#I might go back and revamp the fic to be honest

[a03-anxiousandafraid]

WiP ask game: OnlyFandom. Give me something on the next chapter, please.

THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE!!!!! And for that cat gif oh my goodness that cat is adorable I can't- <3

I've taken way too long to get yall an update on this fic and I was floundering super hard on what segment to give so I decided to just hand you the entire first third of the chapter. I'm so sorry if it feels stale: I feel like I was writing myself in circles trying to get some of the moments to feel right and not cringe but I think letting you all see this much will help disarm the mental block :) I promise the chapter gets more dynamic as it goes on!!

⚠🔞 This fic is rated E:. There IS a content warning in the segment below:. It is marked with dashes for those who wish to skip it. Just scroll until you see "End of CW" and you're in the clear :) 🔞⚠

Ch. 18 Urbosa’s Assistant

  When Urbosa said to come over early she had half expected the poor girl to arrive at her door a timid mess, incapable of breaching the topic without prompting and encouragement. If the persistent redness of Zelda’s face was anything to go off of, then it made perfect sense to prepare for a talk akin to pulling teeth. But Zelda wasn’t one to align herself to others’ expectations. Far from it.  

  What Urbosa got, instead, was a freight train barreling through her foyer a good five hours earlier than anticipated tossing around books on the “art of living well” and a whole dissertation on the theory of “erotic orientation development” while asking questions a mile a minute. It had the Gerudo’s head spinning. Had her utterly stunned and incapable of stopping the rampaging bear of a Hylian storming around her living room where the shoot equipment was prepped.

  “-which I already know proper communication is important, but THIS book has an entire section on positions and I just can’t figure out what necessarily denotes difficulty? Is it perhaps a psychological thing or are there variations to accommodate flexibility? OH but there was a passage in here that mentions power relations with a heavy insinuation on wealth and THAT just sounds counterintuitive-”

  “ZELDA!!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife.

  Wide green orbs parsed Urbosa in mild confusion. Lips pulling back into a long, thin line, it was clear she was oblivious to the extent of her own ramblings.

  “Holy Hylia, Zel are you quantifying sex? What is this?” Snatching one of the books from the coffee table, she scrutinized both covers before exhaling deeply. “Dinraal give me strength. Okay… Honey, screw this. We’re going to start slow. These books aren’t gunna help you right now.” Dropping the brick of a volume back onto the table, she opened her palms out to her friend and swept the air clear like a white board. “First I want to teach you some knots.”

  The small Hylian gazed back unmoving. “…Knots?”

  “Yes. Exactly. One sec,” Urbosa held up a finger and retreated into the other room. It wasn’t long before she came back with two ropes each the diameter of her pinky finger. “Here… You take one and follow along with me.”

  “But what does this-”

  “It will all make sense as we go,” the Gerudo interjected, “I swear.”

  Zelda bit her lip and sighed. She couldn’t deny being a bit put out at being shut down by one of her best friends, but the butterflies in her stomach refused to let up and she’d be damned if she caused a scuffle now. “I’m just so nervous,” she fussed the moment the rope landed in her hand. Twisting it anxiously between her fingers, she continued, “My brain wouldn’t shut off last night and I just… I just don’t want to screw this up.”

  Urbosa side-eyed her with mild concern. “Little bird, you’re just an assistant for today. Nothing you do needs to be perfect as long as you heed my instructions. Besides~!” A teasing smirk smeared across her face. “I think you’ll find this overall experience rather… enlightening.”

  A cold shiver shimmied down Zelda’s spine. If the plethora of fantasies playing out in her head last night were anything to go off of then yes… today would be telling. However, that didn’t make this any less unnerving.

  Sensing the Hylian’s unease, she gave her friend’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Alright, I’m going to show you how to tie and untie a few different types of knots and then as you practice them relentlessly I’ll drill you about safety.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement as the look on Zelda’s face went from unenthused to calculating to determined.

  It’s now or never. “Alright!” She puffed up her chest like a small bird and nodded with more vigor than necessary. “I’m ready.”

  They spent the better half of an hour twisting and yanking their rope strands with various techniques. Zelda listened with rapt attention and, unsurprisingly, was quick to catch on. It wasn’t long before Urbosa brought out an old dress form for Zelda to continue practicing on as she ran through an extensive summary of safety guidelines and warnings.

  “I know I’ve said this at least six times by now but do not forget: Consent and communication are vital. If at any point someone wants to stop, you do so immediately.”

  “I understand,” Zelda nodded, eyes fixed on the half-hatch she was tying above the dress form’s tailbone. She gave the rope a firm yank and froze when a sudden thought crossed her mind. “Um, Urbosa?”

  “Yes, Little Bird?” she asked, the edge in her voice replaced with something more motherly.

  “Link doesn’t really… talk,” she began, absently picking at the fraying threads as she pieces her thoughts together. “And if his hands are restrained… how do you uphold proper communication?” Her gaze abandons her project to look to her friend and is surprised to be met with a smile as broad as the Great Plateau.  

  “Good question,” Urbosa coos before getting up from her seat and adjusting the knot on the mannequin to be more symmetrical. “We’ve been working together for long enough to have our own visual language but we also have a safe word. That way he only needs to mutter a few syllables at me to get the point across and if I feel like he is in a state which compromises his ability to do so, we stop immediately.”

  “Our safe word,” Urbosa continues, fingers pinched on the rope, “is Hinox.” Punctuating the word with a tug, the knot unravels quickly. “It’s short and easy to spit out, simple enough to remember, and not something that would easily come up in conversation.” She takes a step back and gestures for Zelda to redo it.

  “That’s…” she pauses and weaves the rope with growing ease, “…quite clever, actually.”

  “Clever and necessary. Much like you, Little Bird,” Urbosa chuckles as her eyes scan the work before her. “In just a few hours you’ve improved dramatically. You’ll get better the more you practice, but for now I think you’ve earned a treat.”

  Green eyes light up at the insinuation. “Oh?” Hands twitching towards her books on the coffee table, she can’t stop the excited jitter that flutters through her innards. Just as her fingers grace the cover, however, Urbosa swats her hand away.

  “Honey, no.” Her face is deadpan. “Follow me.”

  She leads Zelda into a familiar room full of boxes and plastic storage bins. Shuffling a few around, the Gerudo hunts down a black bin with a tape label reading “XXX” and slides it onto a nearby table. “This might be a little presumptuous but nothing about you is meek and I’ll be damned if you miss out on an opportunity you might like.”

  “I uh… wait,” Zelda mumbles, shifting her weight from side to side trying to puzzle out her friend’s words. “What?”

  A heavy sigh puffs from Urbosa’s chest. “I don’t need or necessarily want to know what you two do privately, but you should know there’s more to intimacy than penetrative sex.” She hastily tosses the lid off the bin and rummages around for a few items.

  - - - - - - - - - - Educational CW - - - - - - - - - -

  Oh Goddess Hylia… Cold sweat cascades down Zelda’s brow. An obscene urge to lung towards the bin like a starved animal itches within the layers of her skin. With what little self-control she has she stays rooted to the ground, keeping her rabid energy at bay until two large, phallic objects are brought before her. She almost chokes on her own tongue. It’s too much. Embarrassing and enthralling from the tips of her ears down to her toes, her emotions run wild while her eyes begin to bulge.

  “Th-These are…” Zelda croaks. A small, nagging voice in the back of her mind barks to know more… to see more… to do more as the onslaught of fantasies fill her brain. She breathes in a stuttering breath. Reaching out towards one of the toys, her veins thrum with a feeling she has long since craved.

  Power.

  Power and control over her own body, her own pleasure, her own desires… Like a woman possessed, she curls her fingers around the pink instrument and gasps.

  “These are just props for shoots but you can get one to use alone or with someone,” Urbosa explains a little too nonchalantly. She watches the blush spread across her friend’s face but is pleased to see her analyzing the item more like a scientist than a squeamish schoolgirl. “The one you’re holding is a personal favorite. It’s called a “rabbit’s foot,” hence the extension on it.”

  Zelda nods blankly, still admiring the weight of the small device. It’s comfortable. Almost inviting with its tangible intricacies and velvet surface. She lifts a thin finger to give the extra bulb a light flick and watches it bob playfully in the air. Turning the device around in her hands, she observes its gentle ark and shivers.

  “Nayru forbid,” Zelda almost sputters at the realization. “This is for… extra stimulation?!” Her friend gives her an unashamed nod that sets her inner furnace ablaze. “Goddesses…” She holds it like an artifact from an archeological dig. Stroking the material gently, she gives the toy’s texture more consideration. It’s just so smooth. Something between skin and velveteen. I bet it feels amazing.

  Eyes closed, the image of her low-lit dorm room morphs into view. Zelda gulps against the lump in her throat as she imagines bringing the instrument to her core. A rosined bow to taunt strings erupting into a concerto of bliss- it reverberates through her veins like molten gold and before long her solo becomes a duet. Pleasure much like that night in Urbosa’s guest room permeates her dream as the instrument satisfies the ache for touch and stretch. But rather than watch a mouth and hand play her like a fiddle, she conducts this symphony herself. Orchestrates the ebbs and flows of the song until the music crescendos to the final note.

  Before her musings can get too deep, Zelda falls back to reality. Surely sporting a scarlet flush, she hands her temptation back only to have the other device thrust before her. Trading it, she heaves a deep sigh and gives it a similar scrutinous lookdown. It’s weightier than the previous one, but not in a way that seems unmanageable. Thicker and lacking any extra extensions, but there’s something odd about the base of it.

  “Some of these are made to vibrate, like the rabbit’s foot,” Urbosa ruminates, holding down a small circular pattern thus activating the toy. Continuing to click the button, it cycles through a few different vibration patterns before being turned back off. “The one you’re holding now should be one of interest for a different reason though.”

  She’s ready to melt. Ready to die in more ways than one and unfortunately for her these damn toys are integrating into said ideas. Shaking the perverse thoughts away, she focuses her energy on Urbosa’s voice. Determined to listen rather than float off once again to the blissful land of daydreams.

  “Do you remember what I told you yesterday in the café?”

  Squinting in thought, Zelda worries her lip between her teeth for a moment. “About the… OH!” Her eyes grow wide with recognition. “About straps! …for… oh. Oh.” A moment of alarm shoots down her chest and she can’t help but hold the phallic object just a little further from her body. “Oh Goddess, Link bought this?”

  “More or less,” Urbosa hums, holding out a bundle of leather straps. “This is the fun part, though: if you secure this on your body properly that device can just click right in and-”

  Raw heat is erupting through Zelda’s head and screaming bloody murder in her ears. Threatening a nosebleed, her brain buzzes with images of Link’s intense, hungry gaze eyeing her down while she sports nothing but the strap on. Deaf and blind to the world around her, the images flashing grow more and more provocative until her knees grow weak enough to buckle.

  - - - - - - - - - - End of CW - - - - - - - - - -

  She slides to the ground with a heavy thump. Legs the weight of lead, her eyes pan up to Urbosa’s in a euphoric haze. “Nayru give me strength,” she mutters helplessly. “How are you so… casual about all this?”

  The smile she returns is gentle. Offering her hands to help Zelda stand, Urbosa explains, “To me a body is just a body. Nothing about it is inherently sexual, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know utilize it.” Warm amusement seeps into the corners of her lips. “You do know things like bondage can exist outside the presence of sex, right?”

  “Huh,” Zelda breathes. “I guess that should be obvious in hindsight but I never really considered it much.”

  “Understandable coming from a naïve brat,” she sings in jest. Her friend merely snorts in response and can’t help but laugh. “I’ll be honest with you, Little Bird… I won’t take on any other clients of this nature.”

  Green eyes widen in surprise. “So Link is the only…” she trails off, recalling her friend’s interactions on the subject carefully. “You said it makes good money?”

  The Gerudo quirks a brow and smirks, “It makes good money because my client and I operate with a high level of trust and respect.” She watches her friend’s response. Eagerness to understand wells within her irises so plain to see that she can’t help but nod and continue. “I’m sure some people think what we’re doing is a dream job or a fantasy, but neither of us see it that way. Just because he can feel attracted to many doesn’t mean he’s attracted to any, the same way I don’t care for attraction yet understand what people believe is attractive.”

  Puzzlement washes across Zelda’s face as she takes time to consider. Like the tides, her thoughts build and grow, weaving a web of memories and empathy to seek understanding. She’s still for a long moment.

  “Do you remember, Zelda,” Urbosa coos, “when you went with me to that drawing event a few years ago?”

  Like a fish dropped back into water, the Hylian gasps. “OH! Oh yes, the one where we sat in a circle with charcoal and paper around that bowl of fruit?” Her friend nods with a smile. She beams, “Yes, that was… fun but miserable?” Her breath is airy as she laughs.

  “Exactly!” Cackling lightly Urbosa exclaims, “It was humid and stuffy and we left absolutely filthy from the medium! Sometimes those sessions have live models instead of fruit. Sometimes those models wear interesting costumes and sometimes their nude.” Shrugging nonchalant, she watches the light bulb begin to brighten in her friend’s head. “A nude model may sound sexy, but in reality you’re still stuck in a stuffy room covered in charcoal and probably witnessing someone next to you having an emotional breakdown because they can’t get the shading and proportions quite right on a leg.”

  Humor creases the lines of Zelda’s face. “Does this mean you’re going to stick me in the corner of the room with some paper and pencils until I cry?”

  “No, but that would be hilarious.”

  The two women burst into laughter. Singing a song of pure delight, they collect themselves slowly as Urbosa hauls Zelda back onto her feet. Dropping her hands from her grasp, she straightens her back and breathes a deep sigh. “I will only do these shoots with Link because we both see this as an opportunity for art. For him, it’s a means to livelihood, and to me… it’s a safe way to explore expression through photography. We respect boundaries and that is what I want you to take away from today.”

  Zelda nods. The furrow of her golden brow loosens as the words weigh upon her. “Thank you,” she breathes. “I think I understand. I never really reacted to things like this before meeting Link and I think… I think it all came on so strong I kind of forgot the bliss of a strictly studious desire.” Her eyes track to the dark bin full of props. “I’m not… changing too much am I?” Her voice strikes a somber chord as she looks back up to her friend. Once again, a motherly grin meets her gaze.

  “Change isn’t always bad, Little Bird.” The Gerudo’s voice is soft and warm like the summer wind. “And I would never encourage anything that would hurt you. Speaking of… did you want me to show you how to put this on properly or-?”

  “YES PLEASE,” Zelda practically spits.

[atmilliways]

I forgot the numbers I was gonna ask you! Cos my food was burning 😂 1, 2, 7, 20?

1. If you’re an author, how many WIPs do you currently have? (Be honest!)

Oh boy, here we go.

Take Me To Church - forever working on chapter 8

Literally Anything - still need to get Toki in the sack with somebody and then eventually get to the promised threesome

Lost in Japan - working on Melmord-to-Nathan chapter, more to follow

Dethkats - I think I might have another chapter partially written that I haven’t posted yet idk, but either way I’ve still gotta get it to the point where they turn back into humans and Charles wakes up in a massive cuddle pile and is just like… okay I suppose this is happening now

What Are We, Pickles? - I might retitle this at some point because it really only makes sense for the first chapter… but anyway there’s totes going to be a smutty Nathan/Charles/Pickles chapter for that someday

Long Schtory Schort - Needs to continue so Murderface can realize all his bandmates are gay and also all paired up except for Pickles so clearly he should make out with Pickles

Untitled Pickleface fic where Murderface is the last to realize that Pickles is trans (but everyone had assumed he already knew)

Untitled Secret Dating fic (still in prompt stage) - Murderface finds out about said secret dating and helps cover for them by acting over the top homophobic; still need to decide who the couple would be

Holiday Chuckles series - I’ve done a smutty meet cute on Christmas, booty call New Years… I guess Valentine’s Day hookup is next, probably followed by Pickles Celebrates The Shit Outta St Patrick’s Day

Pick Up - Needs to continue so Nathan can finish sorting out how he feels about Charles hitting on him and then, y’know, decide how to act on it

BANG! You’re Done - Next bit will be about Nathan becoming Dethklok’s temporary manager after Charles’ “death,” getting to know Toki for the first time and reconnecting with the rest of the guys again (except Magnus feels Threatened by this and is A Douche about it)

Good Metal - Gotta finish that MTL GO crossover where Crowley really wanted to meet Dethklok and maybe recognizes Charles as some minor demon playing hooky from Hell

Under The Sea - an unfinished mermen AU that I was co-writing with a friend back in 2009-2010 that I have permission to revamp and continue, and fully plan on doing so someday

Don’t Say No, You Can Do’s It - This maybe deserves a sequel where the two Scandigayvians figure their accidental relationship shit out without, y’know, hospitalizing themselves again

Untitled fake dating fic (still in prompt stage) - Pickles gets an invite to his ex Tony from SnB’s wedding and ropes Charles into being his plus one

Untitled Nathan/Charles/Pickles fic (still in prompt stage) - Charles and Pickles are a couple, and Nathan gradually works his way in too

Untitled Charles/Pickles fic (still in prompt stage) - The guys find some old secret lover pen pal letters in Pickles’ stuff and speculate about who might have written them, while Charles is half 😬 dont figure out it was me and half 😍 because he didn’t realize Pickles had kept them all these years

Untitled Pickles gives Murderface a Back Rub fic (still in prompt stage)

Untitled Total Landscaping AU (still in prompt stage)

And some more extremely unformed ideas that in no way resemble a specific story yet.

2. What’s next on your ‘to-read’ list? (Fan fiction or otherwise)

Answered.

7. What’s the last thing you read that made you cry?

Crap, I know it’s happened but I cannot for the life of me remember when or what. I’m sorry, this is a cop out but I legit do not know...

20. Do you have a favorite fanfic or author? If so, tag them/post a link and share the love!

Answered.

[fanfic asks meme]

[dontcallmecarrie]

Are you planing on ever making By Dawns Early Light into a full blown story? ... And is Thanos an issue in this AU? I think you havent mentioned him in it so well, I wondered?

UMM. *looks over what I’ve got in that tag, and winces*

geez this thing’s longer than some of my actual fics, when did that happen?

Here’s the thing, though: this AU’s meant to be a writer’s-block-buster. Which, if the current evidence is anything to go by, has been a resounding success. 

However. 

As of right now it’s just that, a thought-and-snippet-writing exercise, because there’s a lot of things that’d need tweaking before I’d even consider posting it on AO3 [aka my inner perfectionist strikes again]. 

Again, this is mostly just me messing around with a fluffy tumblr-exclusive [for now, anyway] AU because this feels smaller stakes than if I were to round this up and make it into a full-out fic.

Also, in regards to the second part of your ask: not exactly. By Dawn’s Early Light is, at its core, a fairly fluffy self-indulgent AU, which for me is also code for ‘nobody dies if I can help it’ and ‘if the MCU can have a Gary Stu villain then I can do what I want, Deus Ex Machina-levels of fixits included’.

How? Simple. By nerfing the heck out of him, while also unfridging as many other moms as I can, with a side of I-have-yet-to-forgive-the-writers-for-pulling-this-bs-seriously-what-kind-of-writing-was-that. 

Here’s how the entire Thanos situation would go down, in By Dawn’s Early Light (spoilers for a fic I have yet to write):

First, let’s take a step back, shall we? This is, among other things, a timeline-crunch AU. There’s a lot going down in a very compressed time frame [originally just because I wanted Howard to still be around just for Tony to be able to punch him, but now I’m invested in this so time go the full nine yards, buckle up everyone].

So. The entire situation around Maria Stark and Tony and Bucky’s been covered fairly well, but to sum up: when Howard turns out to be an abusive asshole of a husband, his wife smiles at him and promptly turns around and burns both SHIELD and Stark Industries, revealing HYDRA and Obadiah Stane’s double-dealing ahead of schedule [unintentional fixits ftw]. In the chaos, Bucky manages to escape and joins up with Maria and Tony as they go in hiding. 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned: Hank Pym sees this shit going down, realizes that the most famous missing child in the country is about the same age as his daughter, and decides to not aim to be Absentee Father of the Year. He ends up being a tad overprotective, sure, but is way more involved in his kid’s life and Hope Van Dyne grows up with at least one (1) parental figure in her life, so…there’s that. 

Things happen, and the timeline for bringing Janet back gets moved up somehow, right around when the Avengers assemble.

Note to self: adjust part of Scott Lang’s origin story in this? Compare whistleblower laws of that time era, alt. entrance for him could be him somehow helping Tony hide because BDEL!Howard’s the type of petty and vindictive asshole who’d pull some strings if he found out this rando interfered with his search somehow. 

Bonus for giving Scott and Hank something to commiserate about, later on, and would also have Tony and Co. feeling indebted to him [which would result in a lot of shiny prototypes and records being expunged, later on, probably]

…though that might be a bit much. Hmm.

Reason to bring Janet back: I do what I want also I think the MCU fridged moms because otherwise they’d be too powerful 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned, the second: since this is also the AU where moms get unfridged, Frigga’s going to be derailing the plot from her corner of the galaxy.

Also, since I finally watched Ragnarok but was a mythology nerd as a kid and have a passing knowledge of the comics, time to revamp how Hela fits into this universe.

Okay, she’s still murderous and powerful and ruthless. 

Only, turns out there’s a very good reason for it: she was one of Loki’s students [iirc she’s his daughter in the myths, that’s the best I can come up with atm] before Odin saddled her with the thankless duty of being the watchkeeper of Asgard’s enemies and prisoners. As in, Odin just straight-up went ‘hey you look pretty talented, here, I now hold you responsible for this entire goddamn realm of assholes and creeps, if any get out we’re all screwed’. 

Which is something Hela absolutely did not sign up for, but she’s now just about the only thing standing between said realm of undesirables and her home so she stays put […also maybe Odin sealed the only way back? Maybe? Idk].

It didn’t help that in the early days, these ruffians thought they could overpower her and escape to wreak havoc. So she had to kick everyone’s ass six ways to Sunday, until they finally accepted her as the head honcho of this dump and as someone Not To Be Fucked With.

Thus, why Hela’s known as the goddess of death and ruler of Helheim.  

…and it’s also why she accidentally came to Thanos’ attention.

(Because why the hell not, as if her day wasn’t bad enough Odin you owe her big time—)

Thanos, of course, is in love with her carnage and seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Hela just wants to be left the alone but can’t tell him to fuck off because if she did, she’d risk leaving her home open to attack from enemy agents, which is how we get the story behind why Thanos is known as the madman who courted death. 

[Hela: fuck you and the horse you rode in on shoo you bastard and take your stupid flowers with you—]

Thanos was on one of his especially annoying ‘let me woo you with the ashes of this one civilization!’ kicks [Hela: ashes. How romantic. Not. Leave me alone already.] when some of the Dark Elves snuck out and killed Odin. 

Hela…is only pissed she couldn’t have done it with her own two hands. Also slightly embarrassed that the Dark Elves escaped in the first place, and relieved that it was only Odin who’d kicked it because his wife had seemed pretty nice, the one time Hela’d seen the lady before she’d been drop-kicked to this hellhole. 

Also— apparently she now can leave this place? Sayonara, bitches. 

.

Thanos is very displeased when he doesn’t find her standing guard over Helheim when he returns.

Displeased enough to get creative, as far as courting gifts go, and think that if she didn’t like rings or jewelry, well, maybe this Lady Death would appreciate a shiny, fully-assembled Infinity Gauntlet instead.

well…let’s be honest, if it weren’t for his ‘don’t take no for an answer’ thing, you’d have to give the guy props for trying. Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than ‘here have this item of absolute cosmic power’, amirite? [just kidding]

.

Hela now has mixed feelings about Asgard. Before she was crowned Queen of This Dump, she’d been a student of magic, had been used to certain things. There’s quite an element of culture shock to be had, now that she’s back. It’s the first time she’s seen sunlight in thousands of years, and also there’s a lot of systemic changes going on now that some of Odin’s dirty secrets are coming out at last. Turns out she’s not the only one who’d been pressed into duty: some of Loki’s other students[/children in the myths] came back with stories of the same. Fenrir was apparently voluntold to be the guardian of the Reality Stone, Jormungandr had apparently been busy on Midgard […which now had a school of Mystic Arts? Pfft. Overachiever], and the more Hela thought about it the angrier she got.

Especially when it turns out that her teacher had been mocked for suffering a breakdown and was also tortured by the creep who’d been flirting with her for millennia [Everyone: wait what Hela: I am going to KILL THAT BASTARD NEXT TIME I SEE HIM]. 

However, thanks to Frigga being Frigga and having a crazy-high charisma stat, Hela is still mostly willing to play ball with everyone else on Asgard. Despite her not being happy with how ungrateful the general populace acted [oh, magic’s just ‘tricks’? Here, have a fireball TO THE FACE I FOUGHT MONSTERS WITH THESE TRICKS FOR MILLENNIA]. 

So when Thanos shows up again, he gets one-shotted by Hela, who’s very very pissy about her vacation being interrupted.

Because this planet has sunlight and hot chocolate and punk rock and she’s got centuries’ worth of time off and she is damn well going to enjoy it.

.

…aka why Thanos is a bit of a non-entity in this one. Again, fixits are the name of the game for this AU.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

We. (Brujay fanfic) Part 1/4

Summary :

Alpha and Omega, more of a curse than a second gender. Theorized to be the nature’s solution of human’s close brush against extinction hundreds of thousands of years ago. It’s truly a blessing that their population is near extinction, not more than 5% of the total. The percentage of them meeting is slim to none. Yet here they are.

Word count : 1.3 k

Note : it's been a long time since I posted anything. To be fully honest, this is the first fic that i'm not sure whether to post or not bcs i'm not happy with it when posting. But I just feel like there's no room to grow this anywhere, and it's completely done. So...Enjoy?

Part 2

Click link to read on AO3

Click keep reading to read on tumblr~

Bruce has a secure private line created especially to connect through Jason’s. That flip phone has no contacts, and only the same set of numbers ever flashed on the outside screen. A Motorola flip phone with a monochrome graphic. They went great lengths to have this method of communication separated from their work, their families, and their intruding night time associates.

The security and secrecy take intricate design, but what they have is simple.

What they knew are crucial, and yet so easily contained.

Inside the text is a location and time, sent over an hour ago. In an hour and one minute, Bruce sent back the exact text message. Anything earlier means he won't be there.

Right on the edge of Gotham. Tight slums and abandoned buildings tower tightly. But one among many is not like the other. For one, access to an underground bomb shelter for the rich and has been long forgotten, abandoned since world war two. Its records, -a floor plan on a piece of paper signed by the government- doesn’t exist at the Records of Deeds. Bruce doesn’t know what happened to it, but he does have a concrete hint who might have it.

The building above the shelter had been inhabitable for ten years. Only roaches and rats as big as your biceps roams around and called it homes. Unlike the bunker that’s been revamped into something else. Batman slips to the underground floor from the long broken lift. A secret entrance triggered by messing around the elevator button that seemed to rust and long gone. A hatch opened under Batman’s feet, too small to fall in, but big enough for him to shimmy down.

The small tunnel ends on the rooftop of a wide but short corridor. Its blue light gave him an empty feeling. Even after a few seconds, Batman’s heavy drop still echoes. The corridor is less of a path and more like a rectangle box. Unlike the building on top of it, it’s clean, almost eerily spotless, and Batman with all the darkness of him is like a speck dirt in the middle of it.

Batman takes off his heavy and armored gloves, revealing the prim and manicured hand fit of Bruce Wayne the quirky playboy billionaire, Gotham’s darling. He presses his hand on a wall exactly 10 centimeters off the room’s center, pressing on it exactly 10 seconds before pulling it away.

The wall behind him opens from an invisible seam, another hallway deeper where he’ll finally reach the bunker.

The enforced door at the end of this second hall opened. Another seamless wall, a short and dead-ended room. Bruce takes off his cowl, stands with feet shoulder length apart, facing the wall and pressed both hands on the wall, shoulder-length from each other. The wall glows a faint green light, a small dent in the front of his eyes glares laser that scans through his face. That one is new, but he goes along with it. All this for the prize in the room behind the wall.

The final door opens, with it, a gush of cold refreshing wind brushed against his skin, leaving warm pleasurable shivers down his spine. He takes in a deep breath, smelling intently the scent of faint jasmine, a strong smell of cedarwood, a hint of lavender, and a tinge of iron and sweat.

Bruce is greeted with a shocking difference between the exterior and the interior. No matter how much he came to this room, he’s never numb to the amusement. A room with pastel walls and the softest carpeted purple floor his feet ever stepped on. It was a bunker that could easily be crammed with a hundred people but originally made for 10 upper-class people to take shelter luxuriously comfortable, now transformed as a room for two.

The room is filled with plushies, cabinets filled with sex toys, soft clothes, and extra pillows. At the end of the room, is a king-sized bed with red silk covers. There, laid the prettiest piece of man that made his Adam's apples bobbed at the sight. Just like him, the man gulps at his appearance. Unlike him, the man is already completely naked.

Bruce takes off his gear, putting them on the compartment that’s open and waiting right beside the door. As his gear put inside, along with another gear that’s already there, the compartment closed. As

The closer he approached, the stronger the man’s scent is. The scent of arousal. The scent of heat coming. So strong that it’s triggering his rut. He feels even his breathing grows heavy.

“If you’re going to walk any slower,” the man sigh, flinching, already in pain as his heat started without any sign of an Alpha in the perimeter, “I’m... going to start without you.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Bruce takes off the scent blocker from the flanks of his neck, a thinner than a paper membrane, invisible to the naked eye. When he lets his scent adds to the air, he could see the omega deeply breaths it in like a drug and exhales in a pleasured moan. The most melodic sound that Bruce Wayne had ever heard.

Bruce lands his knee to the plush mattress, hand on the back of the omega’s neck and bare his own for the omega to scent. They stayed a few seconds to take each other’s scent, to calm the omega and give the reassurance of safety.

“I thought you’re taking suppressant,” he asked in worry. For the omega in his arms hates it to the core and their sex always without them.

Not that Bruce minds. Heat sex is said to be the most pleasurable kind. An omega in heat will want you no matter how much the person behind it doesn’t want to. An omega in heat doesn’t have their straight mind to say no. Their body will be punished with pain if no one ‘assisted’ them in their heat. An alpha in a rut doesn’t have the straight mind to say no as well. Their rut came triggered always, over the smell of an omega in heat.

Alpha and Omega, more of a curse than a second gender. Theorized to be the nature’s solution of human’s close brush against extinction hundreds of thousands of years ago. It’s truly a blessing that their population is near extinction, not more than 5% of the total. The percentage of them meeting is slim to none.

Yet here they are.

“Consider yourself lucky.” The omega smirked, finally taking off his nose from Bruce’s scent glands. “I can’t take the shots forever. Healthwise, I still have to have them once every two years. I knew that the hard way when I first have my heat.”

Bruce felt his blood boil, from the top of his head down to his groin. His nose flared as he takes in his omega’s scent, rich and closing in on a full-blown heat. But he’s just way too angry to enjoy how easy the omega aroused him, with his scent and with the way his body reacted violently on his touch alone.

Without smelling his sweet scent, Bruce can’t imagine ever looking his adopted son is such ways. Supple, endearing, beautiful, with a delicious slick leaking down his carved legs, prepped and ready for mating.

 ++++++

 Heats last for days. The first time Jason revealed he’s an omega, he was in heat, in pain. For once in a long time, Jason needed him. Bruce took that chance. To let himself be the Alpha he had hidden from the world. No one knew about their second gender but each other. Not his other sons, not even his best friend Clark. The days they spent together for days, conversing normally between the calm in his waves of heat, made him remember two years ago where he had done this exact same thing.

In their little bunker, Jason tucked in his arms, as they wait for Jason’s next wave over a movie. Talking about petty topics with light delicate laughs slipping in between.

It’s not usually like this. Their heat less sex more sober and enjoyable as they’re there as themselves, not as a rut ridden alpha, and a lulled omega. Though Bruce is here, no matter what Jason needed from him.

Once in two years, he has an omega. Every once in a while, he has Jason.

 +++++

[youngerdrgrey]

easy there, oedipus (or, how to get away with impregnating your law professor) [DRAFTS 2]

about: alternatively titled, how to get away with impregnating your law professor and secretly parenting your child; or moments from a fic unwritten, updated and revamped for a season that only feeds into my need for Annalise and Wes to fall into the abyss together. — takes place in season 3

a/n: Drafts from before the show hurt me w/ season three’s finale; shared in case anyone wanted more of the story -- here are some vignettes and headcanons about the story.

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Getting Away With… Annalise and Michaela bonding

At some point in the pregnancy, Annalise gets sick and Wes is there, every night, with her, feeding her, helping her, calling the doctor.

Asher says, “Mommy issues.”

Connor says, “Better him than us.”

.

Michaela brings soup and some magazines one night, but she feels dumb once she gets upstairs. Annalise takes pity on her and tells her to come in the damn room and sit down (Ms. Pratt).

Michaela sits, on the edge, with the soup still in her hands and the potholder in her lap. They sit in silence until Annalise tells her to talk.

“About what?”

“Anything. Except the next exam.”

So, Michaela talks about moving on from Aiden, and how Connor’s still fake going to NA, and how Laurel makes the best cheesecake, even if it’s pity food. How she wishes sometimes that she could’ve just loved someone like Wes because everyone is so lucky to have a guy like him around, and how she hopes that she gets to meet the baby (and she can totally do that even if Annalise doesn’t keep her around so it’s not, like she’s being presumptuous, she swears).

She keeps talking until Annalise drifts off, and Wes comes back and slips onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there. No hesitation. He doesn’t lie down, or get too close, but the ease in his shoulders the moment he sees Annalise -- Michaela leaves.

Leaves and bites on her tongue next time someone brings up Mommy issues.

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Getting Away With... Laurel’s Q&A

Later, when people know, Laurel asks what Wes got out of this — out of a kid that he can’t claim publicly and a woman who will never, ever be his.

He thinks of the way Annalise’s hands shook around the pregnancy test, the tears in her eyes, the unspoken plea for him to let her have this, the thank you on her lips and soon on his before he slid his lips from hers and hung his head so his forehead rested against hers and his breath landed against the tears on her cheek, and he said, “No one can ever know. Can they?”

“We’ll know,” she’d said, as if that was enough, as it no one else in the world even began to matter.

“Another one of our secrets.”

~ In the moment with Laurel, he says that no one’s ever looked prouder of him, no one as thankful and grateful and just happy that he existed. He says it might be messed up to keep a baby to make someone happy, but

Well, it worked.

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Getting Away With… telling everyone

Annalise calls all of them to attention from the bottom of the stairwell. It’s only been a few weeks since she found out, but the way her eyes meet Wes’ tell him everything he needs to know about what this team conversation is about.

Everyone shifts as she walks closer. She stops on the rug she bought to replace the one Sam got rolled up in.

“Now, normally, I wouldn’t bother telling you all something like this, but it will affect the way I work and therefore affect all of you as well.”

She unclasps her hands from where they’ve been hanging in front of her and places them both on her stomach. Wes can hear the squeak of a gasp that comes from Michaela and feels the shift in the couch as Laurel leans in closer.

“I’m pregnant,” Annalise says, “and I will do my best to keep everything the same around here. I’ll have more appointments, but you’ll have Bonnie whenever I can’t be here. Any questions?”

Her eyes scan their faces. Michaela’s jaw looks slightly unhinged. Laurel looks pensive. 

Asher narrows his eyes and asks, “Who’s the father?”

All eyes whip to him as Annalise bristles. 

“If I’d meant for you to know, I would’ve told you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She heads for her office.

The rest of the team wait for the doors to slide closed before throwing pillows and hissing, “Asher!”

“What, it’s an honest question!”

Connor ignores him, turning in his chair to face the other three of the group, especially Michaela. “Can you believe Mom’s replacing us?”

Michaela rolls her eyes. “God, Connor, don’t call her that.” He shrugs. She goes on, “And Annalise isn’t replacing anyone. A baby can’t practice law.”

“Ten bucks says that kid grows up just like us,” Connor says.

Wes imagines their kid will be different. He could see his kid as a toddler, tossing papers out of boxes on the floor and crawling inside to make his own little court room. Wes could play fake judge, or fake jury, if all the stuffed animals will let him join.

Michaela claps her hand in Connor’s, bringing Wes back to the moment.

“You’re on,” she says. “No one wants to be their parents.”

Asher scoffs. “Hey.”

“Sorry, no one interesting wants to be their parents.”

Asher glowers and corrects, “Parent. She’s totes going in solo since Nate’s gone MIA.”

“It’s not Nate’s,” Wes says. It gets quiet, and eyes snap to him -- three sets, equal parts guilty and worried. He clears his throat, schools his voice. “The timing’s off. She should’ve been showing a while ago if it was Nate’s.”

Asher shrugs. “She has been gaining weight. I didn’t want to say anything before, but—“

Everyone’s glaring at him. He stops. Laurel rolls her eyes.

“She’d probably tell us if we asked. We’ve known worse secrets.”

Connor scoffs. “She bit his head off ten seconds ago, Einstein.”

Laurel scoffs right back. “Not who, genius; when.”

Michaela nods. “You’re right. And we kind of deserve to know anyway since when she’s due will affect when classes are cancelled. If we have to take breaks in our case load, if—“

“She’s gonna be a raging bitch for finals.”

“Asher!”

He throws his hands in the air. “Legitimate question! Again!”

And he’s right, to some degree. Her emotions will be changing for sure. Her due date’s not right for finals though. It’ll be next school year actually, and Wes’ll be someone else’s student, and — everybody’s staring at him.

Wes fidgets. “What? Why’re you looking at me?”

“You’re the favorite,” Connor says.

“If anyone’s gonna ask…” Michaela tries to smile.

Laurel sighs. “We could all try, together, but studies show: you’re the one she trusts the most.”

Wes bounces in his seat before getting up and heading to the office. He knocks. Bonnie opens it, sees him, and sighs.

“It’s not a good time,” Bonnie says.

“I get that. I just have a question. We all do,” Wes says.

Bonnie glances at the others. “Stop conspiring and get back to work.”

The others look down. Wes rolls his shoulders.

“You gonna let me through?”

She does.

He gets to Annalise whose face looks like it does around one of her vomiting spells. Shit, is that why it’s not a good time? He should leave then, shouldn’t he? He already knows when she’s due, and he can just go tell them the answer without asking.

Only, he has a really good excuse to be in here, and he doesn’t get many of those, and there’s so much that he wants to say and ask, so he clears his throat.

Her eyes snap up — wide and alarmed — but they flatten out once she notices who it is.

“Mr. Gibbins.” A warning dressed like a greeting. Definitely not a good time. But she did just tell everyone she’s having his baby, so she doesn’t get to send him away just yet.

The door’s still cracked; Bonnie’s right there and is no doubt listening in since Annalise hasn’t dismissed her yet.

Wes gets closer, to the desk, staying on his side though. “You don’t look so good.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“I just meant — sorry, I —“ suck at this dad thing already. He frowns. “Do you need anything?”

“It would be nice if I could keep my lunch down, but I’m not getting picky.”

He almost groans. Of course Annalise would stand strong through morning sickness. She’ll stand strong through it all — the cravings, the swelling, the mood swings and near insatiable appetite for se—

“Wes?”

“Huh?”

“I asked, why are you in here?”

“Right. Sorry. Again.” He scratched the back of his head. “We all — well, they, not that I’m not also curious, but when is the baby due?”

Annalise looks confused a moment, then she tells him, “October 23rd.”

He shouldn’t feel pride at the sound of that. It’s a date — a bunch of letters and numbers. It’s not a baby. It’s not something to smile about. Yet, his cheeks burn just the same.

“Right before Halloween,” he says. “You’ll have to dress them up.”

“Them?” she repeats, eyes widening back.

He scrambles out. “Gender neutral pronoun, not saying you’re having twins.” Unless… “Are you?”

“I certainly hope not. I’ve already got my hands full with everyone out there. I don’t need two more lives to protect.”

He winds around a pen on her desk. He can’t look at her while he says, “You wouldn’t be alone.”

The air gets really still, like no one anywhere in the house wants to move or even begin to dissect the almost hesitantly wistful way he’d said that sentence.

“I figured.” Annalise shifts in her seat, and her voice comes out stronger, more assured and planned. “You don’t think I’m paying for a nanny when I’ve got capable interns, do you?”

A groan’s heard from the living room. Wes finds a way to breathe again, turns his next exhale into an almost laugh.

“Just make sure Michaela takes off her ring first.”

It’s not funny, but he laughs just the same. Annalise too.

(In the living room, Michaela pouts, and maybe this won’t have to be so hard. Maybe, somehow, they can make this work.”)

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Getting Away With... Financial Support

A week after Wes agrees to keep their secret, Annalise gives him some money. He starts freaking out, like “Why are you doing this?” and he low-key accuses her of trying to buy his silence.

Well, not low-key.

He’s like, “What — you don’t want me to tell anyone and now you’re giving me money? That’s not the way this works. I’m not gonna tell anyone like it hurts all of us.”

Annalise bristles. “How could you even think I would do something like that?” She knew that his loan still wasn’t going through. (She had Frank check.) She wanted to make sure that he got the chance to stick around. For all of them.

And it’s his turn to be like, “Oh.” Fuck. “Annalise—“

“Save it. Either take the money or don’t. Spare me your apologies. You can think the worst of me all you’d like.”

“It’s not— I’m sorry.” He stresses it. “No one outside of my family has ever helped me without wanting something in return.” He steps closer but not close enough to touch her. “I’m no good at saying thank you.”

She barely softens, but she does. “You better learn soon. I’m not really the type to sit on my hands.”

“Noted.”

She looks a moment longer, then goes back to her files. “You may go.”

He lingers, heads for the door, pauses. “Thank you.”

She grins (not that he looks to see). “You’re welcome.”

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Getting Away With... Mama Harkness’ Return

Mama Harkness watches him a moment too long. He shifts. She shakes her head.

“What’s so special about you?” He’s a bit confused. “Lord knows this wasn’t the only time Anna slept with someone she shouldn’t.”

He sputters. “I — ma’am, you—“

“You gon’ lie to me, boy?”

Beat. “No, ma’am.”

“Thought so. Now, I’m not telling nobody what I know. I just want you to know that I know it. And I’m watching you. You hear me?”

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Getting Away With... Names and Michaela Finding Out

Connor calling little man bible verses, like “316, how you been, buddy?”

Laurel calls him Matt.

Michaela calls him Matthew and tells him to grow into it and respect it because nicknames don’t do anything but allow us to hide from our full potential.

Wes calls him kid a lot.

.

At another time, when something’s wrong with the baby, they all rush to the hospital. Wes tries to get in the room, in full intense Dad mode, but Connor catches him by the shoulders. Says, “Easy there, Oedipus, you can’t go in there.”

Michaela snaps at Connor for being insensitive when they’re all worried. Connor slips up and mutters, “But it’s their baby so, ugh.”

Michaela repeats it, “Their baby.” Then again, as Connor’s, Laurel’s, and Wes’ eyes all go wide. She sputters, and everything just clicks. “My God.”

“Michaela—“

“He’s —”

Wes shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this.” Storms off to try and get into the room.

Michaela slaps Connor’s arm, hard as shit. “How long have you known?”

“A couple weeks—“

“WEEKS?”

“But I couldn’t tell you—“

“You tell me everything! You told me when you changed your toothpaste!”

“This wasn’t my secret to tell.”

She gets that, she really does, it just sucks finding out so late. Annalise is struggling to hold on, baby Matthew’s got heart problems, and — “Oh, God, Wes.” He must be a mess.

.

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Getting Away With... Keeping the Baby?

So, they reach a point where Annalise finds out that basically keeping the baby in longer could kill her. They’re at the hospital, and Wes is in the room when they hear the news. The doctors leave them alone to process, and Annalise is speechless.

Wes tries to find some words. He tells her that he — well, he doesn’t know what to do, or say. He’s finally maybe on the right track with Annalise towards something they can have and sustain, and now the baby’s really sick and Annalise could die?

He clears his throat and says, “I want to be here. I do. I just....”

And she gets him. Tells him, “Get some air. I’ll get some here.” 

He nods and he almost chokes on whatever it is inside of him. He says, “Five minutes. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Then he rushes the fuck out of there.

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Michaela and Connor come in together. They saw Wes run off, and Laurel went after Wes, but it’s Michaela and Connor who go in to see Annalise first.

Michaela can’t really form words right away.

Connor says, “Look, we really kinda need our jobs, and your house, and... you. You’re not like our mom or anything, but we need you too.”

Michaela squeaks in agreement, and then she says that if anyone could get through this, it would be Annalise. “Whatever you decide, we will stand by you. It’s what you’ve trained us to do.”

Annalise tells them to get it together or get out. They hug her. She tries not to cry.

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Bonnie and Frank want her to let the baby go, but they also know she won’t, so they’re making plans and schedules on who will be monitoring her, and when and for how long. They immediately make plans and deals with nurses to reserve a bed in the NICU for the baby.

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Wes literally goes outside and starts wailing on dumpsters and screaming. 

Laurel mentions that they should invest in soundproof rooms at hospitals for this purpose. She reminds him that he freaked out less when Sam died than now.

He tells her that this has to be karma. This is what happens when you kill a woman’s husband and then get her pregnant. “God laughs at you. He gives you everything you could have possibly imagined. He gives you the possibility of having a family, a real one that will support you and care for you and foster you into who you’re meant to be. And then just when it seems like maybe everything’s going to work out, He rips them away from you.”

Laurel says, “Wes, it’s not karma —“

“It is! I did this! I killed her.”

“You didn’t—“

His finger jams into his chest so hard that she fears he’s gonna break it. “I got her pregnant. I gave her this hope. And now she’s gonna die. Because of me.”

“Because her heart’s overworked.”

“No, because I protected Rebecca instead of —“

“Instead of what? Letting Sam kill her? Listen to yourself.”

“I can’t! I can’t even think right now. I should be in there with her, comforting her, saying whatever it is she needs to hear to make the right decision and save herself over this baby. Only… only…”

He has tears in his eyes, and Laurel understands why.

“You want the baby.”

A tear slips out, and Wes groans. “I want her so badly.”

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They decide to go with Bonnie and Frank’s plan -- have the baby but stay on top of everything. They’ve lost enough people in this life, and they’re not losing anyone else.

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[alkhale]

Hello!!! Im re-reading Your stories and i was wondering if you ever going to continue writing your jack frost or you KNB??? I love you and continue writing you are the best!!!

I’ve received a lot of questions about these stories (and i think i always will hahaha), I know HTMABB is especially popular and lot of you are watching to see if i’ll ever go back to those or lamenting their ridiculous hiatuses.

To be honest, I’m just not really sure. My cycle of writing is heavy on where I see the end and the scenes I want to play out. Inspo is big as well, but I’m usually so liberal with writing new stories because I like the idea of exploring these plot bunnies, cranking them out, and running with them. Some ended shorter than others, some ran longer, and I promise it has nothing to do with views or reviews or anything like that. The inspiration isn’t gone, it’s just very slow, and very soft. I’m hoping to finish Enigma and Nascent (lmao but mellow u update monthly) within the next few months and imma work hard to do that by summer, hopefully. And once those are done, I might rotate fics and work more on updating and revamping old ones I’m not as happy with.

My style’s changed a bit over the years, so sometimes the way I wrote before with the stories is a bit jarring, no matter how much love, and it seems weird to drop a chapter so different, you know? I guess the answer isn’t yes, but they’re not gone. Haven’t given up on them yet.

Thank you for loving them and wishing for their swift and safe return

[younghearts-stories]

*comes out of hiding after 3000 years*

Well, hello friends. Don’t know if there are many left to be honest, which is completely my fault since I’ve ghosted High Noon for a long, long, long time, but if anyone is still there, hi! I’ve missed you.

I could go on and on about the reasons why I haven’t updated my fic in forever, but it doesn’t really matter in the long run. Life just life’d, you know? And with the pandemic, life life’d pretty fucking hard and fast. I ended up losing a lot of motivation for the things I loved, which included writing and it sucked.

But, the point of this post is to ask how you guys all are, see how everyone’s doing and managing but also to say…. IM POSTING A NEW CHAPTER OF HIGH NOON TONIGHT❗️

Even writing that statement out brings me so much joy because finding my inspiration again and writing again has made me so happy and I want to be able to share more of Harry and Rory’s story. I really owe it to everyone whose read it and also to myself and the characters.

I’ve also updated/edited/revamped (I guess you could say) all old chapters for y’all to read on Wattpad (I’m still working on updating them on here). Just teeney tiny changes that might not even be that noticeable to be honest, but that’s been a major help in me regaining my motivation for this fic again.

So, chp 16 will be coming to you tonight at 9 PM EST. If anyone wants a preview, I’ll be more than happy to share one. Oh… and also the majority of it is Harry’s POV so buckle in.

Sending lots of love and so happy to be back,

Tatum !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! x

[tenroseforeverandever]

Dear Father Christmas… Chapter 23: December 24, 2038

MASTERPOST

Characters:  Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane; OC Tianza; the TARDIS; OC Abby Tyler-Milne;

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Jackie decides to make Ugly Christmas Jumpers for everyone in the family.

Notes: Wow! Another chapter that got away from me! LOL And boy, did this one put up a fight.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci: once again, this chapter would not be what it is without you. You gave me inspiration (which I still feel guilty about!) and we had many, many discussions about lots of things to get me through this, including a particularly hilarious discussion about aliens (I’m dying laughing just thinking about it now… I don’t know why I find it so funny, I just do!) Just thank-you, both, for always being there when I need you, and putting up with my whinging. I love you both!

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Santa and/or Elves.

I know it’s the middle of April, but since the weather outside (here in Ontario) is still frightful, I don’t feel too guilty about posting part of my Christmas story. I have eight more chapters to go for the full 31 Days of Ficmas. I’m not sure if I will post any more through the year, or just write them and post them at Christmastime in December. I’ll see how it goes… ;D

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2038

Dear Father Christmas,

My mum never does anything by halves. When Jackie Tyler sets her mind on something, she doesn’t hold back. She gets stuck right in; she takes the bull by the horns and beats it into submission. God help anyone or anything standing in her way. Just ask the Doctor…

(On second thought, best not. He might not take it too well, especially not after… well, you’ll see.)

Anyroad, ever since we welcomed my little niece, Abby, into our lives last autumn, Mum’s been on a knitting rampage. She taught herself. She started out with little things like baby mitts and booties, but quickly progressed to sweet little cardigans and jumpers. And she’s gotten really good! My very favourite one was an adorable navy-blue jumper with the words “I LOVE MY DADDIES!” emblazoned across the front in big, pink letters. Tony and Noah (the proud Daddies in question) loved it too, and dressed little Abby in it all the time, until summer came along, and they were forced to admit it was too hot for her to wear it anymore!

This year, sometime around August, Mum’s knitting took a rather… erm… dangerous turn. Stand aside, Molly Weasley: Jackie Tyler announced she was intending to knit jumpers for all of the Tyler clan, and their significant others, this Christmas.

And not just any jumpers: Ugly Christmas Jumpers. 

She only told me and Dad, not wanting to spoil the “surprise” for everyone else. Honestly, we just had to grit our teeth and tell her what a “great idea” it was. It wasn’t like it would’ve made any difference if we’d told her how we really felt. Besides, this way we were likely avoiding the pain of a good hard smack, and months of her patented Jackie Tyler silent-not-silent treatment.

Anyway, it wasn’t like she’d told us about it because she was actually seeking our approval. No, we were to be models, though I rather think guinea-pigs would be a more apt description. Honestly, as Christmas approached, I was seriously beginning to think it would have been better to shut the entire Ugly Jumper Project down in its early stages and endure whatever punishment Mum might have dished out, but at that point, we were in too deep to turn back.

The worst part of the whole process was Mum constantly calling me throughout the autumn to come over to the mansion to try something on, or to bring over jumpers the kids had left behind when they came to visit, so she could compare the sizing with what she was knitting. To be honest it got to be a bit tedious very quickly, but I could hardly say no to her when she was throwing her heart into it. Besides, this way I was able to keep an eye out and nix any design I thought wouldn’t go down very well with the intended recipient.

But, the jumpers were, for the most part, not too bad. They were beautifully designed and made. I was honestly quite impressed. Most of them either featured a cute character like a snowman or penguin or something like that, or they were the traditional Fair Isle design, with rows of little repeating Christmas characters and symbols in garish colours. Regardless of the pattern, all of them had some sort of saying on them, like Joy to the World, ‘Tis the Season, or Let It Snow.

“Soooo, which one is mine,” I asked.

“Never you mind, little madam. For your information, I ‘aven’ started it yet. And even if I ‘ad… as if I would spoil the surprise.”

I suddenly had a horrible thought. Cold dread washed over me. “Erm… what about the Doctor’s…?” Ever since he had revamped her dishwasher to sing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer seven or eight Christmases ago, Mum had been out for revenge. Not that she would admit it. From the look she gave me, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I knew better.

“Oh, I’m tryin’ to come up with jus’ the right pattern for ‘im. I’ve a couple in mind.”

“Muuuuum, don’t do anything rash, yeah?”

“Oh, honestly Rose, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. I’m jus’ tryin’ to create a little Christmas cheer.”

“Oi! I’m the one stuck in the middle of you and the Doctor and your flippin’ Christmas cheer. Me and Dad!”

She ignored me, of course, and did a complete about-face on the topic. “Oh, speakin’ of your Dad… I got his jumper finished. What d’ya think?” She held up a dark green jumper, with a comical Santa body on it. The pattern stopped at the collar, so Dad’s head would be taking the place of Santa’s head (your head, Santa!) The words Ho Ho Ho were knitted in bold yellow letters below Santa’s feet. “I’ll get ‘im to wear a Father Christmas ‘at and all!”

I had to laugh. “Good luck with that!”

“’E’ll do it if ‘e knows w’at’s good for ‘im!”

“That’ll make for more of your Christmas cheer, then…”

“Oh, don’t ya worry; I’ll make it worth ‘is while.”  She winked at me. “There’ll be plenty of Christmas cheer and bells a jinglin’ around ‘ere.”

“Mum! TMI!”

“Since when ‘ave you been such a prude? I mean, jus’ look at the way you and ‘imself carry on.”

“Yeah, but there are certain things I really, really do not need to know. And that, right there: that tops the list! Look, I gotta run. Dad’s asked me to give a presentation this afternoon.”

“Oh, well, I suppose… Oh, Rose, wait a mo’. I meant to ask: Charlie, is she seein’ someone regular these days? Will she be bringin’ a date for Christmas Eve? I’ll need to make ‘im or ‘er a jumper too, yeah, whoever they are.”

“I dunno, Mum. I never know with that one these days. I worry… a lot.”

“She’ll be all right, sweetheart. It’s jus’ a phase. ‘Sides, she’s nearly twenty years old. I don’t need to remind ya w’at you were up to at ‘er age… gallivantin’ around with that bleedin’ alien. Not that you cared a fig about my worries!”

“Mum…”

“She’s jus’ like you in so many ways, so bloody-minded.”

“That isn’t helping, Mum! I jus’ hope you’re right… about it being a phase. Anyway, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything definite about her bringing a date.”

“An’ in the meantime, I’ll knit an extra generic sort of jumper, jus’ in case.” Mum must have noticed I was about to protest, because she cut me off before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth. “Nah, don’t worry; Lor’ knows, it’s no trouble. After all, Therin might still decide to bring someone, too, and I’ll need one for ‘er. Best to be prepared.”

“All right. Suit yourself. See ya soon. Love ya.” I kissed her on the cheek and headed out the door, the problem of Charlie weighing heavily on my mind.

--ooOoo--

That night as I was standing at the stove making supper, the Doctor came up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He gave me a lovely kiss behind the ear. It was just what I’d needed. I’d been wound up all day.

“Penny for ‘em? You’ve been doing (might I say) a piss poor job of shielding your emotions.”

“That obvious, was it?”

“Yup.” He squeezed me tighter and gave me another tender little kiss. Even without our telepathic bond, I expect he would have figured out something was wrong. And I really had been sloppy about keeping my worry contained. To be honest, I’d been hoping he’d notice. “You could have just told me if something was bothering you.”

I leaned my head back against his shoulder, giving the sauce another stir. “I know. You’ve just been so stressed lately.”

The Doctor had been called in to help with seventeen frightened and violent Trumhurgi whose ship had crashed in Torquay. They were badly injured, and the Doctor was the only one who had any decent knowledge about their unusual physiology. It had been two months of providing medical care for them, sometimes round-the-clock for several days running. He’d been training Torchwood physicians and nurses as well, but it all took time. In addition, he’d been consulting about repairs on the Trumhurgi ship, and travelling back and forth in the TARDIS, obtaining spare parts and contacting worried family members, carrying their messages and even bringing them back to Earth to visit their recuperating relatives.

I’d been working on the case too, but I was helping out the traumatized humans who’d been caught up in the original crash and the violent, defensive outburst that had followed. Shots had been fired and, by some stroke of luck, there had been no deaths, but it had been a close call. Fortunately, I had a huge, experienced team at my command, so my end of the job had been a lot easier than the Doctor’s.

“I’m all right, love,” the Doctor assured me, as we dished up our supper and sat down at the table. It was the first time in weeks we’d actually been able to eat together. “Besides, by end of this week the last of the Trumhurgi go home in their very own, working-better-than-ever ship! Let’s have tonight be about us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Now spill. What’s got you so upset?”

“It’s Charlie. I’m worried. I didn’t tell you about it because… well, the Trumhurgi… but Javic dropped by shortly after all that happened… with news.” The Doctor’s eyes darkened, and his lips tightened reflexively, but he waited for me to continue. “It seems Charlie has been taking a page out of Javic’s book, recently. She’s been, erm… let’s just say ‘embracing her sexuality’… a lot!”

“And he knows this how?”

“Well he ran into her at one of his favourite… spots.”

I sensed the Doctor’s anger flare, white hot. “He didn’t touch−”

“God, no! In fact, he’s sort of taken her under his wing, so to speak. Made sure she’s stayed away from all the dangerous places.”

The Doctor growled. He looked like he was fighting really hard to keep his emotions in check. His eyes flashed at me. It had been a long time since I’d been a target for the Oncoming Storm. It was properly frightening (and more than a bit thrilling!) “And you… you never thought to tell me? This? About our daughter?”

“You were so busy. And it’s not like−”

He launched himself out of his chair with a roar. “You kept this from me?”

Reflexively, I shrank back into my seat, like some timid little creature. “I’m sorry.”

He began to pace, tugging at his hair. Each time he passed me, he opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. His mental shields were locked in place and impenetrable.

After five long minutes, I decided enough was enough. It wasn’t my habit to let him intimidate me and I wasn’t about to chicken out now; history told me, it was far better to confront him, not let him get away with his bullying behaviour. “Doctor, stop! Enough. Sit down so we can talk.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me!”

“That’s was the point of having this conversation, yeah? Sit!”

He did as I asked, shoving his plate away from him, across the table. I grabbed onto his hand before he could move it, pouring my love through our bond. I was gratified when his shields began to give; it was only a little, but it was a beginning.

“Any other information you want to impart?” he bit out.

“Well… apparently she has one of Wilfred’s Vortex Manipulators, so… erm… she’s dancing through time and space.”

“Bloody hell!” He moved to stand again, but I held firm to his hand. He glared daggers at me. “Let go! We have to−”

“Have to what, Doctor? What do you propose we do? You’re not going to go storming in there like the Great Exterminator!”

“Try me!”

“This is Charlie… intimidation has never worked on that kid, and it’s not about to this time, either. We need to be rational and calm and supportive.”

“Supportive! But she’s−”

“I know. And Javic has been keeping an eye on her. He’s making sure she checks in with him, and he assures me she’s doing… fine.”

“Somehow, I don’t imagine Javic’s definition of ‘fine’ is quite the same as ours.”

I had to admit (but only to myself) I’d been thinking much the same way, though I knew Javic: he’d go to the ends of creation to protect any of us. “Hope’s been keeping in touch with her too,” I offered, hoping to appease the Doctor.

“Well that, that is a bloody recipe for disaster!” His anger flared.

Again, I had to agree with him, Santa. For all that she means well, Hope tends to get a bit bossy with her younger siblings. She’s mellowed over the years, but still… My arguments were crumbling around me. “You’re right. Let’s go!”

“What?”

“Let’s go… TARDIS. You. Me. Chat with our daughter.”

“But I thought you said...?”

“Changed my mind.”

--ooOoo--

Charlie, it turns out, was not thrilled to see us. I hadn��t been expecting a joyous family reunion or anything, but I think it would have gone a lot better if the Doctor hadn’t barged up to the bar where she was cheerfully chatting up some green-skinned bloke, waving his psychic paper around like some crazed maniac and bellowing to said bloke that Charlie was under-aged (an outright lie… on that planet) and if he didn’t want to find himself in a whole heap of trouble he’d better scram. He’d then grabbed Charlie by the arm and hauled her out of the building and into the TARDIS.

To say Charlie was furious was the understatement of the year! She was ranting on about how it was bad enough her “puritanical” sister was on her case, but the fact that we were now interfering in her life as well incensed her to no end.  She only finally calmed after I ordered the Doctor out of the TARDIS. I would deal with him later.

In the end, there was very little I could actually do other than let Charlie know we’d both be there for her if she ever needed us. She assured me she was fine: having fun; being careful; and not doing anything too wild (and “bloody hell, Mum, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you… it’s just wrong…”.) I tried to understand, but I just couldn’t put myself in that mindset, and I told her as much.

“It’s just such a relief to be able to have fun and feel good without any obligations. I have so many obligations, Mum. School, Hand in Hand, work... This makes me feel, well free.”

Oh, Santa, it was then I realized how much that little girl (young woman) had taken on in her young life.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face. She grabbed my hand, and our familial bond snapped into place. She read me like an open book. “Mum, don’t you dare feel guilty. You never, ever pressured me, any of us, to do anything we didn’t want. You encouraged us in the best way possible, you… and Dad.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at the mention of her father.  “This is just my way of letting go a bit, taking time for me. Can you understand that?”

“Course I can, love. I worry, that’s all. Promise me you’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“And listen to Javic.”

“Muuuuum! I know!”

“Now, since we spoiled your evening with that young man, how about we take you out to supper, yeah?”

“That sounds great! And don’t worry too much about my evening. He was a bit of a tosser, anyway. I was just about to walk out when Dad came barging in like some daft Onidsessi on pep pills. Urrrgh,” she groaned, “promise you’ll never let Dad near pep pills. Can you imagine…?”

“Oh, god, your Dad… he’s out there… Not on pep pills, but you know as well as me, he’s quite capable of stirring up all kinds of trouble without them if he gets a bit bored.”

Thankfully the Doctor hadn’t been stirring up trouble. We found him, pacing back and forth in front of the TARDIS doors. Charlie skipped right over to him, stopping him in his tracks and planting a kiss on his cheek. I couldn’t help but smile. We might all drive one another completely mental sometimes, but there was no lack of love in our little family, and this incident had assured me our children always knew we would be a safe haven for them whenever they needed it.

With all our emotions running high, I never remembered to ask Charlie if she was bringing home a friend at Christmas, so Mum could plan an appropriate jumper. At this point, though, I didn’t imagine there would be anyone special, given that she seemed to be determined to stay away from serious relationships for the time being.

I couldn’t have been more wrong…

Santa, I need to run. We’re all at Mum’s tonight, and the jumpers have finally been unveiled. There were a few… complications. And I’m running interference! I’ll try to explain later.

Blimey! There goes the Doctor, now, and he looks far too happy for anyone’s good, especially considering…  Look, Santa, I gotta go! I’ll finish this letter up later.

--ooOoo--

Santa, I’m back, but I’m not sure where the hell I’m going to begin. A lot of stuff went down tonight. A lot of stuff.

Mum was just itching to hand out her Ugly Jumper parcels to everyone; I couldn’t get her to sit still, she was so excited. We were still waiting for Charlie to arrive and for Tony, Noah, and Abby, too. The Doctor had gone to collect Charlie in the TARDIS. Mum was bouncing off the walls.

Thank goodness my brother and his family decided to show up just after the Doctor left. Entertaining Abby was keeping Mum rather brilliantly distracted, and it meant I didn’t need to entertain Mum. As it turned out, it was just as well Mum was preoccupied, because it gave her time to ease into meeting Charlie’s plus-one which turned out to be a bit of a shock for her, just not for the immediately obvious reason…

The lovely, familiar sound of the TARDIS filled the room about fifteen minutes after Tony arrived. She landed in her customary corner of Mum’s living room, wearing her traditional Blue Box disguise, but topped with festive snow and icicles, and a colourful wreath on her door. The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out, meeting my gaze with raised eyebrows and a little prickle of warning through our bond. He was being very guarded, not sharing any specific thoughts or images, and that made me distinctly uneasy.

Charlie followed him and was tugging behind her what could only be her date for the evening. The creature seemed to unfold itself from the TARDIS. It was very tall and rail thin. Charlie was holding onto one of its appendages, a hand of sorts, at the end of one of its four upper limbs, formed from an assortment of tentacle-like structures. “C’mon Hrau-Ard,” Charlie coaxed. “You’re gonna love my family! Hell, you and Dad are already like best mates!”

“Possibly a bit of an exaggeration seeing as we only met six minutes ago,” the Doctor countered, allowing Charlie and Hrau-Ard to step in front of him, “but he seems like a fine chap, I have to say.”

It took me a moment to get over my shock. Now, let me be clear, Santa, I have no trouble with interspecies relationships… I mean look at my darling husband, not exactly human for all he looks it. It’s just that Charlie, for all her sexual experimentation has never strayed far from standard humanoid partners before... at least according to Javic’s accounts. That’s why I needed to collect my thoughts before I moved forward to greet our new guest.

“Hello,” I smiled up into the creature’s majestic face. And majestic it was, by any standards… beautiful. Trust Charlie to pick a gorgeous date! A long muzzle, with an expressive mouth on the end, swooped up into a spectacular curved crest above it’s head. The crest had two main parts, a longer one below and a shorter part above. Its face morphed gradually from a rich teal colour at the muzzle to a deep indigo at the tips of the crests and was edged with many sensory tentacles and filaments. Two large purple eyes bulged above the snout, and several secondary eyes protruded from either side of the crests, set on stalks which were each adorned with several metallic rings. “I’m Rose Tyler, Charlie’s mum.” I held my hands out, spread open before me in the universal sign of peaceful greeting.

The creature bowed its head to me and dropping Charlie’s hand, held all four of it’s tentacle-tipped upper limbs out, mirroring me. Its fluting voice emanated from the crests. “Christmas greetings to you, Rose Tyler. My name is Hrau-Ard. It is lovely to meet you.”

“He’s male… mostly,” Charlie informed me, “so it’s okay to use ‘he’ and ‘him’.”

Hrau-Ard piped in, bowing his head to me again, “Those pronouns seem to be the most accurate.”

Before I could respond to Hrau-Ard, Charlie impatiently snagged the hand she’d been holding earlier and tugged him past me. “Well, come on in and meet the rest of the family!”

He hooted in surprise, his long tan-coloured tunic billowing and brushing me as he passed. It dropped halfway down his two legs and contrasted spectacularly with the blues and greens of his skin and had an opening in the back through which a pair of wing-like appendages extended. They were bright turquoise and filmy (too delicate to be proper wings) and vibrated as he moved.

I admit, I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at Mum’s incredulous expression as she met him. She passed Abby back to Noah, and looked Hrau-Ard up and down, offering him all the appropriate greetings. She had come a long way since her “bog-monster” days on the Estate and was extremely well-versed in alien diplomacy. After all, she’d welcomed plenty into her home over the years. But, despite all her training and experience, she was still my mum, and I nearly choked when she repeated his name back for clarification: “Howard? Your name is Howard?”

With a low whistle of approval and if the TARDIS was translating properly, amusement, Hrau-Ard inclined his head, his facial filaments bobbing with the movement. “I enjoy the way you say my name, Charlie’s Gran.”

“Oh, just call me Jackie, please. Howard! Of all the names!”

“Is this name of significance to you?”

Mum glanced nervously over to Pete, who was busy grilling Wilfred and Tianza about the medicinal properties of a Gallifreyan plant he was interested in using in a new Vitex drink.  “Oh, ‘e’s jus’ an old mate of mine.”

“Fine fellow! Liked fruit!” the Doctor enthused from the TARDIS door with a broad, toothy grin. “I borrowed his pyjamas and dressing gown once!”

“Well then,” Hrau-Ard bleeped, “I am honoured to be his namesake.”

“Oh, off the two of you go then.” Mum shooed Charlie and “Howard” off to meet Tony, Noah, and Abby. She fixed a glare at the Doctor, who had stepped up behind me. “See, there, Time Lump! A proper alien, tentacles and all! ‘E at least ‘as the decency to look the part.”

“So sorry to disappoint you with my lack of appendages, Jackie (after all, I live my life just to please you),” he snarked back at her. “Fortunately, as it turns out, there’s one Tyler who is rather fond of my one, rather impressive appendage, just the way it is.”

“All right, you two,” I cut off Mum before she had a chance to bite back, “it’s Christmastime, yeah? Peace on Earth. See, the halls are all decked,” I gestured around me, “merry and bright. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

“Ooooh, I’d like to deck ‘is halls, all right…” Mum grumbled.

The Doctor leaned out around me to shoot another barb at Mum. “Is that your resting Grinch face, Jackie, or are you just happy to see me?”

Mum lunged at him, slapping-hand poised and ready. Fortunately for the Doctor, I was still in between the two of them. “Stop!”

“Cuddly as a cactus; charming as an eel… Mrs. Griii-inch” the Doctor sing-songed.

“STOP!” My shout silenced the room, everyone turning to stare at me.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Charlie cooed at Hrau-Ard, “that’s sorta their normal behaviour.”

“Look what you two made me do,” I hissed at Mum and the Doctor. “Be civil! Honestly!” Fed up, I made to leave the two of them and go to the kitchen to pour myself a well-earned glass of wine, when Mum caught me by the sleeve.

“Blimey, Rose!” she whispered at me. “That Howard fella ‘as wings!”

“Yeah, well spotted! And tentacles!”

“No, no, no! The wings! ‘E’ll never fit into any of my jumpers! Never! And ‘e’s so bleedin’ skinny and all. (Blimey, ‘e makes the Doctor look like a sumo wrestler, ‘e does!) The jumper I made would be…”

“Mum, you don’t need to worry. He’ll understand, I’m sure.”

She burst into tears. “But I wanted everyone to ‘ave… and now ‘e’ll be without something from me… An’ it’s Christmas…”

The Doctor stepped up, concerned. He put a gentle hand on Mum’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? If it’s what I said, Jackie… you know I was just taking the mick.”

“No, no, no… nothin’ like that, ya plum.” She patted his cheek and gave him a watery smile. “I’m jus’ disappointed is all.” She excused herself and rushed off in the direction of the powder room.

“What was all that about?”

“Promise you won’t tell her I told you?”

“Oh, you know I can keep a secret, Rose! Besides, I know better than to cross Jackie Tyler by leaking sensitive information. C’mon, give.”

I explained to him about Mum’s dilemma, how she had knitted ugly Christmas jumpers for everyone (his face blanched, probably imagining what she might have created for him) and now because of Hrau-Ard’s unexpected physical attributes, none of the jumpers she had set aside would ever possibly fit.

“Well, I could help,” he suggested. “She’s probably not going to like it much, and I can’t say I’m much of a fan of it myself, but I have an idea that just might work… if she’s willing.”

--ooOoo--

Everyone was so busy with canapes and punch and cocktails they never noticed Mum and the Doctor bundling into the TARDIS and the TARDIS dematerializing. The TARDIS was proud to be showing off her new “Silent Mode”: there was only a little bit of a breeze to indicate she had ever been there. (My little darling.)

They had only been gone for about ten minutes before the TARDIS rematerialized and Mum burst through the doors, beaming and carrying a neatly wrapped parcel: Hrau-Ard’s gift. To my utter amazement, she turned back to stroke the TARDIS’ doorframe, planting a soft kiss on the blue wood. “Thank-you, sweetheart. You’re a wonder, you are.”

The TARDIS hummed in response, a wonderfully joyous sound, as Mum practically skipped over to the Christmas tree to tuck the present underneath.

The Doctor stepped up beside me, closing the TARDIS doors behind him. “They hit it off like a house on fire,” he told me, “the pair of them, thick as thieves. Turns out when your Mum was ill a few years ago, and I put her in stasis, the TARDIS kept her company in her mind; they became fast friends. Brilliant!” He grinned down at me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against him as we followed Mum to the tree. Then he paused, and I glanced up at him to ask why we had stopped. The grin melted from his face. “Although… I don’t much like the idea of the two of them plotting against me behind my back.”

I just laughed and put my head on his shoulder. “Blimey… you’re getting a bit paranoid! How long were you gone in your timestream?”

“Five and a half days, Rose. Five and a half days… with Jackie Tyler on my TARDIS! That’s enough to make anyone paranoid!”

I admit, Santa, I shamelessly started to laugh harder. “How did you ever survive?”

“After the first day, I learned pretty quick to keep my head down. I made myself scarce.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right.” I nudged him with my elbow. “They won’t plot against you…” (…much, I added silently.)

“I heard that!” He arched an irritable eyebrow at me. “Do you realize she’s got her own room, Rose? No, not room, suite! The TARDIS gave her an entire suite of rooms with her own telly and a little galley too!”

“Awww, that’s lovely.” I was warmed through that the TARDIS had welcomed Mum so enthusiastically. My darling husband, however, was another matter. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll protect you from any plotting. C’mon, we better hurry. I don’t think Mum will be able to contain herself much longer.”

Mum was gathering everyone together, so she could hand out her creations, and getting a bit shirty at people who weren’t paying attention, so I dragged the Doctor over by the hand and found a comfortable seat for us.

Content that everyone was present and listening to her, Mum spoke: “I’ve decided to start a new Tyler-family tradition: Ugly Christmas Jumpers! Made by yours truly.” She preened and there was a round of groans from the family and a perplexed hoot from Hrau-Ard. “Oi! They’re not really ugly… that’s jus’ w’at they’re called, yeah. See I’m wearin’ one.” She stood up to show off the jumper she was wearing. It was made of soft, silvery yarn and she had sewn tinsel across the front to form the words “Don’t get your tinsel in a twist,” in cursive script. Of course, she also had tinsel tied around her up-do. She looked sparkly and lovely. My Mum… She’s been through so much in her life, experienced so many odd things, and taken it all in stride; things that would make most people go completely loopy. I love her so much. I was positively chuffed to see her so happy, handing out brightly coloured parcels to all our family.

Dad was the first one to get his present, and he was a real sport about it, donning both his new Santa jumper and the Santa hat Mum had included in his parcel. Everyone burst out laughing when he stood up and smoothed his jumper down over his tummy, and said: “Do you think this makes me look fat? Ho-ho-ho!”

“Oh, sit down, you!” Mum admonished, but I could tell she was pleased as punch.

After that there was great excitement as we all opened our packages. Abby’s jumper was the cutest little thing, with an adorable gingerbread man wearing a Santa hat on a bright, red background. There were miniature gingerbread men down the sleeves and a few white strategically-placed snowflakes. I figure it’ll be a new favourite piece of clothing for her doting daddies!

Javic’s jumper featured a grumpy Santa reading his list of children’s names. The words “I’m at the top of Santa’s naughty list,” were emblazoned underneath. He was ecstatic, claiming it couldn’t have been more perfect. My jumper was… well, glorious in it’s tackiness! And I loved it! Oh, Santa, it was TARDIS blue, and a string of knitted fairy lights trailed all over it. In the middle, the fairy lights formed the words “Merry and Bright” and were lit up with little LEDs. Mum had outdone herself.

Hrau-Ard seemed uncertain what to do with his package, but Charlie soon sorted him out, helping him unwrap the gift. He held the jumper up in front of him, looking around at everyone else trying theirs on. He peered at the design on the front, all of his eyes trained on the bright patterns, and gave a long low hoot.

“Well, are ya goin’ to put it on, then?” Charlie prompted. “Here, I’ll help ya!” Together, the two of them made short work of slipping off Hrau-Ard’s tan tunic and replacing it with the jumper.

Hrau-Ard stood up out of his chair to show his jumper off. It was long, like the undertunic he wore, dropping to mid-thigh, and had perfectly aligned spaces for all four of his upper limbs and his wings.

“The TARDIS helped Jackie with the proper design and style, so it was compatible with his cultural expectations and with his body configuration,” the Doctor murmured in my ear. “She even provided all the yarn, if you can believe that!”

I took a closer look at the jumper. It featured an green-clad elf body on a scarlet background. Like Dad’s jumper, Hrau-Ard’s head took the place of the elf’s head. The words underneath said: “Take an ‘elfie with me!” It was hilarious! We were all in stitches, especially Hrau-Ard, who particularly appreciated the pun in the wording, and was honking with joy, and pulling out his mobile to take ‘elfies with everyone.

I couldn’t help but notice Therin was the only one not laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He sat on the other side of the room glowering at Charlie and Hrau-Ard and their easy familiarity. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over Charlie. He still loved her, despite her obvious disinterest in him… at least as a romantic partner. My heart absolutely ached for him as he quietly trudged out of the room, wearing his Fair Isle T-rex jumper.

“I should go check on him,” I whispered to the Doctor.  

“Nah, he needs to work this out for himself, love. He can’t change what’s in his heart. He just needs time to come to terms with it.”

“I hate to see him so miserable though… I wish I could−”

“Oi!” Mum’s shriek of disapproval cut through my thoughts. “Where’s your jumper, then, Doctor?”

The Doctor shifted nervously next to me, and I felt his crushing fear in my mind. He picked at the wrapping paper on the package in his lap.  

“C’mon then, ya big baby! Open it up! I made it special, jus’ for you.”

“That… that’s what worries me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Here, I’ll help you,” I offered. Honestly, Santa, Mum was right. He was being a big baby about it. Coward every time. “Best get it over with, like ripping a plaster off.”

“I don’t like plasters, and I don’t like the sound of your mum saying, ‘special just for you’. That, right there, Rose, sends my entire brain into mauve status!”

“C’mon, how bad can it be?” Even as I said the words, I glanced over at Mum who was watching the Doctor with a piercing, self-satisfied eye, and I braced myself. “Never mind. Just get it over with, yeah.”

By this time, we had the attention of the whole room, and the Doctor in a less-than-convincing act of enthusiasm, tore away the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. He reached into the shredded paper and pulled out the jumper, holding it up gingerly. Santa, I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. I swear the tears were pouring down my face, and the Doctor was scowling at me.

I better explain. The torso and most of the arms of the jumper were mostly brown. Around the cuffs of the arms, and at certain places over the shoulders were knitted green leaves. Some of them also trailed over the torso and back. When we lifted the arms of the jumper, we found dangling from their undersides none other than beautifully crafted, little knit pears! Pears, Santa, which as I’m sure you know are the fruit the Doctor despises most in the universe… for reasons that have never been very clear to me.

The crowning glory was the gigantic bird sewn firmly to the left shoulder: a partridge.

Mum had given the Doctor a Partridge in a Pear Tree-themed jumper!

Strangely, the bird was not knitted but a small-scale but realistic model, complete with feathers… and that gave me pause for thought, and trust me when I say the thoughts were not optimistic for the Doctor…

“Well, w’at are you waitin’ for?” Mum barked. “Put it on, then?”

“What? You expect me to wear this travesty… this… this pitiable excuse for clothing? Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening.”

“Oh, just put it on, Dad!” Hope cajoled from across the room. “We’re all wearing them.”

“Yours don’t have pears and a great bloody bird attached, do they?”

“The jumpers are splendid!” Hrau-Ard spoke up with an earnest honk. “This is the most comfortable piece of clothing I have ever owned. And it is humorous too. Doctor, you really should try yours.”

Mum just about melted on the spot at Hrau-Ard’s compliment. “Oh, Howard! You’re such a love. But, you’re just sayin’ that!”

“No, I am sincere, Jackie. It is perfect. I think I like Christmas. And Ugly Christmas Jumpers!”

“Well then, sweetheart, I’ll make you another for next year, yeah?

Howard… I mean Hrau-Ard hooted happily in response, and Mum turned her attention back to the Doctor, by which I mean, she glared daggers at him.

“Oh, all right,” the Doctor conceded, “…if it means I don’t have to listen to any more of your harping,” he added under his breath. He stalked off to the downstairs loo, crushing the jumper in his clenched fist.

“I better go help him out…” I made my excuses and rushed off after him.

I heard Wilfred snickering to Hope, Gray, and Tianza, as I passed them. “Ten quid says they’re off for a snog… or worse.”

Hope just laughed. “No deal, little brother! That’s a sure thing.”

“Oi!” (I’m sorry, I had to protest!) “Enough out of you lot!”

“C’mon, Mum, face it,” Charlie interjected, “you two are an embarrassment.”

“Yeah,” Wilfred agreed, “I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had to spring the two of you from prison for public indecency.”

“Oi, what’s this then?” Mum leaned in for more tidbits of information, and I cleared out of the room as fast as I could.

Exasperated, I knocked on the powder room door. “Doctor, it’s just me.”

He opened the door to let me in.

“Blimey, we’ll have to watch ourselves. That lot are making wagers on whether or not we shag in here, and they’re telling Mum all about our arrests…”

He groaned, sniffing in disdain. “Bloody brilliant! Christmas, an annual excuse for almost completely unfounded gossip and rumour.”

“Exactly!”

“And then there’s this…” He held up the jumper. “I don’t know why I have to put on this preposterous get-up?”

“Because as I recall, a few years back, you mucked about with Mum’s dishwasher. Now it’s payback time,” I reminded him. “C’mon then…” I helped him pull off the (sexy) red jumper he was currently wearing, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. “Tell you what, though: if you’re a good boy and put the jumper on, I will make it very much worth your while…”

“Oh, yes!”

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“What? Right now?”

“I’ll make it quick… I know all your secrets.”

He growled at me, his eyes darkening. “I’ll be wanting another round later tonight, Tyler.”

“You think so, do ya?”

“Of course, I’ll be happy to return the favour. I’ll make you come so hard, your screams will be heard all the way to Gallifrey and back! Think you’re up for that?”

I gazed up at him with what I hoped was a seductive smile and stroked him where he was now straining against the front of his trousers. “You’re on! But the real question is, can you manage not to scream? We don’t really need that lot making any more wagers at our expense.”

--ooOoo--

Sorry Santa, got off on a bit of a tangent there… It happens sometimes, as you’re well aware.

So… where was I? Oh, yeah, so fifteen minutes later, we came out of the loo. With my help (holding the partridge), we managed to get the jumper over the Doctor’s head. He looked very, very, extremely not happy, despite my recent… erm… display of affection. “I feel ridiculous!” he gritted out to me.

“It’s just for a few hours, love.” I patted his arm and took his hand for moral support and made bloody sure to conceal my amusement from him.

As we returned to the living room, out the corner of my eye, I was pretty certain I saw some money changing hands, although, to his credit, the Doctor had kept very quiet and I had checked that my hair and make-up were in order. Maybe they were wagering on whether he’d be wearing the jumper… Who knows?

Anyway, I had to agree with the Doctor’s assessment: the jumper did look more than a bit silly, but everyone cheered and laughed at it.  They were having so much fun over it, and the Doctor ended up being a good sport, showing it off, spreading his arms and making silly faces about the “vile” pears dangling from them.

I admit, I kept to myself the fact that I thought there had to be more to it than just a jumper with pears and a big, daft bird. Mum had waited years to get her revenge. She wasn’t about to let him off with something so… simple. I could only wonder what she had planned and when it would happen.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wonder very long.

It was only a few minutes later when Mum called us all over for supper. She, of course, had place-cards at every setting. The Doctor was sat between Hrau-Ard and Gray, somewhere in the middle of one long side of the table, and Mum and I were directly across from them. Charlie was on the other side of Hrau-Ard; Noah and Tony were sat on either side of Abby, who was in Tony’s old high chair at one end of the table; and Dad was at the other end. Everyone else was scattered randomly around.

As the first course was served, everyone began to chatter to one another. The Doctor seemed quite relaxed, but I couldn’t help noticing the way Mum’s eyes kept fixing on him as he made cheerful small talk to everyone around him. Her lips pursed reflexively every time he stopped talking. She tried a couple of times to get Dad to tell us about something that had happened at work, but he had insisted he didn’t want to talk shop. He was determined to take some time away from it.

“Fine,” Mum muttered under her breath, “just tryin’ to liven up the conversation. Honestly.”

“I thought we were having a lovely time,” I told her. “Everyone’s relaxed and chatting… well except Therin, but you know… What’s going on? You’re up to something. I know you. You never ask Dad about Torchwood.”

“Pfffft, don’t be daft! Course I ask ‘im. And jus’ w’at do you mean ‘up to somethin’’? W’at could I possibly be up to?” With that, she turned deliberately away from me and began speaking to Hope about the progress of the Lunar settlements and asking her how she was finding living on a base. “I don’ know if I could take it, yeah. No fresh air, being cooped up inside all the time. I think I’d lose my mind, yeah.”

The Doctor’s eyes brightened as he responded to her. I was relieved he didn’t end up spewing out something rude about her already having lost her mind years back, which honestly seemed like it would be the natural course of the conversation. Instead, he launched into one of his diatribes about the environmental systems on the bases and how they purify the air.

With a smirk, Mum sat back in her seat to listen.

“…and remarkably, the fundamental design never changes from base to base, year after year. It’ll be centuries before someone gets the bright idea that basic human needs aren’t quite being met by–″ He was cut off when the partridge on his shoulder swung around and flapped its tail across his face. He frowned, spun the bird back around, and began to speak again.

This time the bird nipped his ear.

“Fuck!” he shouted in pain, which of course was mimicked loudly by Abby at the other end of the table.

“You dolt!” Mum snapped. “Now, look what you’ve done!”

“Oi! It’s your blasted bird that bit me! Oi! It just did it again!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Giggles erupted from the little girl as her daddies tried to shush her, and everyone had a good laugh.

Except Mum (“Don’t be so stupid! It’s not a real bird, ya numpty!”); and the Doctor, who glowered at Mum but (remarkably) held his tongue.

“Mum,” I hissed at her, “it bit him. I saw it.”

“Bit him? Stuff and nonsense!”

The Doctor shook his head at me, and at his telepathic request, I decided not to pursue it any further.

Abby had calmed down again, her new word forgotten as quickly as it had come, and normal conversation resumed around the table as the main course was served. It wasn’t long before the Doctor had dived into a conversation about the most current medical breakthroughs with Gray and with Hrau-Ard, who was apparently training as a physician as well. They bantered back and forth for a short time and then the Doctor launched into a long discourse about the benefits of some sort of medical scanner or other. About a minute in, the bird wheeled around, slapping him in the face with its tail once more, and another few seconds after that, it bit him again.

“Right! Ow! Again, you bloody– Ow!” He dug into his trouser pockets for his sonic, threatening the bird with it. “Now, we’ll sort– Blimey! STOP! Ow!”

I glanced over at Mum who was chuckling away to herself, while everyone else was up, getting ready to help the Doctor. Oh, she knew exactly what was going on. And I had no doubt she had orchestrated it.

Hrau-Ard had stood up and was holding the bird still, his tentacled appendages wrapped around it securely. He was doing a great job keeping it from pecking at the Doctor’s ear, which seemed to happen every time he tried to talk.

Mum scoffed next to me. “Talks far too much, anyway, that one. Maybe this will teach ‘im to keep quiet and not monopolize the conversation.”

“So, this was you, then? How the hell did you...?”

“Oh, sweetheart, it only goes off when ‘e natters on for too long. It resets again after ‘e’s given our ears a bit of a break.”

“But…”

“Oh, I know a few of the folks down in Tech. They were quite ‘appy to do me a little favour, especially after ‘imself barged in there a month or so back and told ‘em they were sequencin’ somethin’-or-other all wrong.”

“He told me about that. It was all wrong!”

“Well, seems they didn’t like ‘is tone… all ‘igh and mighty and ‘I’m so clever’.”

I flopped back in my chair, and just shook my head. I returned my attention to the other side of the table where the Doctor had adjusted the settings on his sonic and was brandishing it at the animatronic bird.

“Oi,” Mum yelped, “don’t you damage my bird.”

“Priorities, Jackie! Your bloody bird is trying to damage me. Do you realize how hard I had to concentrate to get these ears… not to mention this hair?”

“It is really great hair,” I agreed.

“Oh, shush you!” Mum shot me a scathing look.

“Right then! Allons-y!” Heedless of my mum’s protests, the Doctor activated the screwdriver pointing it at his feathered attacker, and several things happened all at once.

The strangest screeching sound reverberated from Hrau-Ard’s crests in harmonics that mimicked the sonic. He lost his grip on the bird and doubled over, two of his appendages flying to his crests. “This tickles! This tickles! I think I am about to…”

The bird, freed from it’s confines, resumed its attack on the Doctor’s ear, feathers flying everywhere. The Doctor, fumbled his sonic screwdriver, caught it again, and made a quick adjustment to the frequency, constantly yammering and threatening the bird and Mum, not quite making the connection that if he just shut up, the stupid thing would stop pecking him. Finally finding an opening, he pressed the tip of the sonic to the bird’s breast, activating it with a triumphant “Ha!”

Hrau-Ard had resumed his composure once the sonic had stopped but started making that bizarre sound from his crests again once it was reactivated. His facial filaments were absolutely trembling. “It is happening again. I am going to… I am going to…″

The sound seemed to amplify the effects of the sonic. The hapless partridge stopped its attack, but its entire body began to pulse as the wailing hoots from Hrau-Ard’s crest intensified. Everyone was covering their ears, except the Doctor who had turned off the sonic, and was watching in horror, from the corner of his eye, the ominous pulsing of the bird on his left shoulder.

“I am going to–″ Hrau-Ard shouted, and his crests shrieked in a final eruption of noise, and the bird’s body suddenly exploded with a massive blast, sending feathers, sparks, and electronic gizmos everywhere.

“–sneeze,” Hrau-Ard hooted into the silence that had fallen over us all.

A long moment later, just as everyone was catching their collective breath, the Doctor yelped, as cinders from the explosion caught in his hair, causing it to smoulder and burn. “Ow, ow, ow! Blimey! My face! My hair!”

Abby started howling; everyone started shouting; I leaped across the top of the table to get to my poor husband; and Gray, the only one maintaining his composure, picked up a pitcher of ice water and dumped it over the Doctor’s head.

The Doctor sat there, completely stunned, as water dripped from his fringe into his face.

“Oh my God! Doctor!” I pulled his damp body against me, hugging him tight. “Are you all right?” I pulled back from the hug to look him in the face. I took in the angry red welts, the burned hair and…

He must have seen my astonishment. “What? What is it?”

“Your… your left eyebrow. It’s… it’s gone…”

“What? What?” His fingers flew to his brow, where the hair had been singed away. “WHAT?”

“And some of your hair… just up the left side…”

“Jackie Tyler!” he bellowed. He made to get up from his chair, but Gray shoved him back into it.

“Sit still! You have burns. I’ll need to use the dermal regenerator on them.”

“It won’t bring back my eyebrow, though, will it? My left eyebrow too. It’s my most expressive one,” he added wistfully.

Mum had come rushing around the table. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll cut your hair for ya, real nice. And your eyebrow will grow back again in no time, I expect.”

“Yeah, I suppose it will,” he said relaxing a bit. “And more expressive than ever! Makes you think, what would I ever do without eyebrows?” He shuddered at the thought. “And, Jackie, I have to admit, you couldn’t have known that the sonic would resonate with Hrau-Ard’s crests and make the bird explode like that. Though, I have to say, good riddance!”

“It is all my fault. I must apologize profusely,” Hrau-Ard hooted, his wings fluttering.

Mum protested, “Oh, no, Howard!”

“Nah, she’s right, Hrau-Ard,” the Doctor reassured him, “don’t be silly! But now I know not to use my sonic at that frequency in your presence.” He beamed. “Besides, what fun would Christmas be without a little bit of unexpected excitement?”

“At least there aren’t any blinkin’ killer Christmas trees, yeah?” Mum pointed out, as Gray finished up with the dermal regenerator.

“Oh yes! Too true. Looking on the bright side, Jackie. Do it while you can, because you know what…?” He bounded out of his chair, tore the remnants of the hapless partridge from his shoulder, and plucked the Santa hat from Dad’s head. He shoved it over his wet, scorched hair and with a wicked grin spreading over his face, he sang: “Jackie Tyler… you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout. I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is coming to town.”

Oh, God, Santa, the look on Mum’s face. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare…”

“And Santa isn’t happy, Jackie. Really, you better watch out…” He skipped away out of the dining room, heading directly for the kitchen.

Mum took off after him. “You stay away from my appliances. You’re a bleedin’ hellion, you are,” she shouted.

Hrau-Ard honked in alarm and pulled Charlie next to him, wrapping his tentacles around her.

“Don’t worry, love,” Charlie sounded resigned, “you get used to it once you’ve been around this crowd long enough. We’re all a bit mental, but we all love one another.”

So, there it is, Santa. A typical Tyler-Noble Christmas!

I spent quite a while trying to intercept the Doctor before he did any damage to Mum’s kitchen... and other things. I actually found him mucking about in her en suite. Not sure if he managed to do anything before I caught up to him and got him back home, but at least I got to him before Mum did. Like I said before, he looks far too pleased with himself, despite the missing eyebrow and the singed hair. He must have left some sort of surprise behind for Mum. No doubt I’ll hear about it soon enough.

And right now, I’m just waiting for him to “return the favour” he promised me in Mum’s powder room earlier, something about making me scream so loud I’d be heard all the way to Gallifrey. He’s just spending an awful long time in the loo... probably trying out my eyebrow pencils, if I know him. Maybe later I’ll take the TARDIS out, go back a few days, and get him some of his own for his stocking before everyone gets up tomorrow morning.

Happy Christmas, Santa. Give my love to all. Sorry for going off on a bit of a tangent earlier. I was just lying here, waiting for the Doctor and thinking… Oh, I reckon you’re used to it by now, yeah. There’ve been a few tangents over the years and I haven’t had a lump of coal yet. But, just saying, if you feel the urge to leave a lump of coal in the Doctor’s and my mum’s stockings, by all means, go right ahead! I’m all for it!

                                                                                                                                 Love, Rose

[theajaheira]

Imperfections (35/?)

ao3

“i’m not sure when i’ll next update,” i say, and proceed to update this fic the very next day lmao

Buffy heard the doorbell from her bedroom, waited for her mom to get it, heard her mom say “Oh! Faith!” and jumped up out of bed, running around her room in a flurry to make herself look presentable. “Buffy’s upstairs, still sleeping, I think,” she could hear her mom saying, “but if you want to wait here while I—”

Buffy found a nice pink top, remembered the time Faith said that she was wearing too much pink, tossed it to the side, remembered that Faith said she rocked too much pink— “Chill out, chill out, it’s just Faith,” she chanted, running to find the blue sweater Willow had lent her. Or, wait, maybe not that— “It’s just Faith, it’s just Faith—” She found a reasonable cream-colored top, a nice pair of jeans, and started changing as fast as she could. She was so not going to look a mess today, no matter how much last night had sucked for her.

There was a knock on the door. “Buffy?” called her mom. “Faith’s here!”

“Tell her I’ll be down in a minute!” Buffy shouted, throwing on a pink cardigan and starting to hurriedly brush her hair. Maybe the bed-head thing worked for Faith. Not that she was trying to find something that would work for Faith. God, she was a basket case. She applied some lip gloss, slipped on a pair of low-heeled shoes, decided that that was the best she could do, and hurried downstairs.

Faith was sitting on the sofa, wearing a red leather jacket and looking—stylish. That was the word, Buffy thought. Stylish was a nice word to describe Faith, with that soft-looking dark hair and all the nice Council-funded clothing that Ms. Calendar seemed to be getting for her. Except, you know, it didn’t seem like Faith was stylish in the same way as Cordelia—more like Faith was stylish enough to make Buffy feel a little jealous. Or dizzy. Or—something nervous and fluttery that Buffy wasn’t sure how to define.

“Hey,” said Faith, standing up and bringing Buffy back to reality. “Can we talk?”

“What?” Buffy felt herself blushing. “Yeah! Yes, totally! What’s up?”

Faith looked down, then back up. “Look, B,” she said, “I like you. A lot. But I’ve had a lot of people screw me around before, and I want to know you’re someone I can trust to be honest with me.” She smiled, but it wasn’t as soft as Buffy had been getting used to seeing. “I get that you probably want some of your business to stay just your business, but it’d be cool to at least know that you’re hiding your vampire ex from me. Or that you have a vampire ex.”

Buffy tried to smile. She hadn’t realized that Faith would know about Angel too. It had been comforting when Faith hadn’t; at least one person didn’t know how badly she’d screwed things up. “That doesn’t come up in conversation that easy, does it?” she joked halfheartedly. When Faith’s face didn’t change, she sighed. “I like you too,” she said. It felt—weird, saying that to Faith. More of an admission than she wanted it to be. “Things with Angel and me are never really clear-cut,” she said, looking away from Faith. “It’s—I’m not going to be seeing him anymore. He doesn’t need me to take care of him, and I’m kidding myself by saying I can be just friends with him.”

“So you’re still into him,” said Faith. There was a strange note to her voice.

Buffy looked up. For a reason that her brain didn’t quite understand, she said, “Yeah, but I’m definitely trying to move on, so—if you wanted to help me with that—”

Faith’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Um,” Buffy fumbled for a way to save face, “well, you know, maybe—maybe we hit up the Espresso Pump tomorrow, talk sad love lives. Except, you know, this time I’m honest about mine.” She laughed nervously. “Kind of a friends’ night out,” she added, not sure why she felt the need to clarify.

Faith smiled hesitantly. “I’d like that,” she said. “So—things are done with Angel, then.”

“Completely,” said Buffy with emphasis. “I—I’m always gonna care about him, but—my being with him hurt a lot of people that I care about.” She tried to smile. “I’m still going to miss him,” she said, and her voice caught a little. Embarrassed, she pretended to adjust her hair, trying to surreptitiously wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.

“I get that,” said Faith. “I do. I—” She exhaled. “I know how it hurts,” she said finally, without looking at Buffy. “To know you can’t be with the person you want to be with.”

If Faith wasn’t Faith, and Buffy wasn’t Buffy, Buffy might almost think— “Espresso Pump,” she said shyly. “Tomorrow. I’ll pay.”

“Where’s Faith?” Willow asked.

“Oh, out.” Ms. Calendar waved a hand, walking over to the bookshelf and picking out a magic book. “I’m pretty sure she said something about talking to Buffy.” She knelt down, placing the book in front of Willow on the floor. “You know, Willow, if you want to spend time with me, it doesn’t always have to be under the guise of me teaching you magic,” she added, looking up at Willow in a way that almost seemed hesitant.

“What?” Vaguely, Willow remembered her words in the factory. “Oh.” She blushed. “I-I would love to spend hanging-out time with you, but I really do want to learn magic! I feel a lot calmer when I cast a good spell. And, you know, my head’s kind of a constant worrying machine, so—”

Ms. Calendar frowned, looking thoughtful. “Maybe spell-casting isn’t the way to go today, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Scoot.” Ms. Calendar leaned down and nudged Willow’s leg with her hand. Obligingly, Willow moved over, letting Ms. Calendar sit down behind her. “This isn’t exactly a magic lesson,” said Ms. Calendar. “I can do your hair if you want, though.”

Willow thought about how generally moms did their daughters’ hair, thought about how her mom had stopped doing that a long time ago, thought about how Ms. Calendar probably knew that, and said in a very small, very happy voice, “Sure. Okay.”

“Awesome.” Ms. Calendar’s hands tugged gently at Willow’s hair, untangling a few snarly bits. “Lucky I’ve got a few hair ties on me, or I’d have to call in Rupert. He keeps on using my scrunchies to roll up ancient scrolls.”

Willow giggled.

“Okay.” Ms. Calendar divided Willow’s hair into two sections, starting to braid one. “Today’s mini-lesson is that you can’t use magic to hide from what you see as your own personal failings or flaws.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh,” said Ms. Calendar playfully. “It’s a lesson, not a lecture. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But I said that thing about anxiety, and then you said—”

“I know. I’m covering some potential problems that might come up eventually.” Ms. Calendar tied off the first braid. “Hmm. Kinda thought this would take longer.”

“I got it cut short like you,” said Willow without really thinking about it. She winced a little. Dork.

“Please. I could never pull off braids.” There was a gentle laugh in Ms. Calendar’s voice that made Willow feel hot-chocolate warm. She’d missed this. “Anyway. Magic. It’s definitely one hundred percent something that you can use to center yourself, but you can’t depend on it to center yourself.”

Willow blinked, confused. “But you said—you’ve always said that magic is a tool to center a person. You say that all the time.”

“And I stand by it.” Ms. Calendar tied off the second braid, tucking an extra strand of hair behind Willow’s ear. “Shit. These are some really bad braids. Do you want me to redo them?”

“Yes,” said Willow happily, forgetting momentarily about the whole confusing magic conversation.

Ms. Calendar started in on undoing the braids. “I might have started you off too early,” she was saying. “You’ve got a gift, Willow, and you’re a quick study, but I think you need to learn how to be happy in your own skin before you can really blossom as a witch.”

Willow felt her stomach sink. “So—no more spells?”

“I didn’t say that.” Ms. Calendar tugged affectionately on one of Willow’s revamped braids. “Fact is, I like spending time with you, and I’ve really missed teaching you what I know. I just think our lessons need to extend beyond magic spells.”

“Meaning?”

“A lot more meditation,” Ms. Calendar replied, “a lot more time spent here with me and Faith and Xander—”

“Xander?” Willow repeated, startled, and turned around to face Ms. Calendar.

“He’s staying the night tomorrow,” Ms. Calendar explained. “Kind of part of a deal I made with him. Long story. Willow—” She hesitated. “Anxiety sucks,” she said finally. “But it’s so, so important that you feel like you have someone to talk to about what’s worrying you. Don’t bottle it up and let it fester, okay?”

“What if I feel like what I’m worried about is stupid?” Willow asked quietly.

“Then talk to Rupert,” said Ms. Calendar with a small, teasing grin. “He’s had to deal with kids coming into the library asking where the DVD section is. He’s a pretty patient guy, and he’s definitely not going to judge you for worrying.” She took Willow’s hands in hers, squeezing them. “Neither am I.”

“I missed you,” said Willow softly.

Ms. Calendar’s smile flickered a little. “Yeah,” she said. “I missed you too.”

Xander came over for lunch. “I was all where’s Willow till I figured she’d be hanging with you,” he said cheerfully, taking half of Rupert’s sandwich. “Is this going to be a thing again?”

“A thing?” Jenny echoed, frowning.

“You know, like it was over the summer,” Xander explained with his mouth full. Jenny gave him a look, and he swallowed. “I spent, like, almost all of the summer at your house until Giles came back.”

Jenny felt an awful twist in her chest. As much as she’d wanted to be there for the kids, she’d gotten very caught up in Rupert when he’d come back to be there for her. Even though she was fixing things now, she didn’t feel at all okay with how easily she’d forgotten about Xander and Willow. “It’s going to be a thing again,” she said definitively. “Though it might be a little hard to squeeze so many people into one house.” She smiled. “Clearly, we’re going to have to kick out Rupert.”

“And who would make you coffee?” Rupert inquired, kissing Jenny on the cheek.

“Oh, god, you guys got all domestic,” Xander groaned.

“You should see ‘em at breakfast,” said Faith with her mouth full.

Jenny waited for Faith to swallow before continuing. “I think I have an old air mattress if there are nights that you want to stay over, Xander,” she suggested.

Something in Xander’s face shifted ever so slightly. In a strange tone of voice, he said, “Can I stay over during Thanksgiving?”

This took Jenny aback. She knew things at Xander’s place generally weren’t that great, but— “That’s fine by me, but you’re sure that your parents won’t miss you?” she asked carefully.

“Nah,” said Xander lightly. “And if they do, they’ll look for me at Willow’s. They thought I was there for most of the summer.”

“I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” said Willow, sounding a little left out.

“Neither do I,” Jenny reassured Willow, feeling very happy to see Willow smile shyly at her. “Dumb holiday. We can all make baked goods, maybe invite Buffy over—”

“Buffy does a thing with her family, though,” said Xander. “She and her mom drive to her aunt’s or something.”

“So we save some baked goods for B,” Faith suggested.

“I can make pudding,” said Rupert excitedly. “And cake. And—oh, Jenny, have you ever had my icing?”

“Is that a euphemism?” Xander asked. Faith choked on her water and started laughing very hard.

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Edging Toward Synchronicity (1/8)

Title: Edging Towards Synchronicity

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: March 11, 2017

Chapters: 8

 Feedback:  Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome.  Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

 Author’s Notes:

 I’m not even kidding around anymore.  This story is about a journey to intimacy and that intimacy includes heavy elements of BDSM, Dominance/submission, and Daddy-kink.  If you know you’re not into that or interested in seeing more, walk away now.  Kid gloves are off, folks.

If you would like to know whom to thank for this upping of my smut game, you can thank the Anti who left me a hate comment on my last story telling me that I was going to hell and that I needed to “atone for my sins” for “hating woman”.  To this Anti: If you thought I had “out-grossed” Fifty Shades of Gray before…you ain’t seen nothing yet.  Just so you know…”This was all for you, Damien.  All for you!”  Enjoy. And know that there’s so much more where this came from.  I take your hate as encouragement.

Dedicated to my fam member @mon-kai-el and dirty bitches squad (aka The Dark Side) whose dirty talk showed me that I could take the kid gloves off.  Stay thirsty, my friend.

For those of you who care…there is in fact plot.  And it moves forward and everything!

PSA:  If there are any Babysubs out there who read this and think, ‘this is me’ and you don’t know what to do.  If you want to talk, message me.  It’s important that you know this:  THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU!  Not a damn thing, and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently

  Tagging: @mon-kai-el, @actualpuppychriswood, @pwettypwita, @contygold86, @karamelizedlove, @kelbottumbles, @starcrossed-comets, @emarasmoak, @fangirlintheforest, @sweet-karamel

      Yeah, you are my dream

           There's not a thing I won't do.

                I'll give my life up for you,

                    'Cause you are my dream.

     And baby, everything that I have is yours,

           You will never go cold or hungry.

               I'll be there when you're insecure

      --Chris Brown -- “Next to You”

 Chapter 1/8

 “Come again?”

 “I’m Valor,” Mon-El repeats his confession.  “I’m the…guy.  It was me.”  He turns to Kara seeking encouragement, which she provides with a subtle nod.  He pulls his hands out of the pockets of his jeans and clasps them behind his back, as though he’s not quite certain how to stand – how to present himself in this situation.  “I was out after curfew,” he recounts the event of the early morning. “I heard the car crash into the guardrail and from the distress of the vehicle, determined that a rescue would never be mounted in time, and so I chose to render assistance.”

 “You…rendered assistance?” J’onn echoes, flummoxed by the professional sound of Mon-El’s phrasing.  Seems that someone has been paying attention to DEO operational reports when J’onn had just assumed that the only thing the Daxamite had invested in was the length of Supergirl’s skirt.  Perhaps he had underestimated Mon-El.

 “That’s correct,” Mon-El confirms, cringing on the inside as he waits for the explosion.

 J’onn J’onzz grits his teeth together and releases a deeply held breath, his nostrils flaring noticeably.  He’s wrangling his anger with truly admirable control.  “I believe I recall you checking in at midnight last night, Mon-El.  Was I mistaken?”        

 “No, sir,” he gulps, suddenly understanding why Winn sits a little straighter in his chair when J’onn focuses that intense gaze upon him.

 “So, if I’m hearing you correctly…last night you left the building after curfew.”

 Mon-El holds up his index finger.  “If we’re being completely honest…”

 “We’d better be completely honest,” J’onn growls, wishing, not for the first time that he could read Kryptonian and Daxamite minds.

 “Okay…so it wasn’t just last night.  I’ve been sneaking out a few nights a week for a while now.”

“Which is expressly forbidden in the agreement that allows you free run of this facility instead of being confined to a cell.”

 “Yes,” Mon-El corroborates.

 Sensing that Mon-El is struggling, Kara steps in to defend him. “He can’t sleep, J’onn,” she adds. “He can’t sleep, and the only way he can stay awake—“

 “Kara,” Mon-El interrupts her before she can confess everything on his behalf.  These are his sins to confess; his responsibility, not hers.  “Let me,” he says, turning back to J’onn.  “I have trouble sleeping, and if I—“

 “Nightmares?” J’onn interrupts.  J’onn stands silently for a long moment, a heavy weight, like a blanket, dropping over the room.  Finally, he looks up, pinning Mon-El with his stare, squinting his eyes as though attempting to see something just beyond his field of vision.

 “Yeah,” Mon-El replies simply, ruefully clasping his hands together until the knuckles go white.

 J’onn nods, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning up against the table behind him.  “There’s not one of us in this room that doesn’t know exactly what you’re going through right now,” he reminds the younger man.  “Kara and I both know what it’s like to lose our worlds.  You should have come to one of us about this before it became a problem.”

 “I thought I could handle it,” Mon-El rationalizes.

 “And how is that working out for you so far?” J’onn snarks.

 Ral stands behind the Martian sticking his tongue out at him like a recalcitrant child.  Mon-El would laugh if he wasn’t so terrified that he is already going to lose every bit of freedom he’s tried so hard to earn.  “Admittedly…not my best plan,” Mon-El answers with a gulp.

 “Not your best…” J’onn repeats incredulously, and Mon-El feels a shiver race down his spine.  “You couldn’t sleep, and so you felt a walk around the block at three in the morning would do the trick?”

 “Electricity,” he confesses.  “I can use electricity to energize myself and to repair cells damaged by sleep deprivation.  I mean…at least that’s what it feels like is happening.  But if I siphon the electricity from the DEO you’d notice and it could make the building’s security more vulnerable to attack than it already is.”

 “Speaking of vulnerable security,” J’onn stands up, straightening his shoulders.  “How did you get out of the building unseen?”

 “It helps that I can move at super speed,” he answers, studying the tips of his boots.  “But the door to the roof is a vulnerable spot, which I…took advantage of.”

 “We don’t have a team on the roof during the third shift.”  J’onn squeezes his eyes shut, mentally kicking himself.

 “It’s easy to slip out and prop the door open with a rock, so I can sneak back in later.  As long as I’m back by six, no one’s been the wiser.”

 “How many times?”  J’onn sighs as it all begins to sink in.  The status quo he’s worked hard to maintain is about to change.  Security will have to be revamped.  Again.  And then there’s the addition of a new, unexpected superhero that will have to be dealt with.

 “A few nights a week.”

 “Starting when?”

 “About three weeks ago.”

 J’onn’s bowed head snaps up as he recalls the events of three weeks ago. “The blackout in Grid 9.  Was that you?”

 Mon-El shrugs his shoulders and lifts his hands remorsefully.  “I was trying to figure out how to regulate the power exchange, and I overcompensated.  I think I have a handle on it now though.”  The last part of Mon-El’s declaration trails off sheepishly at the extremely dissatisfied expression on the Martian’s face.

 “Well that’s just great, isn’t it?” J’onn shouts, his voice just slightly lower than a roar.  “You think you have a handle on it now?  You’ve been sneaking out of DEO custody, going against the express conditions of your agreement, but it’s okay because you have a handle on it now?”

 Kara steps closer to Mon-El’s side, and he leans down to her ear. “What’s happening right now?”

 “He’s just venting,” Kara whispers, hopefully.  J’onn continues waving his arms about, but his shouting has changed into frustrated mumbling.  Mon-El opens his mouth to speak, but Kara’s hand clamps down on his bicep.  “Not now,” she instructs.  “Just wait.”

 “Perhaps it’s best to just let him burn himself out…like a fire,” Ral suggests, circling around the mumbling Martian as though he is an inscrutably abstract work of art.

 “He’s just angry at the moment,” Kara confirms.  “More at himself than at you, I think.  He’ll circle back around…eventually.”

 “Is there an estimated time on when that might happen?” Mon-El asks.

 “I can hear you both!” J’onn snaps.  Both Kara and Mon-El straighten their spines in response to taking J’onn’s unwelcomed notice.

 “I think he’s back,” Ral whispers through clenched teeth.

 For a moment, Kara is certain that J’onn is preparing to shapeshift into his Martian persona.  “Explain to me again about the electricity,” J’onn demands.

 Mon-El takes a deep, settling breath, places his hands on his hips, and begins to explain to J’onn how and why he siphons the electricity and from where.  Explanations are long-winded, and at several points J’onn quizzes Mon-El with questions, which Mon-El answers with alacrity.

 Kara watches them together, her heart swelling with affection for her boyfriend.  He stands up to J’onn, and he doesn’t back down; he doesn’t crumble beneath the older man’s intimidating personality.  That he’s nearly ready to become a superhero, she has no doubt—she just needs him to stop doubting his own ability before he talks himself out of success.

 He will be a true partner in every way; she can see that now – if only she can find a way to help him through this grief that he hardly acknowledges. It frightens her to spend too much time thinking about the width and breadth of his losses, perhaps because it reminds her so much of her own, or perhaps because she can no longer pretend that he’s just another alien refugee on this planet among a host of others. He’s more than that.  He’s her chosen mate now, which means his pain becomes her pain and his tribulations become her tribulations.

 She rests a hand on her lower stomach as she watches her mate converse and negotiate with their supervisor.  There could be more, she knows; a future potentially growing inside of her for which neither of them planned, nor expected.

 J’onn and Mon-El debate over the best way to deal with the latter’s emotional issues – their supervisor insisting that Mon-El sit down several times a week with a trauma counselor on the DEO staff.  Predictably, Mon-El rolls his eyes and releases a sigh of frustration. “Talking to a stranger is the last thing I need,” he bemoans.

 “Well, this can’t continue, Mon-El,” J’onn maintains.

 “You don’t need to worry about me.”

 “It’s part of my job to be concerned about the people who work under me.”

 Mon-El touches his chest with a faux-dramatic air.  “Oh, I work for you now?” he asks.  “That almost makes it sound like I wasn’t accused of attempted assassination and then locked in a cell after I woke from stasis.  And then, even after I was proven innocent, treated like a criminal who needed minding twenty-four hours a day for the first few months I was here.”

 “For which you have received multiple apologies, both from me and from Kara.”

 “But still I have to wonder: ‘what makes me so special?’” he asks. “Did the alien who actually tried to assassinate the President spend months on lockdown at the DEO while she was vetted?”

 J’onn’s facial expression goes dangerously neutral.  “Slow your roll there, Brother,” Ral cringes.  “Are you trying to end up back in that cell?”

 “You weren’t in control of your powers,” J’onn rationalizes, his voice calm and even but his eyes a maelstrom of emotion.  “You injured a civilian your first time off base, do you remember that?  We couldn’t release you into the populace until we were reasonably certain you wouldn’t hurt anyone accidentally.  Which I was just about ready to recommend, but now with this electricity thing…”

 The back and forth of their disagreement continues, neither one reaching a consensus or an acceptable solution to the problem at hand.  Their raised voices spin about in her head, and all she can think is that she still doesn’t know enough about what’s going on in Mon-El’s head: Valor, his lack of sleep, his night-time exploits with office building transformers and still she senses that more is going on with him than he’s letting on.  He’s terrified of something; scared enough that he’s holding it back from her.

 But why?  Does he think she will think less of him?  Care less for him?

 Kara recalls her first months on Earth and how transient it had all seemed then.  Clark had been unable to take custody, so instead she had been carted off to the Danvers’.  Ostensibly rejected by her flesh and blood, Kara had struggled to trust Eliza and Jeremiah, mostly because as a xenobiologist, Eliza seemed like more of a threat to her in the beginning.  Kara questioned whether she would be anything more than a science experiment to her foster mother.

 Over time, Eliza had put Kara at ease, eventually gaining her trust by treating her like a member of the family, setting out the same rules for Kara as she did for Alex, and providing her with whatever physical affection Kara would allow.  The road to emotional security was laid out brick by brick; it was a slow and painful process, but ultimately it led Kara to a place of, if not peace, at least reconciliation with all that had happened to her and her world.  

 Something with which Mon-El is clearly struggling right now.

 “He should move in with me,” Kara blurts.  

 The argument between J’onn and Mon-El instantly ceases, and both men’s heads snap in her direction.  “What was that?” J’onn asks, as though he hadn’t heard her correctly.

 “What was that?”  Mon-El’s head tilts to the side, his eyes widening while his mouth drops open with incredulous speculation.

 “What was that?” Ral leans toward Mon-El, whispering in his ear.

 Kara freezes in the headlights of their synchronized stares, at first unable to believe the words coming out of her own mouth.  Then, as if her subconscious had understood what was needed long before her conscious mind did, she catches up.  It makes sense, she realizes.  He needs to feel emotionally secure if he’s ever going to trust her enough to let her see what’s really going on with him.  By getting him out of this place, offering him a home, both in her heart and in her loft, she is offering him the security he needs on multiple levels.  “I think it’s for the best,” she proclaims, squaring her shoulders.

 “I don’t understand,” J’onn announces, shaking his head.

 “Mon-El shouldn’t be here,” Kara decides.  “It’s not doing him any good.  He needs a home and security and a place that doesn’t make him feel like he’s under surveillance whenever he’s there.  And he’s right, J’onn.  He’s not a threat anymore.”

 “Not that he ever was,” Ral pipes up.

 “Not that he ever was,” Kara echoes, causing Mon-El’s eyebrows to furrow at the coincidence.

 J’onn places his hands on his hips and stares down at Kara, his eyes glancing back and forth between Mon-El and Kara.  “There’s something else going on here,” he concludes.  “Isn’t there?  I can’t read your minds, but I can sense it.”

 “Noooo,” Mon-El shakes his head, attempting to deny their connection for Kara’s sake.  Were it up to him, he’d joyfully spill his guts, but they hadn’t talked about how to announce their relationship or if they ever would.  Both Alex and Eliza know, and for now that was okay.  But when Kara begins to nod, he grins and mirrors her nod.  “Yes…okay,” he changes his tune. “There’s something going on here.”

 “Care to clue me in?” J’onn asks.

 “Mon-El and I…are…”

 “You are…?” J’onn presses, crossing his arms at his chest and waiting.

 “We are mates,” Mon-El finishes boldly.  “As in…together.”

 Kara smiles softly, relieved that he’d made it sound so proper.  “I know that may come as a bit of a shock to you—“

 “The only shock is that it took so long,” J’onn interrupts, actually rolling his eyes.

 “Really?” Mon-El chuckles, perhaps just a tiny bit full of himself.

 “There’s been a pool for three months,” J’onn deadpans.  “I missed by four days.”

 “Great,” Ral chuckles.  “I love a mating pool.  Ask what the buy-in was….”

 Ignoring Ral, Mon-El instead asks, “J’onn…can I have a moment with Kara?”  

 J’onn complies and steps out of the room, mumbling, “Apparently, I have to make a phone call anyway.”

 After a moment, ensuring they won’t be overheard, Mon-El turns to Kara and asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?  I don’t know much about this planet and its customs, but I know that moving in together is a huge step.  Huge!”

 “I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping here for another night, Mon-El,” she answers.  “This is no place for you.  How can you possibly feel comfortable sleeping on a cot in the middle of what’s essentially a military installation?”

 Then she gives him ‘the look’, her most powerful weapons turning up to him, and suddenly he’s drowning in an ocean of her making.  “That is…a dirty pool,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sight.

 “It’s just ‘dirty pool’,” she corrects with a chuckle, leaning up against his firm body and placing a lingering kiss on his cheek.  Her fingers toy with the belt loops on the waistband of his jeans, where none can see, despite the glass walls of the room. “Come home with me,” she whispers, her voice all temptation and urgency.  “Be home with me.”

 “Say ‘yes’,” Ral pleads from behind him.  “How can you say ‘no’ to that face?”

 Mon-El sighs heavily.  “Are you certain this is what you want?  Because I’m pretty sure there are no take backs.  Cohabitation is a serious commitment, Kara.”  He cups her head in his hands, holding her still so that there are no more illicit kisses. “I need you to be absolutely sure.”

 Never in a million years did Kara think her life would ever be moving this far, this fast.  After all, nearly her entire life had been lived with a secret she feared exposing. But with Mon-El, none of that matters because he already knows all of her secrets.  Or at least the big ones, anyway.

 “I’m sure,” she nods resolutely, her eyes refusing to budge from the steel-gray of his gaze.  “Will you cohabitate with me?” she asks, with a hint of a giggle.

 His thumbs caress her cheeks as his eyes search hers for any signs of self-doubt before finally making his choice.  “Yes, Kara Zor-El…I will cohabitate with you.  Assuming J’onn says it’s okay.”

 “He will,” she pronounces confidently.  “And when he does, we can pack your things, and you won’t have to come back here again, except for work.”

 “Good.  Because I am sick of these gray walls,” Ral chimes in, sighing with relief.  “It’s just a little too much like the throne room for my tastes.”

 “I admit…that does sound nice.”  Mon-El wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer.  “But you know what sounds even nicer?”

 “What?”

 “Waking up with you,” he replies, his voice soft and hopeful.

 “That does sound nice.”  Kara pulls him down into a searching kiss that ends long before either of them wants it to when J’onn barges back into the room.

 “Break it up, lovebirds,” he grumbles.

 “Your timing sucks,” Mon-El counters when he tears his lips away from Kara’s.

 “There had better not be any of that happening where I can see it, either,” J’onn says, referring to the kiss. “The DEO is not a place for romantic interludes.  Do I make myself understood?”

 Kara blushes at J’onn’s bold statement (and the knowledge that it was too little, too late) calling out her romantic designs on her boyfriend. Predictably, Mon-El preens, a mischievous grin crossing his face.  Kara nudges him with her elbow until the smile slides off his face, and his expression changes to a more appropriate response.

 “Right,” Mon-El agrees, reluctantly.  “No romantic interludes in the building.  Understood, sir.”  He snaps a sharp salute with no small amount of sarcasm.

 Kara rolls her eyes at his antics and smacks him on the arm.  “We understand, J’onn.”  She carefully calculates her level of seriousness to perfectly offset his sarcasm output.

 J’onn rifles through one of the drawers of his filing cabinet before withdrawing a manila folder.  “Obviously, there’s paperwork to fill out.  The best I can do…for now…is release him into your custody, Kara.”

 “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Kara speaks up, shaking her head.

 “It’s policy,” J’onn replies.

 “J’onn, Cadmus is getting their information on DEO movements from somewhere.  There’s already been one mole in-house, and I’m not convinced there aren’t other sleepers.”

 “Kara doesn’t think it’s a good idea to make our relationship public knowledge,” Mon-El adds.

 “Nothing should change…officially.  At least not until we find a way to clean house,” she says. “They’ve already tried to use him against me once; I won’t let it happen again.”  Her voice turns cold like iced over steel, and Mon-El can feel her determination in the pit of his stomach.

 J’onn considers her request for a moment before nodding.  He’s not entirely sure they’re operating at the highest levels of security either.  “You’ll be responsible for what happens when he’s in your custody,” he says to Kara before leveling his gaze on Mon-El.  “If I were you, I would take that very, very seriously.”

 The smile melts from Mon-El’s face, the sparkle fading as his eyes take on a new level of solemnity.  “I will,” Mon-El replies, accepting the Martian’s challenge.

 Kara quickly grabs Mon-El’s hand and squeezes it enthusiastically with her own, their eyes darting towards one another’s before turning back to J’onn. Excitement is written plainly across both of their faces.

 “Nothing will happen,” Kara insists, her faith in Mon-El unshakeable and absolute.  

 “Mon-El, this doesn’t change the arrangement made with M’Gann.  You will still be required to check in at DEO at least once a day during the probationary period.”

 “And…how long is the probationary period?”  Mon-El inquires, seeking clarification since this was a term J’onn had not used before.

 “It’s as long as I say it is.  Let’s say six months for now.”  J’onn’s eyes squinted, as though calculating Pi to the 27th digit in his head. “If Kara hasn’t gotten sick of you by then and kicked you out…we’ll re-evaluate.”

 “Fair enough,” Mon-El agrees with alacrity.  If Kara grew sick of him and his presence and threw him out in six weeks, he wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

 “We should go pack his things,” Kara suggests, grabbing Mon-El’s arm as though anxious to be on their way.

 “Not so fast,” J’onn belays.  “We still have this little matter of a new superhero to discuss.”

 “We were this close to escaping,” Ral snarks, snapping his fingers for effect.

 Mon-El sighs and grimaces.  “Winn says there’s a suit.”

 Both J’onn’s and Kara’s eyes widen in surprise, and they ask in unison, “There is?”

 “Well…there’s a design for a suit,” he qualifies.  “Winn said something about having to license some special Kelbar from Kord Industries to make it, though.”

 “Is it possible you mean ‘Kevlar’?” J’onn asks.

 “Right...that’s what I said,” Mon-El nods.  “He says it can be woven into a material and that it’s rated for fire, so it won’t burn up in high temperatures.  But mostly it’s bulletproof.”

 “Kord Industries already has several government contracts,” J’onn muses, coming to a decision.  “I’ll have Winn license the technology and get an estimate on how long it will take to build.”

 The sudden image of Winn taking Mon-El’s measurements for the suit flashes through her brain, and she responds with an involuntary snort and giggle. When Mon-El turns to look at her, she covers her mouth to hide her grin.  He knows instantly from the sparkle in her eye that she is imagining something to do with the suit.

 “What is it?” he asks with a resigned tilt of his head.

 “Nothing,” she chuckles.  “Just try not to get nervous when he measures your inseam.  He’s very professional.”  It is the secret reason behind why Supergirl wears a skirt instead of tights.

 “Isn’t there a machine you can get into?” he wonders.  “We have those on Daxam.”

 “Not in our budget,” J’onn shakes his head.

 “I’m sure you’ll both survive the process intact.”  Kara claps her hands excitedly.  “I can’t wait for the fittings.”

 “For the time being, I think it’s best if Valor rides the bench,” J’onn posits.

 “Not a good idea,” Kara disagrees.  “CatCo wants the exclusive on this, and James assigned the story to me.”

 “I appreciate the fact that this could be a career-making opportunity for you, Kara, but—“

 “That’s not it, J’onn,” she denies, and then, “okay, maybe a little. But this will let me…us…control the story.  This way, we can decide what the public gets to consume.  In order for it to work, he has to be out there, black hoodie and all. Visible, but not too visible.  Doesn’t have to be every day,” she qualifies.  “Just enough to keep the public interested.”

 “This story needs to get out there fast, because CatCo’s not the only outlet that will be gunning for it,” J’onn points out.

 “Getting an exclusive and getting it out as soon as possible will take some of the heat off,” Kara points out another benefit of spinning the story.

 “Fine,” J’onn agrees.  “So he’s out there making a name for himself.  Until the suit’s ready, I want him in a vest, though.  There’s no telling when some crazy is going to take potshots at a superhero – it’s happened to us more than once.”

 Kara chews on her bottom lip, her brow crinkling in concern.  “I’m not sure how I feel about the idea of him taking those calls.  Maybe I should be handling the heists and robberies.  Just in case,” she decides.

 “And suddenly, it’s like we’re not even in the room,” Ral sighs, rolling his eyes.  “Maybe we should just go pack your things while they decide the rest of your life for you.”

 “This leaves what for me, exactly?” Mon-El pipes up.  “Saving kittens from trees and puppies from drainpipes? Lecturing school children on safe street crossing habits?  C’mon!”

 “Mon-El…” Kara reaches for him, attempting to reassure him.

 “No, Kara.  Either I’m in this thing, or I’m not.  Look…I get that there’re going to be situations that you’re better suited to handle because of the flying and the heat vision and…other stuff, but I’m not interested in having the two of you decide what I can or can’t do out in the field. If you have to do that, then maybe I shouldn’t be out there in the first place.”

 A full head of steam built up, Mon-El turns and storms out of the room, while Kara stares after him, dumbfounded.  She pivots back around to J’onn, her hands outstretched as though to enquire of J’onn what he plans to do about this new wrinkle.

 “Don’t look at me,” J’onn grumbles.  “That’s your mate.  You should talk to him.  Pack his things, take him home, and sometime between all of that, you should maybe apologize for trying to run his life.  If you feel like apologizing on my behalf…that would be all right too.”

 Kara pouts a bit but nods before turning to leave.

 “One last piece of advice, before you go…if you’ll indulge me,” the Martian says before she can leave.

 “What is it?”

 “People say things in the heat of anger that they don’t mean.  My wife and I…we had a lot of arguments in the early days of our marriage because we were young and both quick to anger. Eventually, we learned that we were much better prepared to talk things through and to hear apologies, if we gave each other time to cool off.”

 “Cool off,” she echoes pensively.  “So…fifteen minutes?”

 “Better make it an hour,” J’onn counters and then waves her away. “Go save some puppies out of drainpipes.”

 Mon-El has never really been angry with her, not since the nature of their relationship has changed, and the idea of earning his ire rankles her.  Her instinct is to go to him and make it right. But if J’onn is correct, that action could result in even more hurt feelings, and she doesn’t want that.  There’s so much she doesn’t understand about what’s going on with him right now, that the idea of making it worse for him—of being the reason for one of his problems—makes her feel sick inside. Kara nods her head, deciding reluctantly to follow the Martian’s advice, even though her heart screams at her to go to her mate and soothe his anger, in any way possible.

 She leaves the room without looking back, determined to find something else to fix.

 TBC