the drawing room and we’ll try not to bore you too terribly.”

Brianna stood her ground, staring expressionlessly at Geneva.

“Geneva…” Hal said quietly, stepping toward her.

“Quiet little thing, aren’t you,” Geneva murmured, her attention still fixed on Brianna. “Do you speak at all?”

“I’m ten, not two,” Brianna replied, unamused even as the color began to rise in Geneva’s cheeks. “And my mother always told me if I didn’t have anything nice to say I shouldn’t say anything at all. I’d rather spend my time somewhere I can have a conversation. Thank you, Miss Isobel, for the lesson. I’ll see myself out.”

Brianna kept her ears pricked for their reactions as she turned on her heel and went to the table to retrieve her things before exiting through the door at the side that led to the servant’s passage and from there down to the kitchen. She heard one stifled chuckle (Hal) and Isobel’s gentle, “You were the one who provoked her.”

The sound of a slight commotion drew most of the others back into the drawing room—a footman announcing the arrival of another guest.

“Daniel,” Hal exclaimed in joy. “It’s a miracle you made it in this weather. You ought to have stayed at your inn until it cleared.”

“If he did that he might not have arrived in time at all,” Geneva declared, brushing away the awkwardness of being put in her place by a ten-year-old girl. “The way it looks now it could rain through the next fortnight and my wedding’s one week away. He knew I’d never forgive him if he wasn’t here.”

“Always said Gordon was like a brother to me so I see it as my brotherly duty to make sure everything stays on schedule,” a new voice chimed in.

“Well you might’ve been as a brother to Gordon but you’ve hardly been a brother to either of his sisters,” Geneva objected with a laugh. “You haven’t written a word to either Isobel or myself in over a year.”

Brianna snuck one final peek through the door to the drawing room.

John, the soldier who had come walking through the field with her mother that day, was the only one watching her as she made her exit.

“Bree,” Claire gasped as her daughter barged into the cottage, dripping wet from her brief run through the rain from the main house. “For heaven’s sake, what are you doing here? I was going to fetch you back after your lesson was finished. You’re soaked to the bone.”

“Well you might wind up back there later treating their latest guest. Sounds like he rode a ways through the rain and I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes down sick from it,” Brianna said, shaking her hair like a wet dog.

“Sassenach,” Jamie called from the cottage’s back entrance. “Do ye have anything hereabouts we could eat? Thought it might be nicer to have our midday meal alone together rather than trek through the muck to the main house. And as Bree’s occupied there with Miss Isobel…”

Claire cleared her throat loudly soon after he began and spoke over him, “We’re in here, Jamie. Bree’s just got back too. We hadn’t addressed the subject of lunch yet.”

Jamie came around the corner, his face pink and dripping with the rain that had soaked his hair.

“Bree,” he said with a smile. “Is it wet enough for ye out there? I ken I must look and feel like a half-drowned cat.”

“Well it is raining cats and dogs,” Brianna remarked without enthusiasm.

“Why don’t you fetch some dry things from your trunk and change in our room,” Claire offered.

“I suppose we won’t be using it after all,” Jamie whispered in her ear as he brushed a kiss against Claire’s cheek.

“I had brought a leftover side of ham from the house after tending the cook the other day,” Claire continued, ignoring Jamie, “and there’s cheese I had set aside as well. We’ll see what kind of meal we can make with that and maybe it will let up enough tonight for a larger meal with the others at the main house.”

When Brianna had closed their bedroom door behind her to change, Claire turned into Jamie’s arms and stood on her toes to give him a kiss.

“When the wedding’s over and their guests have gone home, things will calm down enough that we’ll have a little more time for ourselves,” she whispered, pulling away from him as his hands drifted down to her backside. “Not just the two of us, but the three of us.”

“Except for when we have time just the two of us to get back to work on making that three of us into a four, aye?”

“Aye,” Claire smiled and blushed. “Though by my watch we’ve spent a fair bit of time working at that already.”

#the next installment will have more of Jamie and Claire (at least at the beginning) I promise #Anonymous #;mod lenny #come hell or helwater #featuring: bree #featuring: geneva dunsany #featuring: isobel dunsany grey #featuring: john grey #featuring: hal grey

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soybeantree · 6 years

Text

blossom

pairing: mark x reader genre/warning: singleparent!reader, teacher!mark; some soft shit word count: 7k description: soft mark as your son’s teacher. a/n: buckle in buttercups

“Do you ever feel like your life is spiraling down a black hole headed nowhere?” “No. Is that an adult thing?”

The young boy sitting across the table from you asks, pausing in his breakfast consumption. Sighing, you put down your spoon and shake your head. “No, I think it’s a me thing. Your mom is a mess. Have I apologized to you lately that you ended up with me as a mom?” The young boy chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a great mom and a beautiful mess.” He says as he stands up and clears his dishes, heading for the sink. “I’m a blessed mess.” You call over your shoulder as you stand up. “It’s the only way I could end up with a kid like you.” You add as you follow your son’s example and place your dishes in the sink. As you start to rinse them off, you catch sight of the clock. “Oh, shhh-It’s time to go!” You save yourself, shooting your son a smile. The kid shakes his head. “Swear jar.” “I didn’t say it.” “Swear jar.” His arms cross his chest, and his feet stand firm. Your cause is lost. “Fine. Go grab your jacket and backpack. And hurry about it!” You call as he disappears into his room. Heading towards the annoyingly large glass jar which sits in the far corner of your living, you dump all of your change into it. The jar is nearly full, and the sight makes you cringe. The past few weeks at work have been stressful, leading to your statement at breakfast and the full jar. While you hope the trend won’t continue, reality leads you to believe otherwise. You do need to find a better outlet for your stress though, or you’re going to end up broke. “Mom!” “Coming.” You rush to the entryway, slipping on shoes before dashing out the door your son is so kindly holding open. His school is close by, the reason you chose the apartment. He insists that being ten he is old enough to walk to school by himself. You insist that being twenty-eight you are not old enough for him to walk to school on his own. You plan on living a long and healthy life, and if something happens to him, you’ll either end up dead from grief or in jail for vengeance. So the two of you walk to school together. These couple minutes are sacred to you. With all the stress and demands of work, time with your son is scarce, so you take advantage of every minute you have. “Alright, what do I need to know about this coming week?” You ask as you head down the street. Your son walks silently beside you, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “What is it?” You ask at his hesitation. “We are currently in a full honesty, no judgment zone. Didn’t you see the sign we just passed?” You gesture over your shoulder to the non-existent sign behind you. He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “There was no sign mom.” “Okay, but my point still stands.” Taking a deep breath, he starts. “I want to make a deal with you.” His eyes dart to yours, and you nod urging him to continue. “If you say yes, you can take back all the money in the swear jar.” The money in the swear jar is designated for charity. You two had come up with this deal when he was in first grade and was sent to the principle’s office for swearing in class. You had been mortified but were even more mortified when you realized it was your fault. That day you had told him that swearing in school was not okay and promised that you would stop swearing, and that ff he caught you swearing, then you would put all the change in your wallet into the swear jar. Once it was full, you would take all the money and donate it to the charity of his choice. While you hadn’t been able to keep your promise as diligently as you would have liked, you two had donated quite a bit to charities. “Kid, that money-” He holds up his hand though, and you zip your lips. It’s his time to talk. “At the end of the month, we’re going to have a choir concert.” Everything within you plummets as your mind follows the path he’s laying out. “Minnie’s mom was supposed to help with the costumes and the set, but she broke her arm and can’t. Mr. Mark can’t do it all by himself, and he asked if any other parent’s might be able to help. I know you’re busy with work, but no other parent’s can help and if Mr. Mark doesn’t get any help then we can’t do the concert and-and…” His shoulders heave, and his eyes start to glisten, and you stare back at him helpless. Ever since that first day when the doctor placed this tiny bundle in your arms, you’ve been helpless whenever you look in those eyes. “Okay.” “Okay? You’ll do it!” He bounces on his feet, smiling up at you so brightly, and you know if you could you would give this kid the world. “Yes, yes, I’ll do it.” “Mr. Mark will be so happy.” He beams as he starts to skip down the street. “Mhm.” You nod as you follow him at a more moderate pace. Mr. Mark. Mark Tuan was your son’s first grade teacher, the one who had sent him to the office for swearing. He was there when you came to pick him up. Your son had been in tears. He hadn’t realized what he said was a bad word. Mommy said it all the time. He didn’t want to be a bad kid. Mark had sat beside him, telling him that just because he said a bad word didn’t mean that he was a bad kid. People made mistakes. He just needed to learn from his mistake, so that way he didn’t make them again. Standing down the hall watching the interaction, your mind was a war of emotions, the chief being mortification. You were mortified that you were teaching your son to cuss; that because of you, he felt this way about himself; and that Mark witnessed it all. The second emotion was gratitude. You were grateful that Mark was the one who witnessed it, that he would sit with your son and comfort him, and that he had somehow found a way back into your life. Fate is funny, you think as you give your son a kiss and send him off to school. While the goodbye embarrasses him as it would any ten year old boy, he lets you do it every morning. Because, as he has told you so many times, his love for you is greater than any embarrassment. You hope it’s something he learned from you. That cussing isn’t the only thing you’ve taught him. Your love for him is greater than any embarrassment. You wish it was the same for your family. Heading towards the nearby bus stop, your mind wanders through old memories. You were young when you had your son. Fresh out of high school, you found out you were pregnant. You were unwed and unemployed with only your family to lean on, except you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you. Coming back from another unsuccessful job hunt, you had found a suitcase on your parent’s doorstep with all your clothes in it. Your father wasn’t pleased with what had happened you could tell that by his stony silence and your mother was always looking away when you entered a room, but they were your parents. They should love you more than any embarrassment. You had stood on their doorstep, pounding on the door and screeching until night fell. But the door never opened. They probably weren’t even home. They had kicked you out and fled. You collapsed against the door, staring at the sliver of moon which hung in the sky. That’s when Mark came. You had known Mark your whole life. He lived down the street from you and was by far the coolest kid on the street. All the boys wanted to be his friend and all the girls wanted to be his girl-friend. He was your first crush and your first love. Being two years older than you, he had already gone off to college. So when he came and crouched down in front of you, you were shocked to see him. He had undoubtedly heard you screaming, the whole neighborhood had, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t ask about it or offer any false words of hope. Instead, he held out a hand and asked if you wanted to grab something to eat. As you board the bus, you smile at the memory. His face had shone with kindness, but all you wanted was to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone and stop trying to be nice. With him there, you couldn’t curl up in a little ball and cease existing. But you said none of that. You couldn’t. While the thing inside you was probably no bigger than a grain of rice, it needed you. Without you, it couldn’t survive, and you refused to abandon it. Your love for it would be greater than any embarrassment. So you took Mark’s hand and let him pull you up. He grabbed your suitcase and, with his hand still wrapped around yours, started walking down the street. He did all the talking which was shocking because he never talked. Mark was always the quiet, mysterious type, but tonight he was a fountain of words. He told you about how he was studying to be a teacher and about his roommate Jinyoung who was also pursuing education. The two of you headed to a local restaurant, and over a steaming bowl of soup, he continued to speak. Eventually, you started talking too and joking. He never asked about the pregnancy or made any comments about it. For one night, you were able to just be you. After dinner, he offered you his sister’s room for the night. Being older than him, she had already moved out. Hesitant, you declined, but he assured you his parents wouldn’t mind. Having no other options, you relented and agreed. His parents didn’t mind. They welcomed you in with open arms, showing you the spare room. A towel lay folded neatly on the bed with little bottles of shampoo and soap. After a warm shower, you laid down and fell asleep instantly. The next morning, you woke before any of them. During your shower the night before, you had accepted the truth. The life you had lived before came to an end when the second pink line appeared. Your parents made it very clear you no longer had a place here, and you couldn’t live of the Tuan’s kindness forever. Before they could wake and talk you out of your decision, you left with only a note to thank them for their kindness. Life was hell after that. Working, raising a kid, and putting yourself through college, you wonder how you did it. There were lots of tears and sleepless nights, but you survived. After all your hard work, you were able to land a good job and send your son to a good school. He loved his school, especially his teacher Mr. Mark. It wasn’t until that first parent-teacher conference that you realized Mr. Mark was your Mark. That had been a fun night, followed by more fun nights. Over the school year at different functions, you and Mark had filled each other in on those years since you left. He regaled you with the tales of him and his friends, and you allowed him a glimpse of your hell. Feelings you had thought long dead floated to the surface. They weren’t the same though. The infatuation of a young girl had matured into respect and appreciation and desire. For a time, you entertained your childhood fantasies. Then your son swore. Standing there watching Mark comfort him, you were thrown back to that day on your parents doorstep. After all those years and all that hell, you were still the same girl who needed Mark to step in and help her up. You couldn’t face him after that. The feelings which had surfaced, you forced back down. Your son graduated to second grade and your interactions with Mark dwindled until your son decided to join the school choir. For years, the school choir had been run by a kind old man who had lost his hearing at some point during his tenure. No one had the heart to tell him though. But, before your son’s third grade, the old man announced that that year would be his last. Mark, a music minor, was unanimously elected as his successor, and your son was one of the first kids to sign up the next year. Now, you see Mark on a weekly basis. Thus far you have successfully limited your interactions to polite greetings and small talk. Stepping off the bus, you acknowledge that moving forward this will no longer be the case. The two of you will be working closely until the concert. The feelings you sunk, stir at the prospect, but you force them to still. Mark has always been a pleasant fantasy, but you live in the real world and have dealt with too much shit to indulge in fantasies.

Later that week, you sit hunched over a sewing machine as you curse under your breath. The damn bobbin keeps messing up, and if you have to re-thread the needle one more time, you’re likely to shove the whole thing off the table. Believing the school would have adequate equipment for the task at hand, you left your beautifully functioning sewing machine at home. The mistake would not be repeated again. Next time, you would bring it.

Needle re-threaded, you run the cloth through the machine, only to hear the whir and feel the tell-tale tug. Before the machine can meet the floor, long hands pull it out of your reach. Glancing up, you find Mark standing above you. A smile tugs at his lips, but he forces them to still. He wants to appear serious. “Would you be able to help me with the set pieces? I’ve finished cutting them out. I just need someone a little more artistic to paint them.” Sewing had offered you the opportunity to distance yourself from Mark, but if you spend any more time with that machine, you’ll end up owing the school a new machine. Maybe that’s what you should do with the swear jar money this time around. You muse, chuckling to yourself. “What?” Mark’s eyes catch yours. “Nothing, I was just- it’s nothing. I’ll just get started on those set pieces.” You stand heading over to the cut-outs. The less talking you do the easier all of this will be. You grab a nearby paint brush and bucket and begin outlining the branches. Mark settles next to a fence as an uncomfortable silence falls. “Do you mind if I put on some music?” Mark’s voice breaks the silence. Your brush streaks across the tree leaving an ugly stain. You hadn’t expected him to speak. Determined to escape the awkwardness, you had filled your mind with everything you had to do for work. “No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine.” Music starts as you try to fix your mistake. The two of you continue to work, as the music pushes the silence back. However, the awkwardness remains and grows worse as the night drags on. You continually check your phone, hoping hours have ticked by. But only minutes have passed. “Mom!” Your sons voice enters the room, and you glance up from the bush you’re working on. A relieved smiled slips on your face. Today’s torture is coming to an end. “Hey, sweetie. How was studying at Minnie’s?” You ask as you start to gather up the brushes and paint. Not able to physically help with the concert, Minnie’s mom had offered to watch your son while you worked. “I finished all my homework.” He beams. “You did? Good job, kiddo.” “Yes…” A glint appears in his eyes. Pushing off the floor, you cross your arms and nod for him to continue. “Since I finished all my homework, I was wondering if we could go and get some ice cream.” He fixes you with those eyes, and you tell yourself that he earned a treat. You’re not being a pushover. “Okay,” He fist bumps the air before you can finish, “We can get ice cream.” You chuckle as he proceeds to do the dorky victory dance he learned from you. “But first, help me clean up. We don’t want to leave this mess for Mr. Mark.” “Oh, Mr. Mark,” he turns to his teacher, “do you want to get ice cream with us?” The invitation should have been obvious. You should have waited to agree until after you left. Now the invitation hangs in the air, and you can’t face Mark. You can barely face your son for fear he will read too much in your expression. Smoothing your face, you turn to Mark with a simple smile. “You’re more than welcome to come with us.” “Sure, I can always eat ice cream.” He returns the smile. Drawing on a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you manage to keep the smile on your face and nod. With the three of you working together, you finish the clean up in minutes. Down the street from the school is a local ice cream shop which has been run by the same family for generations. Here you three head for the promised treat. Your son is quick to order chocolate fudge, requesting a second scoop when he thinks you’re not paying attention. He receives one scoop with sprinkles. You request the more moderate vanilla. Mark completes the trio with cookies ‘n cream. Outside the shop, benches and tables sit clustered around a little wishing well. Your son plops onto a chair, and you settle on the bench across from him, failing to realize your mistake until Mark exits the shop with his cone in hand. The cluster your son has chosen only has the chair he occupies and the bench under you, leaving the only available seat beside you. Glancing at your son, you find that glint in his eye as he slowly licks away at his ice cream. “Do you mind?” Mark asks gesturing to the accursed spot. You shake your head scooting over until the arm rest bites into your side. Mark lowers himself, careful to keep an arms width of distance between you two. “Mr. Mark?” Your son asks. Mark motions for him to continue. “Did you really know my mom when she was little?” Sputtering turns to coughing as you choke on your ice cream. Mark pats you gently on the back, but you wave him off. “Sorry.” You cough. “Wrong pipe.” “Ummm…” Mark glances at you, but you wave him off again as you regain your breath. “Uh, yes. We grew up in the same neighborhood.” He turns his attention to your son. “What was mom like when she was little?” “We didn’t know-” “She was very independent,” He cuts you off, “like she is now.” “Really? How so?” “There’s one thing I remember from when we were really young. She would wander away from her house all the time, and the whole neighborhood would know when it happened because her mom would rush out of the house screaming. Everyone would start looking for her, and she would be somewhere different every time. When she finally returned home, her mom would rage at her.” “Mom!” Your son accuses. “And you won’t even let me walk to school by myself.” “Do as I say not as I do. Have you ever heard that expression?” You defend your protectiveness. “I was lucky that nothing happened to me.” Mark clears his throat before taking another bite of ice cream. You eye him. “What?” “You weren’t always lucky.” He mumbles, but you still hear him. At your bewildered expression, Mark continues more clearly. “There was one time I saw you wandering, and there was this guy. He made me feel uneasy, so I went and got my dad. And he reported the man to the police.” The knowledge sends a chill racing down your spine, and you stare at him horrified. “After that, I would always keep an eye on your door, and if you ever went wandering I would follow behind.” “You did?” Clearing his throat, he nods, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “So you were my mom’s guardian angel?” Mark chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that. I was just worried something might happen.” His focus goes to his ice cream as he continues to chip away at it. You stare at him and then a crack in the sidewalk until your ice cream drips onto your hand. Cursing in your head, you lick up the mess and make quick work of the frozen treat and cone. Your son works more slowly, that glint in his eye ever present, so you hurry him along and excuse yourself from the situation. You need to get home before any other secrets come to light.

At work the next week, you sit through yet another meeting. This one thankfully marks the end of the project you’ve been slaving over for the past month. You wish your boss would show his gratitude for your teams hard work, by not having a meeting. Glancing at your co-workers, you can tell they are of the same mind set. Your boss does end the meeting earlier than usual though which everyone applauds.

As you gather your things and prepare to return to your desk, you hear your name called. Your boss stands on the other side of the room a smile on his face. That smile sends your stomach plummeting. It means more work for you. With this project completed, you had hoped you would receive a reprieve from your overloaded schedule, but you seem to be luckless.

“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. “I want you to head our new office.” “If I’m not mistaken, that office is in a different country.” He nods. “Of course the promotion comes with a move, but the company would assist with your relocation, and you would be allotted a housing stipend.” The offer is an honor, recognition for all the work you’ve put in. Everyone knew about the new office opening, and the office gossip had all been supposition about who would helm it. You had never given consideration to the idea that it would be you. While work can be exhausting, you are content where you are, and you believed the company was content to keep you where you are. “This is a big change, sir. Could I have some time to think about it?” “Of course, we don’t have to announce anything for another two weeks. Take your time think it over, but I’m sure you’ll find the benefits outweigh any minor inconveniences you face now.” His smile broadens as you nod. Exiting his office, you find your co-workers packing up and saying their farewells. A glance at the clock confirms that the workday has come to an end. You breath a sigh of relief. After that bombshell, you wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything. Grabbing your own bag, you head out of the building to your bus stop. The bus ride home is spent in silence. You watch the world pass by, but notice nothing as your mind weighs the benefits against the “minor inconveniences”. While your boss saw them as minor, you did not see them the same way. Moving meant leaving the apartment you had worked for years to be able to afford. It meant tearing your son from his school and his friends. It meant uprooting the life you had worked so hard to achieve. Did the benefits really outweigh what you would have to give up? You would have a new apartment, probably better than the one you had now, but it wouldn’t be the apartment that you had walked by every day for three years, promising yourself that one day you would live there. Your son would make new friends. The new city would have a good school, maybe a better one than he went to now, but Mark wouldn’t be there. That last thought stills you, and you almost miss your stop. Hoping off the buss, you start towards the school, but the familiar path is a blur as you try to rid Mark from your mind. He doesn’t fit into any of your plans and isn’t one of the “minor inconveniences”. Your relationship with Mark ends at the school gate. As you approach that gate, you find your son standing there talking with Minnie and a few of his other friends. When he notices you, he says his goodbyes and heads towards you. “How about a hug today, kiddo?” You hold your arms open wide, and after a moments hesitation, he walks into them. Squeezing him tight, you breath deeply. “You know I’m the only kid my age whose mom still hugs him?” He mumbles into your shoulder. “That’s either because they don’t want to be hugged or because their moms don’t love them as much as I love you.” You reply, releasing him. He gives you a look, causing you to chuckle. “I was thinking BBQ for dinner tonight. What do you think?” “Really? Yes! Let’s go!” He starts off down the street before you can change your mind.

Sitting at the table waiting for the waitress to bring your drinks, you prepare yourself for the coming conversation. This move will affect him just as much as it affects you. He has a right to know what’s coming and to add his input.

“Mom, what is it?” His question startles you and draws your attention to him. “What?” “You keep staring at nothing and sighing, and you said we could have BBQ tonight. Something is going on.” Your poker face never was the greatest. Nodding, you begin. “I’ve got some good news, but it could also be bad news.” He nods for you to continue. “My boss called me into his office today to offer me a promotion.” His eyes go wide, and he beams at you. “That’s awesome, mom! You’re the best worker at the company. You deserve a promotion. Why is that bad news?” “The promotion means we have to move.” “Where?” “Another country.” Silence. He stares at you, the joy from moments before washed away by this revelation. “Sweetie-” “Mom, we can’t move to another country. What about my friends and my school and our apartment, and everyone here. We can’t leave all of that.” His voice is a squeak, evidencing the boy he still is. He stares at you with those eyes, and you feel your inside crumble. “I know we would have to give up a lot, and I know that would be hard. But, there are a lot of good things that would come with the new job and the move. We would find you a new school, and you can make new friends. I would be making more money which means that we would be able to do more fun things like go on vacations and adventures.” “Would you be working as much?” You’d be working more. The answer shows on you face. He snorts, crossing his arms. “We won’t be going on any adventures. You’ll be too busy working, and I’ll be home alone with no friends.” “Kiddo, you’ll make-” His glare cuts you off. He’s angry, and he has every right to be. “I think we should both give this some serious thought, and then we can talk about it again.” His response is a huff.

Working with your sewing machine is a relief. If you had to struggle with the demon school machine, you would have gone on a rampage. The promotion has been dominating your thoughts, robbing you of sleep and leaving you peevish. You’ve weighed the pros and cons a thousand times and come to no satisfactory conclusion. Your son is firm in his resolution to stay and refusing to speak to you which irritates your aggravated state. You’re a toe stub away from a full melt down.

A knock, knock on your work table draws your eyes to Mark who is standing above you with a two steaming mugs in his hand. “Tea?” He offers. While you should say “no” and return to your work because being around Mark isn’t helping your situation, you straighten, stretching the muscles in your back, and reach for the mug. The warmth spreads through your aching fingers, and you sigh as you breath in the tea’s earthy smell. The steam caresses your face, relaxing the muscles. “Thank you.” You mumble as you bring the mug to your lips. “You know even Okoye needed the help of the Dora Milaje when she took on Killmonger.” He states as he perches on the edge of the table. You snort, nearly spilling tea down your front. “What?” “Okoye is the greatest warrior Wakanda has, but she was still able to accept the help of her fellow warriors.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “I’m sorry. Are you using a Black Panther analogy to tell me that it’s okay to accept help?” You raise an eyebrow at Mark as you lean back in your chair. Mark smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “It got you to smile didn’t it?” The smile, he referenced, thins to a line, but you can’t keep the edges from tugging upward. “So it at least accomplished one of it’s tasks.” “And the other was to get me to accept help?” “To let you know that you can.” His eyes hold yours, and you feel yourself falling back through time to that day on your parent’s doorstep. The last day you had accepted anyone’s help. “Are you offering again?” Your eyes fall from him as you set the mug on the table, your fingers fiddling with it’s handle. “I’ve never stopped.” His voice is light, and you can hear the smile in it. But the words lay heavy on your shoulders. “Mark-” But you don’t know what to say after that. Does he want you to apologize? Do you want to accept his help? You don’t even know what you want? “I hear congratulations are in order.” He says sparing you from your unfinished thought. “What?” “Your son told me that you’ve been offered a promotion.” Mark explains. The action shouldn’t surprise you. Your son has been attached to Mark since his first day of school. He’s the first solid male figure in his life. “What else did he say?” Mark pauses, his eyes drifting to a corner of the room. “You said it was okay to accept your help, Mark.” You don’t look at him as you speak, and the words burn on the way out. But you say them in the hopes of alleviating your ever mounting stress. “He won’t talk to me. I’d like to know how he’s feeling.” “He doesn’t want to move. He’s afraid he’ll be alone because he won’t have any friends and you’ll be too busy to spend time with him.” Your son is shy. A truth which you have buried as you’ve contemplated your decision. His fear is well-founded, and it rips at your chest. “You don’t think I should take it.” The irritation that’s been gnawing at you bleeds into your words, turning them from a question to an accusation. Mark holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and with a simple smile says, “I think you should do what you think is right.” He relaxes his arms, folding his hands on his lap. His smile and demeanor fit his words, supporting them, but his eyes don’t. His smile doesn’t reach them and an emotion resides in them which sets your heart racing. The emotions which you have been suppressing for years burst forth, and you find yourself asking, “How do you feel about this, Mark?” The question encompasses more than this moment and this decision. The question goes back years to when you were kids growing up in the same neighborhood. You ask him how he feels, but really you want to know why he followed you all those days, why he offered you a hand and a place to stay, why he was with your son at the principle’s office, and why he keeps showing up in your life. “I don’t want you to go.” The answer is simple and soft. No loud declaration or demand. “What?” “I’ve never wanted you to go, but I understand that just because I want you to stay doesn’t mean you should.” He smiles, shattering everything inside of you. “Why?” The question is pointless and self-serving, but you have to know, want to hear him say it. “Because I love you. I have since that first day I followed you on your wanderings.” Tears leak from your eyes, evidence of your wreckage within. “I-I...” You stutter as your brain shifts through the rubble for a response. “I have to go.” You stand up, grab your bag, and run like you did back then like you always do.

“It’s time to go.” Your son informs you. They’re the only words he’s spoken to you in the last week.

You catch his eyes in the bathroom mirror and give him a smile as you nod. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.” His lips remain a thin line as he turns and heads for the door. A sigh forces the air from your chest and slumps your shoulders. After a final check of your make-up, you head out of the bathroom and towards the front door where your son is waiting. He fixes his eyes on the door as he waits for you to slip on your shoes, and he is out the door the second they are on. He keeps two steps ahead of you the whole way to the school. “How much longer do you plan to keep this up? If we move, are you never going to speak to me again?” “You’re going to take the job.” He whirls around to face you with tears welling in his eyes. Clearing your throat, you respond, “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know.” “If I say ‘yes’, can we stay here?” Hope has replaced the tears, and you find it wrenches your heart more. “We should hurry. I don’t want you to be late.” You start to walk again, and your son plods along behind you.

The concert is beautiful. The costumes, the set, the singing. Everything turned out perfectly. But you notice none of it. Your attention is split between your son who whispers and giggles with his friends during each song break and Mark who directs the boys with a patient smile.

Since the night he confessed, you have kept your distance from him, not even helping with the final set up for the concert. Mark never texted or called about your absence. He allowed you your space like he always does. Staring at the most important person in your life and the person who has always been beside you, you make your decision. The weight which has rested on your shoulders since your boss offered you the promotion lifts instantly. You exhale all the stress and smile as you sit back and enjoy the rest of the concert. When the last song is sung and the children take their bows, you stand up and applaud with the rest of the parents. Your son finds you in the crowd. His smile pushes his cheeks into his eyes, and he practically glows with pride. But all too soon, memory returns, and he whips his attention from you. You continue to applaud though until the children take their final bow and exit the stage. Leaving your seat, you head back stage to share your decision with your son. Before you can reach him though, you run into Mark. He freezes when he sees you, and you mirror the behavior. Clearing his throat, he nods to you and continues on his way. “Mark.” He stops. “Can I talk to you?” He turns his eyes finding yours. The way he looks at you stills your heart and stops your breath. He’s searching, and you wonder what he sees. Whatever he saw causes him to nod again as he walks towards you. He leads you to a small alcove which allows you both a modicum of privacy. Standing a few feet apart, Mark starts talking, “If this is about what I said the other night, I want to-” You hold up a hand stopping him. “I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring him straight in the eyes though your mind screams in protest. “I’m sorry I ran then and that I ran all those years ago. I tell myself that I’m strong and independent but most of the time I’m just scared. And I act out of fear. Even as I say all of this to you, I’m scared,” you release a shuddering breath but continue, “but I’m tired of letting my fear control me. I love you too, Mark. I’ve loved you since before I can remember.” The truth flies from your lips leaving you with only fear as you study Mark’s face. He smiles, not big and bright but small and sad. Watching him, your heart plummets. “What I said that night is the truth. I love you, but I know that just because I love you doesn’t mean I can stop you from doing what is best for you.” You blink as your mind works to unravel the meaning behind his words. His response was unexpected and unwanted. Searching his eyes, realization strikes. “The job. You’re talking about the job.” You chuckle to yourself which furrows Mark’s brow. “I’m not taking the job, Mark.” “If it’s because of me…” You both know the end of the sentence. You smile up at him, and yours is big and bright. “It’s not because of you. Well, it’s not fully because of you.” Your smile eases as sensibility asserts itself. “I would be lying if I said you didn’t play into my decision. “The truth is it really is an incredible job. It comes with more money and more opportunities. And for those reasons, I’d be a fool not to take it. But it also comes with more hours and more traveling which means less time I get to spend with my son. You pause, your eyes becoming unfocused as your mind travels back to your early years. “When he was little, and I was putting myself through that hell; I told myself it’ll be worth it. If I work hard now and put in the hours, when he’s older I won’t have to. I can have time with my son.” Glancing back up at Mark, you continue, “If I take this job, I’ll have lied to myself all those years. I only have so much time before my son goes off to live his own life. I want to spend all the time I can with him until that day. “After that day,” you shrug your shoulder, “I’ll take a job with money and opportunities and hours and traveling. So I guess, I’m not saying no. I’m saying not now.” “Not now.” Mark nods with a true smile. “Not now.” You repeat returning his smile. “So what happens now then?” “I wouldn’t be opposed to dinner.” You cock a brow. “I also like movies. Video games occasionally. They’re really good stress relievers.” Mark snorts and nods. “I’m free for dinner most nights. And I also like movies and video games.” “Do I get to go to dinner and the movies and play video games too?” Both of your heads turn to face your son who stands in front of the alcove, smiling up at you two with his hands clasped behind his back, a familiar glint in his eye. “How long have you been there?” You ask. “Long enough to know that you two love each other and we’re not moving.” He smiles up at you. You’re caught between wanting to scold him and wanting to laugh. “And you didn’t think you should announce your presence?” “No.” Mark laughs, and you glare at him, but he continues. Shaking your head, you rub your eyes. “I’m hungry. Are you both hungry?” Glancing between the two, you find them both agreeing. “Good. Then let’s go to dinner, and we can talk about all of this there.” Your son smiles wide and heads for the door. As you start to follow him, you feel a hand slip into yours. Mark meets your eyes and offers you a simple smile. You return the smile and fall into step with him as you two head after your son.

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missblissy · 6 years

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Title: Free Fall Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: Reader-insert, one-shot Character: Arthur X Reader

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

Description: You and Arthur go for a hunting trip into Big Valley but some trouble comes along for the ride too. Things don’t turn up as planned. At all..

It wasn’t all that bad this morning. The rain from the night before had finally started to dry, and everyone started to come out of hiding.

Hosea was already up long before you, sitting by the campfire of the Horseshoe Overlook camp. Pearson had just gotten up too along with Grimshaw. You walked over to Hosea and sat down beside him.

“Good morning,” He said, handing you a small cup of coffee he had waiting beside him.

“Morning,” Your voice was still a little rough, “Thanks,” You took the cup, bringing it right up to your nose and let the steam flow over your face. It was far more refreshing than the chilly wet morning.

You look at Hosea, he seemed worried like always. All this stress of moving and running from the law has turned his hair even whiter and put more wrinkles on his face. He wasn’t looking too good. Every morning though, at every camp, for the last several years, you’ve woken up to spend your morning coffee with the old man. He was the father you never got to have.

“Got any plans for today?” Hosea took a drink from his coffee then looked over to you.

“Mhm,” You weren’t much for words this early. You took a sip of the coffee and then shrugged, “I’m not sure yet... We just got here, it’s only been a couple of days. There is a lot of work to do around camp still.”

“Yes, there is,” He sounded tired, “Maybe you should go hunting. The weather is perfect,” All of a sudden there was a little twinkle shining in his eye, “Years ago...” He started his story with a little smile, “When I was out in this country with some old counterparts, we heard of this huge- I mean really huge buck, right in the heart of Big Valley.”

“Yeah? Did you go after it?” You sat up a little straighter trying to get the hunch out of your back. You saw Abigal and John already having some sort of argument.

Hosea laughed a little and shook his head, “Didn’t even see it. Spent a whole week out there. Not a single damn thing. Nothing. We had better luck hunting the flies that piled around our shit.”

You both laughed at that. Chuckling under your breath, you asked, “You think it’s still out there?”

“Maybe,” Hosea took a sip of his coffee, “I’m not entirely sure, but it’s possible it’s still out there,”

“What’s still out there?”

You nearly jumped out your skin and screamed like a little animal. Arthur was standing behind you two with a bowl of stew in his hands. He had the smallest smirk on his face. So small you could barely even see it. Your heart started to pick up and inside your head, you were spazzing out. But you calmed down from the surprise and cooly said, “Huge buck, up in Big Valley,”

“You don’t say?” Arthur looked interested. You tried your best not to look at him too much. Some days you just wanted to stare from dawn till dusk at that man. Rarely did you ever get the chance to. He was always off doing this and that, running around like a little pack mule for Dutch.

You looked between the two men, and listened as Hosea said, “Why don’t you two go hunting?” You didn’t say anything and just kept sipping at your coffee. Truth is... You and Arthur... Haven’t been getting along too well recently.

Since the whole Blackwater incident, since you saw Dutch... Do that.. do what he did to that girl, your faith in the gang, in Dutch, has been unshaken. Hosea was the only one you could stand to even be around because he was the only one here who knew any better than Dutch, but nobody listened to him much.

It was hard, having to see the small family you loved finally start falling apart. From the start, it had just been the five of you. Hosea, Dutch, Arthur, John and little you. You watched people come and go, many of them died, but it was always you guys.

The last time you spoke to Arthur though, was up in the mountains during the blizzard when he came back with Kieran. You fought over letting that poor guy go, but Arthur insisted on following Dutches orders, and you argued that Dutch wasn’t fit to lead this gang anymore. That was about a week ago. You haven’t spoken since.

There was silence for a bit, you didn’t want to answer or get your hopes up that Arthur would want to go on a hunting trip with you. You did miss him a lot. Arthur was by far one of your favorite people, probably the only person you’d die for. He was, to say the least, the man of your dreams. He was just so... wrapped around Dutch’s finger.

Finally, after a minute or two, Arthur said, “Sure,” and looked down at you. He trapped a finger on your head a few times, “You up for it?”

“Yeah, I suppose. A buck that big could feed the camp for a week,” You were actually very excited to go. It was so hard to keep all those emotions inside and keep your cool and laid back facade.

The three of your got up and started walking through camp. Hosea spoke up and walked between you and Arthur, “Excellent!” He seemed so happy to have the both of you -sort of- talking again, “You’ll need some supplies and I’ll let Dutch know you’ll be out,” Hosea handed you a small bag filled with who knows what he meant by ‘supplies.’

He rushed you off and left with a smile and a wave about how he was going to go read some book. The silence returned between you and Arthur and you felt the need to fill it.

You climbed up on your horse and got comfortable in your saddle, “You know which way we’re headed?” Arthur just let out a little grunt. That meant yes, “Take the lead then.” You said.

The ride, for the most part, was silent and little slow paced. You watched Arthur up front as he took his time to look at the world around him. He seemed just as tired as Hosea. You wanted to fill the void with between you and Arthur so you caught up and rode beside him.

The sun had just barely made it over the hills, the sky was a painting of red, pink, blue, orange and purple. It was beautiful. So you chose that to be the topic of your small talk, “A perfect sunrise, don’t you think?”

“It is,” He agreed, “Aren’t they your favorite?”

“Yeah, it is.” You felt a little smile twitch at your lips. He remembered... It made your heart swell in your chest and your brain scream. It was so difficult being around Arthur now. Since your fight with him, things have changed in a way you didn't think possible. The fight... you both said something that hurt and shouldn't have been said.

The real problem was the denial you were in about how you felt about Arthur. You loved him, honestly, that's what it was. You loved him more and more and every day you shoved those feelings down and told yourself I'm not good enough for him. He's had so many heartbreaks. He's not looking for love. While at the same time you also told yourself he didn't want someone like you. Someone stubborn, someone temperamental and someone who he probably saw more of as an annoying sibling and less of a romantic interest. You know what he wanted. He wanted Mary.

There was silence again. It was awful. It never bothered you until the fight. You use to sit with Arthur for hours on end, never speaking a word, just reading a book while he wilted a stick with his knife. You had to fill the silence, you wanted to talk to him. You wanted him to talk to you.

The sun was well and high into the sky now. You cleared your throat and said, "Do... You remember..." You paused to see if he was listening. You could tell he was because you saw the side of his face and ear facing you, "You remember that time when we were really young, and Hosea was teaching us how to hunt with a bow?"

"Oh yeah, I couldn't shoot an arrow worth nothin," There was a little smile on his face. You rode your horse up to match his speed.

There was a grin on your face and gave him a look, "But I could! I remember the look on Dutch and Hosea's face when I got a bullseye on my first try!"

You both chuckled, while Arthur said, "And John was being a little shit because he couldn't figure out how the hell to shoot an arrow," You remember that day fondly.

"Dutch was so proud of us. He couldn't shut up about how his three kids were learning to hunt and shoot.... and kill," You said that last part with a little bit of regret. You've come to blame Dutch for making you the person you were. But you kept that part to yourself.

"He was. Hosea too," Arthur carried the conversation on, "They share whiskey with us for the first time too, didn't they?"

"Ha, they did!"

As the day went on and you rode on, you and Arthur shared memories of better times. Talking about the old days made you nostalgic in a bad way. It made you realize how much has changed, how much the world was changing. How much you wanted to go back in time and live there forever. Eventually, the ride came turned from open fields to trees and mountain paths. When you finally go to Big Valley you were greeted with huge meadows filled with flowers of all kinds. It was so amazing and beautiful as the flowers made waves of there own in the wind. It was like watching the water on a beach.

You chose a spot to make camp past the open fields and more into the trees. While you hitched the horses and took care of them, you watched from the corner of your eye as Arthur rolled some logs over and made a little fire pit. He was busy, so you tried to leave him be. You didn't want to force him to deal with you. While he was doing that, you started going through the bag of 'supplies' that Hosea gave you.

Sitting down on one of the logs, you until the little string holding the bag closed. You find some pretty basic things. Berries, oats, bait, can of coffee, some cans of beans... And.. Did...? Was that? Moonshine?

Really now? "That god damn bastard," You smile and mutter those words under your breath as you pull out not one, but two big bottles of moonshine.

You looked around for Arthur, wanting to tell him about this little surprise, and you find him a few feet away chopping logs in half. By... God. That was a sight to see. There he was, Arthur Morgan, in the afternoon sun. Sweating. Showing off his arms with his sleeves rolled up like that. You quickly looked away. There those feelings were again. Strong and loud. Your heart raced and you shook your head to push those thoughts away. Instead, you stared at your hands and thought... Just once you thought, what if... Arthur loved you back. It made your face heat up, it made your palms sweaty. You thought and thought and started to get scared because you knew you were only going to hurt yourself if you actually kept feeling those feelings.

"(Y/N)!"

"Huh!?" You sat up straight and looked up. Arthur was standing right in front of you, he must have been talking to you. Oh no... "What?"

"I said... What you got there?" You looked down at the moonshine he was pointing at.

"Oh... uh," You were still a little flustered from before and your brain was having a hard time catching up, "Um," You handed him one of the bottles, "Hosea must have packed it to celebrate maybe?"

Arthur cracked it open and sat down beside you on the log. You were so lost in your thoughts earlier that you didn't even notice that he had set up a tent and even got the fire going. You were surprised when Arthur started during the moonshine. He took a long swig and cringe as the alcohol burned down his throat.

When he handed the bottle to you, you asked, "Don't want to save it? You.. know... for later? After we get the buck?" He shook his head, "Why not?"

"We'll get the buck tomorrow," He said as you took a little sip of the moonshine. You waited for him to explain a little more but he never said anything.

“So..? Why did you come out here then?” You stared down at your fingers as you twisted them together. You set the moonshine down between the both of you.

Arthur just let out a little grunt and nodded his head side to side slowly, “I needed a break. From all of that.” He waved his hand in the air like you knew what he was trying to say.

It took you a few seconds but then you suddenly got, “You mean the camp?”

“Mhm,” Arthur was back to drinking more of the booze, “Everyone has been getting on my nerves lately, it’s ridiculous. I can’t stand those idiots.” He made a face that reminded you of just how much Arthur enjoys his silence and isolation from the vast majority of the world. He was a loner and a stubborn one too.

“Oh…” You said as he offered the moonshine to you and you turned it down, “Well I can…Leave.”

“Nah,” He drawled out, “I can stand you. It’s Micah… Bill. Uncle. A little bit of John too,” He paused then put the moonshine back and his face grew dark, “And Dutch.” You felt something in the air that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You arm hairs stood up and you got a chill that ran over your skin. Arthur hunched forward resting his elbows on his knees and looked down at the ground. His hat was covering face for the most part.

He started to talk, but he got stuck on the words, “I… I know…” He stopped and cursed under his breath, “I know what you saw back in Blackwater changed you,” You didn’t really want to have this conversation right now. It bothered you that he was bringing this up again, “I know you’re not happy with the gang right now,” He took a breath and let out a heavy sigh that carried more weight than you could ever know, “And… I don’t blame you…”

His words surprised you. This was far different from the Arthur you argued with a week ago. He didn’t want to listen to you or even consider what happened in Blackwater. He blindly looked to Dutch and didn’t question his actions. Now it looks like Arthur was confused, even hurt a little.

“I’ve heard around from other people about what he did and I-” Arthurs words were cut off by the sound of gunfire incredibly close to your campsite. The both of you looked around quickly and into the trees. The evening sun painted the sky orange and white, making it a little harder to see if anyone was coming from the tree line.

The gunshots got closer and closer still and you could faintly hear shouting too. Arthur tapped your shoulder and pointed to the little creek down the hill, “Look,” You both found some cover behind a large boulder, “Someone’s being chased,”

You saw a man running for his life. He looked beat up, bloody and broken. He was screaming and stumbling every step he took. Following him close behind were a group of men on horseback.

“O’driscolls,” You muttered with malice in your voice, “Why are the O’driscolls up here too? How many of those bastards are there?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like they’re headed this way,” They killed the man they were chasing and started looting his body. You saw one of the men point in your direction. The fire! It was leaving a smoke trail for them to follow up and find you.

You looked at Arthur and he looked back to you. You shared some unspoken words and a simple nod. He ran left into the cover of some bushes and you went right and found a tree to hide behind. You pulled your revolver out and gripped the gun tight.

As the O’driscalls got closer you could hear them speaking.

“Ya think they still here?”

“They couldn’t have gotten too far,”

You peeked out and saw four men. They had walked past the bushes Arthur had hid himself in and closer to the tree you were at. The tallest O’driscoll said something about your horses and got yelled out, “We know ya still here! Come on out now or will kill ya nice and slow!”

This was it. You took a breath and calmed yourself down. You’ve done this before. No need to get nervous now. It’s just some O’driscolls, they’re nothing.

You walked out from behind your tree with your hands in the air, “I’m out!” You yelled at them. You took them by surprise and they all pointed their guns at you, “I’m out! I came out!” You slowly lowered your revolver down, “I don’t want any trouble now,”

“Well you got some trouble,” An ugly looking man pointed from you to your horses, “What about your friend? We know there are two of ya,”

“He’s hunting,” You lied coolly. Your revolver was still being lowered, “It’s just me. Take what you want,” The O’driscolls started lowering their guns too and walking closer towards you and your camp. As soon as your gun was by your side was when Arthur jumped from the bushes and gunfire cut the silence of the valley and gunsmoke filled the air.

It was an all out shoot out. You dove to the ground and took cover behind your tree while two of the O’driscolls ran off and the other two went for you. You shot at them, filling them with bullets, hoping they die slowly. Arthur had gone after the other two men while you shot down and killed the taller O’driscoll. The other one, the ugly one, was bleeding out but still hiding behind a log. He took random shots and one hit you and grazed right through your arm. You shouted out in pain and swore. You could see Arthur a few feet away beating the shit out of one of the men. He must have killed the other one.

“Fuck! Argh!” It felt worse than it looked. There was a clean cut on your shoulder that already started to bleed, but other than that you were fine. You took a stupid risk, filled with rage and pissed out of your mind that this bastard actually nipped you, you ran out from behind your tree and straight for the O’driscoll. He didn’t even see you coming, he was busy shaking and trying to reload his gun. When he saw you, the look on his face was fear and he was crying. He started to plead with you, saying he didn’t want to do this and that hated his life as an outlaw. He even threw his gun to the side and put his hands up in the air.

Arthur had come running in and out of breath with his gun pointed at the little sad ugly man, “You gonna kill em?” He asked.

“Please! Please don’t kill me! I-I-I have… money! T-take it!” He tossed a few dollar bills onto the ground in front of your feet. You stared him down, getting closer. He was shaking like a leaf, “Look-look! You already shot me!” he did have a few bullet holes in his legs. One in his thigh and one below his knee.

“Looks like you’re already dead, don’t you think, Arthur?” You looked over to the stern man and he nodded his head.

“I’d reckon we should put him out of his misery,”

“N-no! No! Please! I-I-I-” The O’driscoll’s pleas were cut short. You shot him square between the eyes. You didn’t want to listen to him beg anymore and you’d rather get back to your campsite.

You reached down and hooked your arms under the dead man and started dragging him away, “Wanna help me get rid of the- Urgh! Shit!” You forgot you were shot and when you tried to lift the dead man your arm screamed out in hot pain.

Arthur came over and shuffled you away, “Go sit by the fire. I’ll take care of this,”

“No- I’m fine-” You tried picking up the body again but it hurt, even more, this time and it cause you to drop the body and fall with it too.

“Goddammit- Will you listen to me? You got shot for Christ's sake (Y/N)!” Arthur grabbed you by your good arm and helped you up. This was the first time you saw his face. He looked… worried? Upset? It was a mixture of many things but what stood out the most was how his brows were raised and knitted together and a sad little grimace was on his face. It was like he was the one in pain.

“I’ve been shot before,” You winced as he pulled you to your feet, “I’m fine, Arthur. It’s just a nip,” You looked to your shoulder and saw the blood stain soaking your shirt. It looked like you were still bleeding. Your sleeve was torn by the bullet so you pulled it back and gave the wound a real look. It didn’t seem that bad, just a medium-sized gash across your shoulder.

“Just go sit down, okay?”

You didn’t put up a fight anymore. You went to the campfire and sat down on a log. That moonshine looked really good right about now. You took your time swigging down have the bottle before Arthur came back. He sat down beside you an asked, “Can I see?” and gestured to your shoulder.

You nodded. He hesitated and his hand hovered over your shoulder like he was afraid of hurting you. He peeled back the clothes and started cutting the extras bits away. Arthur then reached into his satchel and pulled out some bandages.

The moonshine had started getting to your head so you found it a little funny, “You got everything in there, huh? Got any candy?”

He didn’t say anything but he went back into his satchel and gave you a chocolate bar. You burst out laughing, a little drunk, you found this absolutely hilarious. He gave you this look and raised a brow, “What on earth has gotten into you? And sit still dammit! I can’t fix you up if you keep moving,”

So you sat there drinking moonshine and chewing on some chocolate as Arthur took care of you. All those feelings you’ve been repressing started to come up again. You felt bad, guilty too. You easily feel down the trap that is the negative thoughts that can come with drinking. Arthur was almost done wrapping your shoulder when you made this sad little face.

“Arthur?” You were thinking about what he was saying earlier before the O’driscolls showed up.

“Yeah?” He didn’t look away from your arm, which was okay because you didn’t want him to catch you staring at him.

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?” He stopped and looked at you, to which you darted your gaze away and to the ground, “For what?”

“I’m sorry for what I said. About Dutch… and you…” You could still feel the venom and hate that you spat at him back then. You told him how Dutch was just... Not the same person anymore and how you wanted to leave the gang. That Dutch was going crazy with money and obsessed over power. You told Arthur he was a blind coward that couldn’t think for himself and depended on Dutch to keep him from becoming a sad and depressed old bag of useless shit… Just like his real father.

You waited for him to say something, but he was silent. So you rushed to talk again, “I-I… I shouldn’t have said those things. And-... We didn’t talk for a whole week. I missed you so much, Arthur. It was just a week and I felt like I lost you forever. We’re different.”

He finished bandaging your arm. He still stayed there sitting right beside you. You’re legs where touching and you stared at them as he started to speak, “Well,” he rubbed his chin, “I didn’t say anything nice either. I just really remember you saying you wanted to leave. I didn’t really get why. I didn’t see what Dutch did on that ferry but you did. And I was talking to Hosea, and John and everyone else. They all said things,” He paused and then shook his head, “I get it a little more now. You saw Dutch do something he said he’d never do. You saw the way he exploded and killed that woman. But I can’t have you leaving me just cause something bad happens.”

You’re eyes shot wide open and you looked up at Arthur, “...Me?”

“I-... I mean the gang. Can’t have you leaving the gang,” He looked down at the bottle of moonshine and snatched it up from you with a grumpy looking frown on his face, “Gimme some of that.”

“You said! Me! You said ‘I can’t have you leaving me.’ That’s what you said!!” Your drunk little brain was going wild. Normally you’d sit there and keep your cool but thanks to the booze that wasn’t going to happen.

“Alright!” Arthur snapped, “I said it! So what?”

You stole the moonshine back from him to drink some more and get up to your feet, “It means you want me around!” You smiled. You felt so much better hearing that. You were so afraid before that he’d never want to be around you again.

“I guess it does,” He had a small smile twitching on his lips, “I do want you around (Y/N). You’ve been around me almost all my life, it’d be… weird if you weren’t there.”

The first bottle of moonshine was already empty, “I want you around too. I love having you around,” You felt yourself getting a little dizzy so you sat down again. Your filter wasn’t on either, the words just puked out of your mouth like it was nothing, “I love everything about you, Arthur. I never want you to leave you or leave you behind,” You said it so casually but it took Arthur by surprise.

He was looking at with question in his eyes, “What's wrong?” You asked, “Do I got something on my face?” You started rubbing the back of your hand across your mouth and cheek.

That weird look on Arthur’s face was replaced with a warm smile, then a little chuckle, then a laugh, then huge fits of loud and booming giggles. He was laughing so much that you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. What was so funny?

Arthur cracked open the second moonshine bottle and took a large swig, “Goddammit, (Y/N). You make it so hard,” He said between sips of the bottle, “You are one of the only good things to ever happen to me and you make it so hard for me to stay away from you,” He took another sip, “I was mad. I was mad as hell about what you said last week. I wanted to stay mad at you forever. I stayed away. I did. It didn’t work. Every morning you came out of your tent all sad and heartbroken. It hurt seeing you like that. I saw you slouch around with Hosea, hiding behind him like some kid when your just as old as me,” Arthur chuckled and it made your heart skip, “But today I saw you… You didn’t look sad anymore. Just tried. Empty. I didn’t want to do that to you. I still don’t think you should leave. I don’t want you to leave. But I see it… I see that you aren’t happy here with us anymore.”

You were too drunk to really say anything meaningful. You did something bold and leaned onto Arthur and put your head on his shoulder. You weren’t one for touching others or being touched, but the moonshine was helping you do just the opposite, “I’m happy,” You mumbled, “I’m happy when I’m with you.” You could feel Arthur stiffen up at your touch and his breath hitched as you talked, “You take care good care of me. I wish we could have our own lives though,”

“How so?” He asked hesitantly.

“You know…” You were looking at the fire flicker and flash as it burned away the logs, “Just us. Our own people. We’d be normal. We’d have land, a home… maybe a dog.” Your repressed feelings and dreams started swelling up into your throat and spilling out, “Or we’d run away and go to California. Live in those red wood forests with the big trees were no one could ever find us. We don’t rob people, we don’t steal or kill. We don’t go looking for trouble and trouble doesn’t find us.”

“I wish you told me this sooner,” He sounded solemn, upset. You started to panic and look over at Arthur. Did you share too much? Did you just out your real feelings to him? Shit! Stupid! Stop drinking! This is why you don’t drink ever, not never, because you won’t shut up. You swore off the moonshine, cursing it for being a potent truth potion.

“I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!” You hid your face behind your hands and felt the crazy blush take over. You suddenly felt a tight grip around both of your wrist and calloused hands pull them down and away from your face.

When you looked up, Arthur was right in front of you, face to face with a serious looking expression. You blushed even more and felt the need to jump away, he’s never been this close to your face before.

“Say it again,” He said. You were confused and you gaze flickered back and forth between him and that duck shaped cloud in the evening sunset, “Say how much you want me around. Say how much you want to run away with me.”

You finally looked at him and met his gaze. His eyes were locked hard onto you, searching and digging right into you. You cleared your throat and nervously said, “I… I want you around all the time. Forever. I’ve wanted to run away with you since we were kids.”

It happened so fast that you didn’t even register what was going on until it was almost over. Arthur had close the space between you both by bringing you to him and kissing you. Your heart was pounding so hard that you felt your skull throbbing. He pulled away before you even return the kiss, but there were only inches between you two.

“I’m sorry,” He started to back away, “I should have asked- I’ve.. it’s… too much moonshine-” But you grabbed him tight and pulled him back to face you.

“Do it again,” You said, just like he asked to say it again, you wanted him to do it. Not a second was wasted, Arthur scooted closer and closer until the two of you were pressed together and lip locked in a kiss that had been going on for about a minute now. He tasted like cigarettes and moonshine, not that that was a bad thing. It was almost comforting.

You were stuck together until you both needed to breathe again. Arthur had a big cheeky grin on his face, it was beyond adorable, “I’ve waited some many god damn years for that,” He confessed.

You matched his smile, though a little shyer, “Me too” you admitted, “What are we going to do for the rest of the night?” The sun had started to set a long time ago and the sky was growing darker and darker by the minute.

Arthur grabbed the moonshine again and grinned a little, “Finish this, first of all,” You made a little giggle at that. He then lifted up his arm and gave a little wave of his hand. You slid over and got comfortable so close to him as he wrapped his arm behind you, “Then, after that, we’ll see what happens,” You just couldn’t stop those smiles and giggles. He always brought out the good in you. It felt nice to finally be this close to him. To have those feelings be returned meant the world to you, it meant everything. You didn’t even plan on this happening and yet it did. Arthur would press kisses to your cheek and pull you over to steal even more. He was so starved of attention that he took it whenever he wanted. The two of you enjoyed the rest of the night by the campfire, laughing and drinking and starting a new chapter in your lives.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead #fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #x reader #arthur x reader #van der linde gang #rdr #rdr 2 #one shot #ao3 #fan fiction #Hosea Mathews #confession #romance #cute #dutch van der linde

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wolfqueen-is-here · 6 years

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Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten (Jonsa Secret Santa 2018)

Dearest @moonchildslife, I am so sorry for my delay, Christmas was crazier than I expected, and I didn’t finish my gift on time. But it is here now, and I hope you don’t find it too terrible ;). I wish you a wonderful year with Jonsa becoming canon in April and our fandom wishes coming true. Be happy, be healthy, be yourself! <3

Many thanks to @jonsasecretsanta2018 who made all of this happen, you truly are amazing!

A/N Don’t be alarmed by a brief mention of the Hound. I promise you, it has nothing to do with SanSan in any way except mentioning The Un-Kiss. Book!canon, but mostly show!canon, can be interpreted both as a filler and an AU. 2300 words

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten

Every now and then Sansa remembers, even though she has tried so hard to leave the past behind. The Hound was rough and scary, but the kiss that he took left a lingering taste on her lips—it was as soft as snow, almost familiar, she’s caught herself missing the shy affection that came with the kiss, a wary touch so vulnerable it felt almost childish. She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it.

Every night feels longer and darker than the former ones. It isn’t until she jumps from Winterfell walls that she remembers how to feel warm again, but the road north is as cold as ice and covered in snow. “His lips felt warm”, she thinks as she runs towards her freedom. “The kiss that he took, it felt warm.”

There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

—

“You look cold,” Jon says after staring at her in silence for a good half an hour. It would annoy her beyond reason, were it anyone else, anyone less trustworthy, anyone less… Jon, but coming from him it’s almost flattering. No one has ever cared for her so since she’d lost Father. Not once until this very moment has she felt safe since then.

“I’m okay,” she smiles. His unblinking eyes refuse to leave hers even for a second as if she’d vanish otherwise. Sansa leans towards him and strokes the inside of his palm with her thumb. It’s the most innocent of caresses, but it makes Jon stiffen and finally lower his head. She misses the stare instantly. “I’m okay, Jon.”

She tastes his name on her tongue. It feels rough—when was the last time she used it? —but sweeter than all the cake she’s ever had. She wants to swallow it, possess it, make it hers. “Jon,” she muses. “Jon. My Jon.”

If it’s something more primal than sisterly affection, she doesn’t recognise it in time. It may occur to her later, but it will be too late.

—

The first night that she spends at Castle Black is a sleepless one. The shadows are long when she paces aimlessly around the room, too exhausted to fall asleep, too cold to lie still. Knocking at the door alerts her at first—she’s not used to feeling safe yet—she whispers: “Who’s there?” so quietly as if she were hoping nobody would answer.

“It’s me,” Jon says.

She lets him in.

“Do you have everything that you need?” he asks, looking at her with a strange longing.

Had it been more fitting, she’d say: “I have you,” but in their current situation she’d stumble over the words for certain. Instead, she just invites him to stay—just sit next to her and not talk until the sun rises and the shadows go back under her bed. They repeat it every night after that, it seems to comfort both of them.

—

Jon’s eyes follow Sansa as he tries to find something—anything—that would remind him of a little girl she used to be. Her skirts dance when she rocks her hips, walking around Castle Black like she’d lived here all her life. He wants to avert his gaze but finds it impossible. She’s grown so tall, so slender—so beautiful.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks angrily, hiding his face in his hands. “You are not allowed to look at her like that.”

There were times, many lives ago, when they were only children. Sansa’s hair was more orange than auburn, Jon’s face—smooth, not a trace of beard or scars on it. They both called lord Eddard Stark their father. They both walked around holding Robb’s hand. They both watched Bran fall asleep while they were singing lullabies. Both, yes, but not—together.

When he tries to think about their lives before everything happened, before he went north and she went south, he keeps coming back to that one particular memory. And he’s not allowed to remember it. Not ever.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks, but as her lips move while she’s telling him another story, he watches. The redness of them almost provocative, they look like she’s been biting them for the past few hours. It’s a mesmerising set of colours: her lips with a raspberry tint, screaming to be tasted, licked, devoured; her eyes, deep blue almost exactly like the ones that used to follow him with disdain when he was nothing more than a bastard boy, but there’s no disdain in Sansa’s eyes, only hope. Her fair complexion contrasts with the dark streaks of her auburn hair, almost brown in the dimly lit room. Jon quashes the need to cup Sansa’s cheek and stroke it with his fingers, to check if her soft, unwavering beauty isn’t only a product of his hallucinations. He wouldn’t dare.

—

Sansa enters the dining room when there’s barely anyone left. A few wildlings share a horn of ale, laughing. There’s also Edd sitting in the furthest, darkest corner, and he looks really down—Edd always looks down, that’s an inherent part of his personality, “The defining part”, Tormund insists, but Sansa doesn’t care, because Edd, albeit rather shy, is kind and caring, and that’s more than she could expect from a stranger. The wildlings terrify her still, she doesn’t know their customs, they’re far too loud and bold for her taste, so she chooses to cross the room and take a sit in front of Edd.

They don’t talk, there’s no need for it. Sansa eats her soup, wondering whether Jon has already eaten, and Edd just keeps staring at the ceiling. Weirdly, his silent presence comforts Sansa more than any words could.

When everybody leaves, Sansa reaches for Edd’s half-empty horn and moves her hand up and down its uneven surface. It’s become apparent these past few days that sleep refuses to come easily for her at Castle Black, and when she finally drifts off after hours of rolling over from side to side, her dreams are filled with memories—but are they real? Are they hers?

She doesn’t think about the Hound that often. He’s been a big part of her life when she was a prisoner in King’s Landing, but her fascination with his tragic story faded and went by long ago. She cannot remember his face anymore, only the scars, she doesn’t even know if she’d be glad to see him again. The memories of him and the torments from the Lannisters became too inseparable in her mind, and that’s why she doesn’t want to think of him or imagine their meeting.

Not now. Not ever.

Then why is her brain so set on bringing back the memory of the kiss? She can feel a sweet breath on her chin every morning when she wakes up from her blurry dreams—why is it sweet? Wasn’t the Hound monumentally drunk that night?—she can taste it, again and again. Her first kiss, that one thing she knows for sure. She’d gotten a few pecks from Joffrey, yes, they should probably count as first, but somehow it doesn’t feel right.

She closes her eyes and clasps her hands around the horn.

“I thought you weren’t fond of our ale,” Jon says, suddenly very close—how did he get so close without Sansa hearing his steps? Did she black out again?

“I heard it helps to forget.”

“It does,” his voice sounds worried, “for a while. It doesn’t make your past go away.”

Sansa raises her head and their eyes lock immediately as if they’re a couple of lovers always on a mission to find each other.

“For a while,” she repeats. “Sounds better than never.”

The ale tastes much worse than she remembered it—it’s bitter and stale, and reeks of old, damp barrels—but her lips don’t leave the edge of the horn until it’s empty. Jon’s eyes move to her throat as she swallows and stay there even after she’s finished.

At first, she doesn’t think anything’s changed—the same emptiness fills her, the same desperation—but minutes pass as they sit opposite one another in silence, and her head finally starts to feel both lighter and heavier, her thoughts stir inside her brain, but never fully form. It’s a bliss. It’s a curse.

She sits in the middle of a meadow, it’s late summer. The winds got chilly but she’s got a blanket around her arms. She’s knitted it herself. She’s content. She’s happy. She’s Queen Naerys Targaryen.

“Are you alright? That’s quite a lot of ale you just inhaled,” Jon murmurs, gently touching her arm. Sansa looks up and smiles at him.

“I’ll be fine,” she answers. “I’ll be fine, Jon. You can go to sleep, you look tired.”

He laughs hoarsely and it makes Sansa’s belly tighten.

“Not until I see you safely tucked under your furs.”

He approaches her with his back straight and a sword at his side. Where did he get that sword, she thinks briefly but continues to look at his beaming face.

“I’ve come to rescue you, my Queen.”

“You can’t, my love,” she says, remembering to dress her face in the deepest, most regal shade of sadness. “We’re bound to our fate forever. You’ve made your vows, as I have made mine.”

He kneels before her. He’s brave, he’s gentle, he’s strong. He’s Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

Sansa tries to stand up all too quickly, her head spins violently and she has to hold on to the table to avoid falling. She can barely feel her legs and her arms—how strong was that ale?—but the burning hotness of Jon’s hand on her lower back, oh, that she feels.

“Careful,” he says, pulling her closer and throwing her arm around his neck. “You’re still much too weak to start drinking so heavily. Don’t let go, alright? I’m going to walk you to your chambers now.”

And he proceeds to do just that.

When Sansa lies in bed feeling truly sleepy for the first time since she’s reached Castle Black on her dying horse, she suddenly remembers everything.

His face is just inches away. He’s wearing his hair pulled tightly in the back like a true adult, but he’s been playing with swords all day and a few strands have escaped the knot, hanging loosely around his face. She feels the urge to curl one of them around her finger but before she decides to make a move, he leans in and kisses her on the lips.

It surprises her—the lightness of it as much as the act itself. “It’s not wrong as long as I’m Queen Naerys and he’s Prince Aemon,” she tells herself as she involuntarily moves closer and exhales into his warm mouth. His fingers wander up and down her sleeve, curious but never inappropriate. The kiss doesn’t last long, a few heartbeats maybe, but before it’s finished, she can hear him whisper: “Sansa.”

And instantly he’s Jon again, and she’s Sansa. And they’ve done something unforgivable.

—

Jon’s almost asleep when he hears banging at his door. He jumps out of bed and rushes to open it only to find a breathless Sansa on the other side. Her eyes are wide, and she looks absolutely terrified. If she’s still a bit in her cups, it doesn’t show.

“What happened?” he asks.

She’s shivering. He wants to put his hand on her arm but she jumps away.

“You kissed me,” she hisses, her tone accusatory.

Jon blinks. Not that he hasn’t thought of it, because of course he has. He won’t admit it to anyone but though he tried extremely hard to see his long-lost sister in the beauty that has brought him back to life, he failed miserably. The truth is—she was never a sister to him, not even before they parted ways.

“I assure you,” he answers quietly, “I did not. I didn’t even enter your chambers, I asked lady Brienne to help.”

“Not tonight,” Sansa sighs and Jon realises she’s standing before him barefoot, dressed only in some old sleeping gown, but somehow she’s never looked more queenly with her demanding expression and fiery glare. “When we were children. A few months before we left Winterfell. We played… we played, and you…”

And he kissed her.

He kissed her and he never regretted it once until she came to him, crying, and ordered him to forget it ever happened. He didn’t want to, it was too precious a memory, but he obliged. For Sansa.

“I thought we weren’t speaking of it,” he whispers carefully.

She was really shook when she came to him that day, he never wanted to see Sansa cry, and to be the reason for her despair—it was too much for him to bear.

“We aren’t. I just… I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he asks, feeling hurt. It was his only kiss before Ygritte and he wasn’t even allowed to savour that memory. How could she have forgotten?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What we did… it was wrong. I didn’t… I couldn’t… I think I repressed it. I made myself believe it happened with someone else.” She lowers her head and he’s afraid to spook her by asking who that person was, but he’s certain it will haunt him forever. Was it Joffrey? Gods, he hopes it wasn’t him. Jon couldn’t bear it. Sansa makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “But I remember now.”

He doesn’t know what more to say, but Sansa doesn’t seem to expect any kind of explanation. It happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And it changed things between them.

Sansa finally dares to look at him. Her lips are parted, ready as they were in that meadow years ago. He doesn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. When they win back Winterfell, when the war is over—she will come to him of her own volition.

And he will have that second kiss, gods be damned.

#jonsa secret santa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsasecretsanta2018 #jonsa #jon x sansa #got #a gift for moonchildslife #secret santa #gift

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theuninspirednovelist · 6 years

Text

Kitty Terror

Written for @bayneon

Thank you for being so damn kind and patient with me

Out of everything he expected, having a cat stalk him was one of the last things, honestly. Realistically, this was something unimportant, something that he would be laughed at if he told someone, something that was so absolutely ridiculous to say out loud that Thor wouldn’t even say it to himself, and yet…

…yet it was happening.

He couldn’t be sure, but he saw the cat, this specific cat, everywhere he went.

He had told himself that he was seeing things, that he the rule was getting to him and that maybe, perhaps maybe, he needed to lay off the drinks he had but no.

No matter what he thought, he ended up with the same conclusion.

He was being stalked by a cat.

It was black, the deepest shade of it, with two big round green eyes that always stayed focused on him. It stood at a distance, always, it followed him, gracefully leaping from one obstacle to another as it trailed parallel to him, sometimes anticipating where he was going.

Those were the times he was actually terrified.

He would go to a tavern or go riding with his friends and there it was, the green eyed cat, watching his every move. It had a long, graceful that that it would curl around its paws in a manner that was somehow, to Thor, threatening.

He went camping one time and woke to the cat sitting right next to the candle on the small table beside him. The sharp light on its face made it look demonic and Thor had very nearly pissed himself that night.

Of course when he sat up and rubbed his eyes, it was gone and the candle had gone out.

It could have been a dream, he told himself, but the smoke was still whispering away from the wick and his heart was pounding far too loudly for comfort.

It followed him when he was at the palace, it followed him when he tried to sleep, honestly, there were nights where he swore he felt it walking over his back as he slept.

Not that he would tell anyone.

Or at least…just anyone.

This morning, he decided to go to the one person who always seemed to have answers – even if they were snarky – for him. He listened and guided him to a path that helped him solve his problems.

Most of the time.

It was after breakfast and still relatively early so Loki was bound to be in his chambers. There was no other place he liked as much and when he entered, he did so quietly, looking around in case that cat was around.

Something Loki immediately pointed out

“Well, look who finally learned how to open doors” he said snidely “should I be worried?”

Thor snorted “No, I didn’t wish to disturb you”

“How kind” Loki said, still lost in the book he was reading “What do you need, Thor? I am busy”

“I know, I just…need help” Thor said, feeling his cheeks prickle a little bit in embarrassment “it’s a strange problem I have”

“Oh?”

Loki closed the book and turned to give Thor his undivided, scrutinizing attention

“What’s wrong?”

Thor parted his lips to speak, the words were at the end of his tongue, but he shook his head

“Actually, never mind, I am likely being paranoid”

He spun around to leave but came to a dead stop when Loki’s magic closed and bolted his doors shut.

“You’ve disturbed my peace and will not leave will you tell me” Loki said, arms crossed over his chest “tell me”

Thor’s heavy shoulders sagged when he heaved a loud sigh, then turned to look at Loki, his gaze almost afraid.

“I fear I am being tricked by something”

Loki frowned “What do you mean?”

“Something is following me around” Thor clarified “I know I am not imagining it, I thought I was, but it is far too common to be a coincidence”

“Something is following you around?” Loki asked “you mean a spirit”

“Perhaps”

Thor came to sit in one of Loki’s benches and sighed “Not exactly a spirit, something like that”

“Speak plainly, Thor, as you can see, it is only I who is here with you” Loki said sternly

“A cat” Thor said “I am being followed by a cat”

There was silence for a few long seconds, then Loki pulled his lips inwards, trying not to smile

“You’re laughing at me” Thor droned

Loki shook his head, his face flushing as he controlled himself

“Yes, you are, I can hear you snickering” Thor stood “so aye, forget it”

He turned to go and Loki went after

“No, no, Thor I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing!”

He was still grinning and Thor growled

“It was a mistake coming here” Thor opened the door, thankful that Loki let him “Goodbye, brother”

“Thor!” Loki called, stopping when Thor slammed the door closed.

Snickering, still, Loki stood there a moment, then went back to his work, trying not to think overmuch about this

Outside, Thor was cursing himself for being stupid and crossed the halls to go towards the training arena. He could hear the warriors battling it out on the field and felt a little at ease when he took his spot in his usual balcony, overlooking the fights taking place.

And in response to their future king watching them, the warriors improved their stance and fight, pretending they hadn’t seen him.

He liked the attention and smiled, setting his arms down on the bannister as he watched and tried to get the meeting with Loki out of his head.

Something landed on his back and Thor froze when he heard a very familiar meow.

Immediately, he spun, trying to bat the cat off, yelping when he felt it get stuck in his cape

“Get off!”

He twisted and turned around in circles, trying to get it off and in the back of his head, he heard the fighting and sparring stop, but didn’t pay mind to it. He could feel the cat on him and he clawed at the cape, shaking, jumping, leaping into the air to get it off!

The cat was still on him!

“Off!”

Thor yanked his cape over his head and threw it aside, panting in effort, glaring at the offending thing.

There was silence all around and slowly, Thor turned to see everyone looking at him.

He felt his face prickle with shame and chagrin

“I …”

He stopped the attempt altogether when they just nodded and started to go back to their training, leaving him standing there, with no cape, no cat and no dignity.

*** And that was only the beginning ***

Thor made a face as he stepped into something wet, cold and kind of squishy. He didn’t want to look down but he had to and so he took all the courage he had as a warrior to peek at the thing underneath his foot.

“Oh Norns no,” he said as he saw the dead mouse or what was left of it on the floor. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and he feared it wouldn’t be the last.

For the past two weeks he had been stalked by this cat; and he swore to all Norns that this beast was sent by Hel herself to torment him. Hopping on one leg he made his way into the bathroom to clean the mess off his foot.

“This is so disgusting,” he muttered as he scrubbed his foot clean before checking his boots and slipping his foot inside.

Three days ago that little spawn of Hel had put a mouse in there and he had ruined one of his favorite pair by squishing the dead rodent inside. It had been one of the most unpleasant sensations he'd ever felt in his life, feeling that cold, horrid feeling between his toes and over the ball of his foot. It had him shudder in disgust till the next morning, where his brother smiled and snickered at his misfortune but offered no solution to it! He was sure that he would do the same today because they were to have lunch with their parents. Loki would look at him with that twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips, laughing inwardly when Thor told him of this disgusting, awful incident. He would get his father and mother to laugh, too, no doubt! And yet, he couldn't not share this awful story, there was nothing he wanted more than for someone to give him a solution because honest to Norns, his training didn't tell him how to fight against a very small, very clever cat.

Once he made it to the dining room and sat down at the table with his family. Loki looked up from the book he was reading and smirked at his brother, “you look rather annoyed Thor.” He'd set the book aside to give him his full attention, which indicated that he was very well aware of why Thor was upset, but seemed to want him to say it out loud. The older prince scoffed, “That stupid furball has brought me another dead present.”

Loki snickered, “you know when cats bring you their prey they think you are a terrible hunter.” Thor angrily grabbed a piece of bread and tore it into two smaller pieces.

“I am the greatest hunter there is,” he told Loki "You know this" "Not better than the cat, apparently" Loki rolled his eyes Thor growled and chewed on the bread, “And I will catch that pest, mark my words"

Loki gave him a disbelieving look "Cat, you mean pests are slightly more notorious than an adorable, furry pet" Thor crushed the bread in his hand and Loki smirked as he had a drink

***

Another incident occurred when Thor was happily talking to one of the ladies at court. She was sweet, soft and supple; and by the looks she gave him, she was very interested in him.

Something Thor reciprocated.

It didn’t take long for Thor to take her to Idunn’s private orchards and go on about the delicacy that were her apples.

“Would you like one?” Thor asked, casually leaning against a tree “They’re very good”

A gentle reminder that one could get these apples by royal permission only had her excited and before long, Thor was cutting an apple in half for her as she hovered close by. They shared the apple and once it was gone, they shared sweet kisses under the tree as Thor pressed her against it.

He didn’t expect her to start screaming.

Thor blinked, thinking he’d stepped on her foot and an apology was at his lip when he saw a black ball of rug and rage leap at and sink its claws into her skirt. She spun around and the cat went with, hissing and spitting at her, tail puffed in rage, ears pulled back. It’s green eyes were insane with jealously as it scratched and bit at every bit of skin it could reach and Thor was shaken out of his shock by something very strange.

He’d seen this jealousy before.

His face contorted into anger and Thor lashed out, grabbed the cat by the scruff and pulled it off the screaming woman, who went to weep behind Thor, shielding herself from the beast.

“Loki!” Thor shook the animal “This has better not be you, Brother, I am going to strangle you if is it!”

The cat blinked at him, green eyes wide and dark. Its tail was still puffed up, it’s paws curled to its chest as he stared at him for a second.

And then

It spoke

“I did not expect myself to be this easily caught” Loki’s smooth, silky voice said

Thunder erupted above him and Thor let out a shout as the cat turned into smoke and vanished from his grip, leaving behind nothing but shame and anger and a desire to smack Loki as hard as he could.

Not that he managed to do that.

He’d reached Loki’s doors when a portal opened beneath his feet and Thor yelped as he was taken from Asgard and dropped into a crater on Midgard.

And where he sat, perched on his bannister, his tail waving behind him, his big green eyes filled with mischief and promise for more, Loki let out a contented purr and went back into the palace.

With Thor gone, his father was prime for his next series of attacks.

Shout out to @nijura108 who was critical in this.

#thor #loki #lmao #fic

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greensungnostic · 5 years

Text

Checking in with Grandpa

It's been a while since you visited the old man. You figure you've left him hanging long enough. He'd probably love to hear from you, what's been going on in his granddaughter's life. You head quietly through the halls of the lower floors, still and calm and differently decorated than the upper floors where you live. You stop in front of an old oak door with a brass knob and a plaque on its face, and slowly turn the handle. You peek your head in slowly, looking into Grandpa's study. It's always dim in here, the fug of cologne and gunpowder and cognac baked into the room's very soul. He stands there in the dim, facing the ornate marble fireplace, which -

FWOOMPH!

- ignites dramatically into a warmly crackling blaze as you settle your gaze on it. There he goes - The old man, "Hass" "The Flame" Harley, always with such a flare for the bombastic. Your Grandpa stands Stout and Resolute in front of the mantle, seeming to gaze long and hard into the flames. You take his dramatics as consent to enter, and you stand a few paces behind him, nervously tenting your hands. He's always been so tall, so imposing, and you've barely gained an inch since your session began. You're basically still the same dorky kid as ever, eternally youthful. You hesitate, waiting a reasonably long moment, then finally speak.

hi grandpa! sorry to bother you, i know you probably have a lot of work to do! but i wanted to come visit you in here and say hi! ...sorry i havent come down in a couple of weeks or uhm... months. i got all caught up in my work and in my head and kinda stayed cooped up in my lab up there below the greenhouse. huh? yes! before you ask, ive got three computers with me including the ones in my head and my glasses, and i do think the caliber of my current rifle is plenty sufficient! no i dont need to borrow the blunderbuss but thank you anyway! i will let you know when i need it okay? its overkill for anything but bosses!

You sigh heavily. He's always such a worrywart, hassling you over your preparedness and the bore of your firearms! You huff your trademark Harley Huff, then sigh and deflate a little. You know his hounding you is just how he shows that he cares, in his weird way.

i just wanted to let you know about some of the stuff thats been going on, though im sure youve seen hints of it here and there, mister wise and cunning hunter! first off, take a look at these babies!

You round the quiet old man to stand just past the fireplace on the far side, showing off the fluffy white fur and canine shape of your legs from the thighs down. You lift up one footpaw, showing him the glowing green footpads beneath, and wiggle your toes. The luminous glint of green reflects in your Grandpa's eyes, along with - is that interest, or pride, or just confusion? He's always been so hard to read. You'll opt for confused pride, shy of any context otherwise. You plop yourself into the dusty armchair beside the fire so you can wave your paws idly through the air for his approval, and continue your conversation face to face.

i know, i know, you never quite got all this furry stuff, but think of it this way! i am a little bit better of a huntress now, i can run around all quiet-like like bec! plus it gives my tail a reason to - huh? boots? yeah i guess i could use a custom fit pair, for like lohac or lofaf when its extra cold... if you insist we can find a cobbler, sure! cool digitigrade boots do look cool on cartoon furries... hee... uhmm lets see, what else is on the agenda?

You stroke your chin thoughtfully, then smile sheepishly at him.

so... do you remember rose? yeah, yeah the one ive always talked about! uh-huh, the one from movie nights. the squiddle one! my best friend. the one i... always had a crush on, yeah. well, as you know weve been looking around for everyone from our timeline and...

Your smile brightens, your eyes sparkle. Grandpa waits patiently, letting you talk, green eyes flickering in the firelight.

we found her, grandpa! like the right her! skaia lit up when we came back with her, and cetus showed herself for the first time in ages. its really her, grandpa!! its so good to...so good to have her back in my life. i... you know how much i missed rose. and the best news of all? she... she likes me back. she likes me back!! we are... we are dating now! shes... my girlfriend, a-after all this time. hee, i know, i know, lots of girlfriends. but this is important to me! rose was my first crush!! or uh, second, if you dont count margaret hamilton, haha... gosh i love her. i love rose! aaaah!

Grandpa seems chuffed for you, a twinkle of mirth in those eyes, past his thick glasses. The one good thing about having read all about him on the internet - you never felt uncomfortable coming out to a man you knew was openly bi decades before it was widely accepted. You practically glow in excitement, just thinking about Rose.

oh, we also found aradia! or she found us, anyways. she is one of the trolls! this one is kinda froglike, which is cool! i did not expect her to ever show up, i thought she had run off to play psychopomp! but here she is just hanging around and i guess she can help our search! she has cool psionic powers, and is the maid of time! she kinda showed up all spooky and glowing in the dark the other night! shes slimy like a frog sometimes, but shes cool, honest. youd like her, she loves adventure. maybe ill bring her by sometime?

Grandpa is quiet here, no real feedback, but seems pleased for you. You've never really talked to him about her much, so it tracks. You're sure he'll be interested in finding out more later, though. He always lends a patient ear when you talk about your friends, and he really would like Aradia. Two peas with ghastly interests in a slightly ghoulish pod.

sooo harleytech is doing pretty well! my jadebots run most of the daily stuff for me and i do all the designing, and the special interactions! in a while im gonna do a bunch of installations for some trollian freedom fighters, rebels! thats so cool right?

He seems impressed by this one - a streak of rebellion has always been pivotal to his character as the world's most eccentric philanthropist and Renaissance Man after all, especially if it's against who you think it might be against.

lets see, what else... the garden ship has been doing really well, i just fixed up the alternian section a little! if aradia wants a slice of home, she can put it there! heheh... im still trying to think of a name for that huge maple though... the yiffdrasil is kind of dumb, and its not THAT big. do i name it after another scientist like us, grandpa? what do you think?

The old man doesn't answer, as if lost in pensive thought. It's tough to puzzle out a name for something like an ancient, time-wizened old tree, after all, especially one accelerated through time to its current state. Eventually a name occurs to you, and you clap your hands together.

hmm, maybe instead of a scientist, van winkle or something? yeah, good call! ooh, rip van maple? heheh... yeah, ill try that out for a bit! good idea, grandpa...

You sigh, tone softening, and you rise up to stand next to Grandpa. He's so tall, towering over you in presence and height alike, but you find yourself staring at his feet, the polished maple wood beneath.

youre so smart, grandpa. you always know just what to say.

You're quiet for a moment, just letting him loom over you. With a lump in your throat, you begin again.

hey grandpa? thank you for always... always being so supportive, even if we butt heads sometimes over stuff like hunting or mummies or dumb stuff like that. i know you only scold me and keep an eye on me because you wanna see me grow up to be the best me i can be! right...? always making sure i had the best of everything I needed to... to be who i wanted and needed to be. im so glad youre my grandpa, thank you for... for always being around for me.

i hope im... i hope... a-am i doing okay? am... do i make you proud, grandpa?

With a quaking lip, you look upwards at the old man, towards his serviceable pith helmet and dense, curly moustache. He doesn't say anything, his silence distinguished. Tranquil. You imagine a heavy, distantly familiar palm resting on your head, comforting and warm, but it doesn't come. Your own small hand resting between your ears while teardrops plink off the floor will have to suffice. You rest your head against your grandfather's side for comfort, sniffling softly until the tears subside.

its okay grandpa, you dont have to say anything about it. s-sorry, i just got carried away, th-thinking about what a good grandpa you are... youre right, stiff upper lip, h-haha...

You wipe your tears on your face and offer him a brave smile, seeing a twinkle of pride once more in his aged eyes. You smooth out his tear ruffled coat for him, and reach up to adjust his pith helmet. It's only polite. You hug him gently, then step towards the door. You attempt to pepper a layer of cheer into your voice.

ill let you get back to work, grandpa. thank you for talking with me today, it... it meant a lot that you took time out of your day to do that! ill come see you more often okay? i know sunday is fathers day, a-and grandpas definitely count for that! we can... we can do something special!! maybe ill show you my shooting skills!

dont work too hard and have a good night! a-and ill see you sunday if not earlier, okay!! i love you grandpa!!! byyyye!

You step hurriedly out of the Study and click the door closed behind you, standing in front of it and trying to steady your breathing. Failing that, you find yourself sliding down the front of the door to curl up and hug your legs in front of it, shoulders bobbing as you bury your face in your knees, already deeply missing the old gentleman you just finished visiting.

Grandpa was a lot easier to talk to when he was alive.

#solo writing #solo rp #sad #death mention #long post

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