#I’ll revisit those parts in another fic maybe

[foxesfantasys]

Hello I am still alive and writing! I apologise that this chapter took a while longer than the other two, I’ve been quite busy these last few weeks. Happy holidays everyone and I hope you enjoy!

Double Trouble AU: Separation Together

Chapter 3/3: The Halfa

Several weeks had passed before he was allowed to return to Casper High. His friends had visited whenever they could, bringing stacks of work and notes with them each time. They didn’t ever stay for long, and he isn’t sure if it’s because they feel guilty for what happened.

They seem to stay for longer when the ghost is out of sight, hidden or just keeping his distance, still not for very long but more than usual. It makes him… Angry? Or, is he sad? Both. Danny thinks it makes him sad and angry at once when his friends avoid the ghost.

He isn’t sure which half of him is feeling each.

Danny did his best to complete as many assignments as possible while recovering, that way he won’t have fallen too far behind once he returned. In the end, he’s pretty sure they didn’t do very well on any of it, he’s never been very smart in the academic sense.

The more he recovered the less they settled, there was less need to be close. He is aware that Danny isn’t really a one anymore, that he is only a one when the ghost and the human need to be close. But that is not to say Danny only exists when they settle, just this version of Danny.

His memories are strange now, coherent but strange. The clearest are when he is a one but he can remember what the ghost and the human have seen as well, so long as they’re willing to share. It’s an interesting experience to have two sets of memories for the same moment.

This does, however, mean he knows exactly how they ended up in their current situation.

The ghost couldn’t return to Casper High like the human could, but they knew leaving him alone in the Fenton household was out of the question. So although he couldn’t return in the same way, he still followed beside his human invisibly.

It wasn’t a perfect solution obviously, there’s only so long a ghost can remain invisible without a break, especially a young and inexperienced one like himself. With all the practice the ghost had done he could comfortably remain invisible for just over an hour. 1 hour 3 minutes and 47 seconds to be exact. Yes, they had timed it.

So whenever they could, his two halves had ducked into a cleaning closet or bathroom stall to give the ghost a short break. They'd been lucky so far, but knew eventually they’d need an alternative in case there was no chance for a break.

When lunch hour finally arrived and the human was greeted with a green abomination of a meal, suffice to say the ghost was no longer concerned with his lack of appetite. Danny can still taste the awful stuff burning through his taste buds.

Sam had seemed so proud of convincing the school to try this new menu, meanwhile Tucker was understandably upset by this new meatless diet. Personally Danny had no preference when it came to school lunch, the food was never good whether it contained meat or not.

Both his halves had been glad to see his friends again, even if they were bickering it was nice to get back a semblance of normalcy.

He hadn’t decided if he should interfere or not before it turned out he didn’t need to.

Because then came the screaming.

Someone in the kitchens it turned out. An accident with some hot oil, it had burned half their arm. Fenton hadn’t got to see it himself, didn’t think he’d have really wanted to even if he got the chance, but word travels fast in a school full of bored teenagers. Supposedly it had been a grotesque sight, bubbling and blistered everywhere, seared all the way up the forearm.

The human had never seen the wound himself, but Danny could still remember the imagined recreation that his human halfs mind made from the chatter of his schoolmates.

Of course the person in question was rushed away and taken good care of, but he remembers the chill the human had felt the whole time. It had been unnatural, like a looming cloud, an omen that this wouldn’t be the end. He had ignored it at the time, shrugged it off as a draft, or just shock.

And then the next day there was another accident. A fire this time, in the kitchens just like before. Not a big one, it stayed contained to the kitchens, something the human had thought very lucky at the time.

That same foreboding chill filled the air despite the flames, enough that the human was sure he could see his breath mixing with the smoke.

Somehow nobody was hurt too badly, only some minor smoke inhalation. School ended early that day. And it stayed closed for a few days to fix any damage. Apparently although the food is awful, even the school faculty wouldn’t leave the kids without lunch. Who knew.

None of the students had been allowed to go home on their own, parental supervision had been deemed necessary before leaving the grounds. “For safety,” they had said. “In case you get any side effects from the smoke.”

Now, they had understood why the faculty would want their parents to escort them all home. They really did. But when your parents are the infamously ghost obsessed Fentons, they couldn’t help but dread their arrival. Danny is still somewhat surprised that the Casper High faculty handled the whole situation so professionally.

Later he asked his friends, his family, nobody else had noticed a chill that day, even the ghost. But Phantom is naturally cold now, so he supposes it would make sense that he didn’t notice any difference.

The human had decided he was just imagining things, decided to start wearing more layers since he’s apparently more sensitive to the cold now.

And he had thought that was the end of it, a few unfortunate accidents at school and him needing to wear a few extra layers to keep away the cold. The following few days had been completely normal, good even. Fenton had thought once Casper High opened up again everything would continue to be normal.

Then that day, today, came around the corner like the universe's personal spite filled slap in the face to Danny, both of them.

Once again lunch hour rolled around, but this time when the human felt that foreboding chill he happened to look towards the kitchens. Danny remembers it felt like his eyes had been pulled to a very specific spot, something just wasn’t right and he knew, but it wasn’t clear what it was or how he knew it was wrong.

He had watched that spot for several moments, the ghost's green glowing eyes joining his stare while hidden away with invisibility.

Danny watched.

They waited.

They saw.

Danny saw the pointy green ears and red piercing eyes, the burns and blisters and singes. It looked as if the entire right side of the face and neck had been burned till it melted. In some places it was worse than others, the least burned areas were near the top and bottom where it looked like only clothes had been singed, while the worst was the central area where the mouth should have been. Whatever accident had befallen this person left sharp pointed teeth and dark green gums visible behind the melted strings of flesh that had once been a mouth, surrounded by bubbling blisters and dark burn scars.

He couldn’t help but cringe at what he saw. And what he saw was the ghost of a lunch lady.

What came next is a messy blur of ghost instinct and human panic. Even now that they have settled there is a constant hum of Intruder Intruder Intruder Protect Get Her Out Get Away Mine Protect-

It’s loud and confusing and he wants to follow. Wants to hiss and challenge because this is my home and these are my friends, but he knows that’s only coming from his ghost half. He also knows that his ghost half is just as overwhelmed by these feelings he can’t control.

“It’s dangerous, we should warn everyone and get away quickly before it starts attacking,” his human half declared aloud. But Danny didn’t move yet.

“But it could still hurt people,” his ghost half argued. “Even if everyone gets out of the cafeteria today it will still be here tomorrow and the day after! Or worse, it could end up somewhere else with even more people.”

Dread welled up at the thought of the amount of people who could get hurt, completely oblivious to the ghostly presence, because why would they worry about something that isn’t real. Then he remembers the fire and the oil and guilt adds to the ocean of emotions built up in Danny’s chest.

If only he had realized what was happening sooner, maybe he could have stopped that poor person from getting burnt or prevented the fire that left so many people out of school and work for days.

“What do we do?” His human half asks, lacing worry into their shared voice when the Lunch Lady’s red eyes lock with Danny’s blue-green. Sure they know the ghost is there now but what difference does that make? He isn’t a ghost expert like his parents, not to mention he hadn’t brought any ecto-weapons for Phantoms peace of mind. Not that he would have either way, it’s not like ghost attacks are a regular thing that could happen everyday.

Danny is half ghost now, he has powers, can’t he do something with those? But he’s only practiced with invisibility! He can’t fight it! Well he has to do something!

His two halves don’t get long to argue before the lunch lady’s echoing shouts find their way down the hallways and snap him back to focus. He had ended up almost right outside the entrance to the kitchens along with his friends who had apparently followed him because he was acting weird. He’s not sure when he left the cafeteria, nor does he remember his friends calling out to him. Well, note to selves: try not to get so distracted arguing that we forget to pay attention to our surroundings.

The lunch lady must find something while staring down at Danny and his friends. He’s not sure what it is she found in them, but judging by the furious screech that followed… Clearly she had not liked it.

A scared cry and Sam’s panicked yell of “Duck!” brought his attention away from the ghost that was towering over them, and towards the- is that meat? Is she really just throwing meat at them?

And he really shouldn’t think like that, because that’s when the meat grows eyes and mouths. Mouths that open and reveal lots of needle sharp teeth and eyes that watch them with hunger.

“Actually, I think that's goose.” He only vaguely hears Tucker comment from behind him, only to be followed by an unhappy grunt from Sam.

Now, as he ducks and dives to avoid the living meat being thrown at him and his friends it’s clear Danny doesn’t have the choice to back down anymore, not just to save himself but his friends as well. “Fight it is then,” he declared.

It was long, difficult, and insanely scary, but when the battle was over, Danny was the victor. He had a lot more bruises and jagged little cuts from claws and needly meat teeth than he had that morning. But considering they had both thought they would die a second time during the whole battle, well, Danny thinks he did pretty well in comparison.

The hand lasers were a surprise. He’s pretty sure they’ll be having a talk about that later, and Danny is glad he probably won’t be around for it.

He knows his two halves will figure things out in the end, but he’d rather not have to listen to the process if he doesn’t have to. It gets hard to stay in balance when the ghost and the human aren’t in agreement, luckily they almost always are.

When one half wavers the other supports, be it emotional, physical, or otherwise.

Yeah. Danny thinks he’s going to be ok. Every part of him.

[boogiewrites]

Unnamed Single Dad/Older Eddie fic - Intro

Single Dad/Older Eddie Munson x f!reader

Reader recently divorced, moves back to her hometown to try to find herself. She finds an old almost-flame from her past to spend her time with. He was always a bit chaotic and messy. And still seems to be. But after a decade of gala's, academia, and white-collar work - maybe that's exactly what she wants.

PART ONE IS NOW UP! FIND IT HERE!

You walked down the stairs from your apartment onto the street. The sunset painted the town in nostalgia. Muted colors like looking back into your memories surrounded you. It all felt different and somehow exactly the same. You’d been back for about a month now. But with the exception of holidays, you haven't spent any time in Hawkins for over a decade. You didn’t even go to your 10-year high school reunion. You’d had no expectations of coming back here. Certainly not without an exit date firmly scheduled prior. But life is funny that way. You never expect to get divorced when you get married. You never expect to quit what once was your dream job. You never expect to move back to your hometown in some potentially pathetic, you hadn't decided yet, attempt to find yourself. Along with a lot of other lessons you were finally learning, expecting the unexpected was one being driven into your life hard. 

So when you wandered the towns Main Street and saw the old record store you hadn't expected, but maybe you should have, the man standing behind the counter to be the boy who helped form most of those happy memories you’d come back home to revisit.

“We close in like 5 minutes. I can check you out if you know what you want but at 9 you’re getting kicked out.” He didn’t look up from the book of numbers he was staring at on the checkout desk.

“Oh shit. I didn’t look at your hours on the door. Sorry. I’ll leave.” You rush out, not even looking at the guy, his hair hiding his face as he leaned on the counter. You’d barely taken in the familiar space before feeling like a burden. 

But then you hear your name called to your back as your hand sits on the door handle. That voice. You hadn’t heard your name said like that in so long. Not just from him but in a way that made it sound like someone was genuinely happy to see you. 

“Eddie?” It leaves your slightly parted lips before you even verify the owner of the now much deeper, voice. It’s still cracked and popped when you heard it last. A young man with his training wheels freshly off was now grown before you. He looked so different. And just like the town… somehow exactly the same.

“Holy shit it is you!” his face lit up, it was a wonderful sight. Eddie was always a big emoter, being absolute shit at hiding how he felt on his face. And right now he was happy to see you. Your face was a bit more hesitant, only for the heavy smack of memories you were drowning in as you shared a silent smile, eyes very boldly meeting one another's. 

“It’s me.” you held out your hands in a jazzy presentation of yourself that made him laugh. 

“What are you doing here? Oh shit, is everyone okay?” His face went from curious to concerned in a flash.

“Oh yeah, the family’s fine.” you finally stepped forward and dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand. “I moved back.” he could see the way your jaw tensed when you said it. Last he’d heard you were married and working some white-collar job and doing just fine. He certainly hadn’t expected you to walk into his shop on a random Tuesday. He wanted to ask a hundred questions that had all poured into his brain but withheld. 

“How long have you been back?” he got away with looking at your hands, checking for a wedding band as they ran through your hair nervously. There wasn’t one. That gave him plenty of answers to sate his intrusive tendencies. Little did he know you’d already looked at his ring finger to see the same. 

“A few weeks. Not long. Just got settled into the apartment on 3rd street. Pure luck it opened up when I was looking.”

“An apartment?” he had a playful smile as he quirked his brow. “Would’ve pinned you for a house sorta girl.”

“Needed a change.” you wrinkled your nose, vague answers meant you weren’t ready to talk about it. Which he understood. 

“I heard they re-did those recently.”

“Yeah, it’s way nicer than I expected. Overlooks the park which is very cute. And is a hell of a lot cheaper than my mortgage was.” a genuine smile graced your face, and the sense of relief wasn’t missed by him in your voice. 

“Tell me about it.” he groaned and slapped the open book in front of him. 

“Oh, doing the books?” you leaned forward curiously, intimately familiar with the layout of the paper before him. “Wait. Why are you doing the accounting?” you didn’t hide the confusion on your face as you looked back up at a smirking Eddie. His hair was the same save for the lack of bangs, a change with the times. He had a past 5 o clock shadow and light circles under his eyes. You knew you had the signs of wear and age on your face now as well. 

“Because I own the place?” he tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “You don’t have to look SO surprised.” he then broke into a laugh. 

“Sorry! I just. Wow.” you shook your head. 

“Give me a little credit. I’ve grown up since you last knew me.” a playful defensiveness was apparent in his shaking curls as he challenged your slack jaw at the news. 

“I’m sure you have. Sorry. I didn’t mean to -” 

“Shut up. I’m fucking with you.” the deepness of his voice bloomed out of a laughing chest. “I do own it but I agree I didn’t scream responsible business owner at 18.” he grinned. “I started working here shortly after you left and ten years later Mr. Orison wanted to retire and well…” he motioned to the room then let his arms slap to his sides. 

“Good for you. Seriously. Running a business is fucking hard. People don’t realize it.”

“Yeah neither did I when I bought it.” he bent over and ran his hand through his hair, elbows to the countertop. 

“I used to crunch numbers all day for a living so I get it. I’ll leave you to it. It’s past 9 anyway, I think you’re supposed to kick me out.” you smiled brightly, you felt the strain in your cheeks. It’d been a long, long time since you’d smiled so big. 

“You get to be an exception to the rule. You can wander around if you want. I don’t care.”

“No, no. I know you need to focus. I’ll get out of your hair.” you take a few steps back. “I could come back when you aren’t busy?” you offered, a raise of one shoulder to your chin. 

“Yeah! Yes.” he cleared his throat and nodded enthusiastically, spooling out some blank receipt paper. “Since you’re back-back we should catch up.” he dabbed the pen to his tongue to get it to work, and a few shakes and grunts later he was writing his number down. “And I don’t mean in that fake reunion - oh my god let’s get coffee sometime kinda way.” he looked up, hang dancing over his papers as a fuller face than you recalled smiled at you. 

“Glad we’re on the same page. I need some friends. Not gonna lie.” you chuckle nervously and give a purposely strained smile. 

“Lucky for you, we are built-in friends.” he holds out the paper as you step back toward him. 

“Good.” you say softly, ripping part of the paper and writing down your own information. “You’re busier than me right now so feel free to call me whenever and we can go not get coffee.” you joke and he accepts it heartily. 

“You drink?”

“Not as well as I used to.” you laugh.

“That’sthefuckintruth.” he grumbled. “I’ll hit you up and we’ll go to the old Hideout. We’ll be two old schmo’s reminiscing just like the people we used to make fun of.”

“Sounds perfect.” the relief of something casual and easy flooded you. There was no pretentious pretext, no formalwear to buy, or people to schmooze. Beers, a dive bar, and an old friend sounded close to heaven after the way you’d spent the last decade. “See ya soon.” you wiggle your fingers in a wave before Eddie watches you walk down the street and out of sight, locking the door behind you. 

“Well, shit.” he didn’t have to hide his smile now, chuckling to himself, rubbing his face as he walked back to the counter. “She’s back.” he talked to himself, no one else was around, and being alone was a rarity for him these days. He gathered up his books and looked at the mirror in the hall on the way to the back office. “And single.” he said to his reflection before looking over it and frowning at the sight. He looked fucking tired. In all fairness he was. “And you’re a struggling single dad with two jobs.” he sighed and looked away from the mirror. A reality check he needed was cashed to himself. He wasn’t exactly relationship material at the moment with barely any time for himself let alone dating someone. You were used to money and the city and some fancy pants professor was your ex-husband. What’s a small-town mechanic with a sob story, a kid, and a treading water business going to offer you? He groaned, his annoyance clear on his face as he plopped into the old creaky leather chair. Little did he know, that craving a slice of real life, something raw and passionate, full of imperfections was exactly why you’d left your husband and old life behind. He had more to offer than old romantic nostalgia. He just didn’t know it yet.

[undercoverpena]

I had to come here cos my response was just waaayyyy too long for your original post hahah I hope that’s okay!

I’m still reeling that LNT is only a year old???

I felt extremely late to the party when I read it, and I had saw so many folk speak so highly of it that I thought it was one of those stories that exist in a fandom that has been around since the dawn of time.

Honestly, LNT resonated with so many people and I’d saw it so much that I was like ‘I MUST be caught up on what I’m missing’ and I’m so glad I did! Bc now I have DMY Frankie and boy. I love him. As you well know 😂

Thank you for sharing that little part of you with us! I love that you celebrate by getting something you enjoy and I love even more that for some reason this time it was that lovely plant! (The idea of calling it Rainy brought tears to my eyes, but I also 10000% get that the name has to vibe)

Congratulations on finishing another wonderful story! I’m so excited to see how it ends, and for whatever you decide to do next!

I always get such a smile on my face when your username pop up on my phone in any kind of capacity.

Have a lovely Sunday! 💕

i love this, because I was in such a bubble when I wrote it, I didn’t see what you all see. people (including my fabulous friend @goodwithcheese ) tells me all the time how it had this life of its own and people would hear about this fic? that I wrote?

and I still cannot wrap my head around it. so I kinda don’t 😂 because I think if I did, I’d worry that I wouldn’t live up to it. like I’d put more pressure on Frankie in DMY or even whatever I do next. so when you said it I sorta grinned to myself because omg right? I did this thing? but then I saw the next part:

resonated with so many people <- and that made my heart so happy. so happy. like beyond more than I can articulate. because you’re so right, and also now, lots have stuck around for frankie or anything else I’ve tried to tackle since. which is wild to me 😂

and you’re very welcome. I should share more of myself, but I get worried? anxious maybe? like I don’t want you all to get sick of me. but even when I do share that bit more, you all seem to love it so maybe I need to take a breath and try. but yes, each time I finish a big first draft (a series usually) I take myself for cake. or cookies! and usually I’ll go find a quiet place and enjoy them and just sorta reflect? it was a thing I did when I did something scary too, and in some ways writing and sharing is still very scary to me, but just in different ways than it used to be?

I know I wish I looked at them and saw “rainy” but it’s Gilbert, and I’ve been calling them Gilly or afternoon so I think that’s the nickname but we’ll see.

I’m excited to revisit the ending in a few weeks when I edit (cause I edit like the week coming up to the posting) because I loved it so much yesterday and I hope I will then too.

thank you for sending this in, sorry for rambling, and ily

[sapphiim]

yujikiri fics masterlist

purely for the reason of having my writing on this site too, i’ve decided to make a list of all the yujikiri fics i’ve written so far. i won’t be updating this list with any new fics i write for these two from this point on, those will get their own post whenever i DO post them. (also, please do note all of these fics are at least 1.5 years old and it shows in my writing)

through the pain of it all -  part one of a two-part series. as3 retelling, which was SUPOSED to be a soulmates au. i forgot this detail halfway through.

incredibly, and utterly, stupid - part two of aforementioned series. exists purely bcs my friend, upon seeing the visual for i will (the ed) requested a boat date for them.

fond touches and fonder hearts - do you ever adore a character so much you project your love for them onto another? yeah. this is smitten kirito galore. feat. one of my favorite yujikiri flavors: sword mastery academy era

moments of comfort and adoration - this was a birthday gift for the same friend who requested the boat ride date. i will be 100% honest i don’t remember what happens in this one. i think they go on a date at a planetarium. maybe.

behind the veil of sleep, i dream of you - written for day 1 of yujikiri week 2021, the prompt being dreams. 

enchantments and exasperation - this was written for day two (prompt: AU), and it was a purely self indulgent mage eugeo au.

fascinated by your gaze - i am absolutely in love with eugeo’s eyes, they are SO pretty and of course i had to project that onto kirito. this was written for day 3, with the prompt being eyes.

memories, remaining and forgotten - written for day 5, prompt being memories. ironically, i don’t remember what this one was about, but according to my tags it might be a short reminiscing fic? 

a journey of adjusting and confusion - day 6, prompt gameverse. eugeo joins ALO and GGO. it was pretty fun ngl (also, first time writing from eugeo’s pov)

scales of frost and thawing hearts - day 7 was free day. now here’s the thing: if you followed me on twitter while i was writing these (march-april of last year) you would know that i despite this fic. i had a hard time writing it and i don’t like how it came out. still, here is a short dragon eugeo au. maybe one day i’ll revisit it, but i’m making no promises.

[bluefirewrites]

not sure if u are still taking this but, celebrity/fan au for JUKEE 🤭

Okay this one's a little involved but I got you!

Rated T for mentions of sex and maybe some language

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

******

Julie tugs against the rather short dress Flynn had squeezed her in, not caring for how much she looks like a glorified candy wrapper in the shimmering gold.

She feels like she's some Ferrer Roche, waiting to be devoured.

Which seems to be her intention for tonight because she's insane, and so is her bestie Flynn, because she's supposed to grab the attention of a certain someone in this club.

Her motives for tonight sound like they come straight out of a Wattpad story, but her boyfriend- or well maybe an ex boyfriend now'- forced her hand.

So a year ago, right around the time they started dating, they both disclosed their 'hall passes'. Just a list of celebrities they were both 'allowed' to cheat on their partners with. It was fun. Just to see who the other person would pick. 

It was harmless because the whole point is that these people are so famous, so far out of reach, that the odds of hooking up with them would be essentially impossible.

Nick's was the lead singer of the world famous pop group Dirty Candi. And Julie remembers drunkenly applauding the choice ("She's pretty! Wowww you like them Bubblegum Pop girls?")

They had a laugh that night and Julie doesn't really consider that hall pass conversation all that much since then-

-Until fast forward to last week when Nick disclosed to her that he ran into Carrie Wilson at an event. And then promptly disclosed to her that he invoked his 'Hall Pass' rights.

His rights?! She had exploded at him, and he claims that its no big deal. That he thought she would understand that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a crazy set of circumstances, and that- 'Holy shit Jules, she was actually into me. Like what?'

Understandably, Julie stormed out and has been staying with Flynn for the time being. And it must have been the haze of crying and watching a lot of true crime series to cheer herself up that she and Flynn concocted this... plan.

One fueled by spite and pettiness.

Get back at Nick, make him jealous, make him feel how she did- by invoking her own 'Hall Pass' rights- 

-which so happens to be Sunset Curve frontman, Luke Patterson... 

"There he is" Flynn whispers from their corner of the club and Julie gulps.

"I don't think I can do this," Julie hisses at Flynn, when they spot him at the bar, nursing a drink with his bandmates like he usually would (they did their research). 

See, Julie’s been a fan of Luke’s for a long time. Ever since she heard ‘Now or Never’ in freshman year of high school, she’s been hooked onto their music- especially Luke and his voice and playing. 

She had their posters on her bedroom wall and had been that girl who would (when no one’s looking) press her fingers to her lips then press them against Luke’s image before going to bed. 

It was that bad. 

And Julie had probably fantasized on more than one occasion of meeting him and all the other scenarios you would picture in a typical Celeb x Reader scenario. 

And she’d like to think she grew out of it, now she’s in her mid-twenties and just casually listens to Sunset Curve, following up on their careers every now and then. 

But you can never really shake your first major celebrity crush. Hence he had been on her so called ‘Hall Pass’ list. 

(”You into rockstars, Jules?” Nick had teased her that night.)

Seeing him there, in the same place as her, is so surreal, but Flynn’s continued pinches to her arm remind her just how real this is. 

“This is ridiculous,” Julie crosses her arms, ready to bow out because what is she thinking? Why would Luke Patterson pick her up, of all people, at the bar? It’s like a supermodel runway in here, filled with girls more accomplished and famous. Her confidence is shaken a bit and she rethinks everything. 

"Nick didn't seem to have a problem when he did it," Flynn points out, “And girl, you look great. He would be blind to not want you.” 

The mention of Nick still boils her blood, which only reaffirms her plans for revenge. She’s still nervous but they both stand up from their booth and walk over to the bar. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,” 

“No. You’re musician extraordinaire, Julie Molina! The world may not have heard about you, but they will one day. I bet that’s something you can talk to him about. Music? Lyrics?” 

Julie could use her songwriting credentials to her advantage, “I mean I guess-” 

“Quick, he’s getting up!” 

“Flynn, wait I’m not-” 

With a forceful push, Flynn sends Julie into the path of Luke Patterson, colliding into him and effectively spilling his drink all over her dress. 

“Oh my god,” Luke gapes at her, “I am so sorry-” 

Julie fans herself, shaking slightly from the fact she’s drenched and also that her freakin’ high school celebrity crush is looking at her, actually talking to her. 

But she recovers quickly, and she speaks, “It’s fine. Really. I guess I’m just... clumsy.” She shoots a glare at Flynn, who merely winks and retreats to their booth. 

Luke grimaces and takes her by the hand, leading her somewhere, napkins in his other hand, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. Again, I’m sorry. Hate to ruin a pretty... dress.”

It’s the way he eyes her that catches Julie off guard. He’s... not talking about the dress, is he? 

Julie reels it back in tries her hand at a joke, “I wouldn’t call this a dress. I feel like fancy leftovers in this thing.” 

Luke stifles a laugh, “Okay, I mean I wasn’t gonna say anything but yeah. I guess it’s a bit tin foil-y.”

“Not your style?”

His gaze drifts over to her one last time, “Well, any way to take a meal back home is fine by me. I mean-” Luke scrunches his nose, wincing, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. That was too... much. Are we-” he laughs nervously, “Are we still... talking about food?”

“Unless you just called me a meal. Then no.” 

The look in his eyes say that he’s absolutely mortified, “...yeah. I think I did. I was hoping that was a nightmare.” 

“Nope, it definitely happened,” 

“Feel free to slap me,” 

Julie giggles, somewhat delirious because she hasn’t tried to flirt with him but here Luke is, flirting with her. Or trying. And failing. Like a far cry from the suave rockstar she had pictured him to be. 

“No need. Just, can you-?” she points to the napkins he’s holding hostage. 

“Oh yeah. Here,” They stop in front of the coat check, and he hands her the napkins so she could try herself off with the best she can.

Suddenly, a weight falls onto her shoulders, she looks up and sees Luke draping a jacket over her- his presumably. 

“You looked cold,”

Julie wraps the jacket tight against her, relishing in the warmth, “Wow, thanks.”

Luke smiled and stepped back, “Just so you know, if I made you feel weird in any way, I’d like to throw out my third ‘sorry’ of the night. Nothing has to happen though. So, just say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Whew. Um, okay. Julie stands there, faced with this decision. 

The compliments aside (she will revisit those later), Luke’s giving her an out. Any reservations she has about moving forward with this plan, this is her chance to leave. 

She could just treasure these amazing few minutes for the rest of her life. This could be a story to tell friends at a dinner party, about the time a rockstar lent her his jacket. Would be up there with the time Jack Black passed her on the street and said “Nice hat!”. 

But-

Maybe she wants to see where this goes. 

“All this talk about food is making me hungry though...” she says and Luke lights up, “I could go for a bite to eat.” 

Luke snaps his fingers, “I know just the place.” 

*******

Half an hour later, Julie and Flynn are in a smelly alleyway with the guys from Sunset Curve, in line for a street dog cart just a couple blocks away. 

“An Oldsmobile?” Julie gawked after hearing Luke and the guys describe the delicacy, “Are you trying to poison me?”

“I swear by it,” Luke insists, taking her hand and moving them up in the line. Flynn sees this and doesn’t comment, but Julie’s starting to get used to Luke doing that, “You have to try!”  

Julie doesn't know when she got over her initial starstruck, but by now its so easy to treat Luke like a regular person.

Well, celebrities are all regular people in the end, but more so now that he and his friends, have their sleeves rolled up, smiles wide, ready to dig into what may be the most disgusting hot dog she has ever seen.

Julie takes a bite out of hers and her eyes widen. Wow. It's not terrible.

"Ayy! We got another one, boys" Reggie laughs, noting her reaction.

"Told ya" Luke needles her sides and she giggles, ticklish. Her knee jerk reaction is to playfully shove him, but in the process accidentally smeared some mustard onto his face.

Luke goes to lick it off with his tongue, making funny faces as he did which amused Julie even more.

"Here," she takes a napkin and wipes at his cheek, "Now we're even."

The whole group gets to talking over by the couches, while Flynn chats up the other boys, Julie and Luke are sequestered in their own corner, and yes, eventually the topic switches to music.

"Wait, so you know Rose and the Petal Pushers?" Luke chokes out, "Like everyone I talk to hasn't heard of them!"

"Yup. Have their record actually" Julie beams proudly, censoring out the part that its her mom's band and hence she has one of the few records ever released.

Luke is floored by that and continues to poke her brain for music and Julie finds that their spiels go on naturally, that she could probably talk with Luke for hours and hours.

Which ends up happening. Flynn had already made her escape, having texted her to come home safely, the boys had gone too, leaving them in the nearly empty lot.

When the food truck closes down for the night, they end up taking a stroll down the streets of L.A, talking and getting to know each other.

Julie learns so much about Luke, things she's never heard about from the press- like his songwriting practice, that he cries at Finding Nemo, and that he can do a cartwheel only when drunk.

And in return Julie shares with him her crazy college stories, how she misses her mom sometimes, and that she is encyclopedia of commercial jingles (a fact Luke exploits by rapidly quizzing her at random moments)

Somehow they end up near the beach, with Julie pointing out the different stars she could see, but finds that Luke isn't looking at the sky.

"Hey, Julie..." He gets her attention, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too"

"So... would it be alright, if I kiss you?"

Julie's mouth parts, speechless. It happened. Holy shit it happened or... is happening. She has Luke exactly where she wants him.

She could only nod and Luke takes it as the sign to lean in, but just as his lips is about to brush against hers, she freaks-

"Wait" she steps back. Luke opens his mouth, "No. No more 'sorry's from you. This one's one me. I'm sorry but... this- this" She sighs, "I have to be honest with you."

Then she tells Luke everything- Nick, The Hall Pass, her plans for tonight- basically admitting to using him.

When she's done, she expects for Luke to get angry, to leave in a huff and never want to see her again.

That's not what happens.

"This Nick guy sounds like a piece of work" he says.

Julie nods slowly, "Yeah... I guess he was. So maybe that's why I did it. But I don't think I could have gone through with it. Like I don't think we're together, me and Nick but-"

"You wouldn't want to do what he did. Because you don't want to hurt people," Luke surmises, understanding, "And by doing that, that means you're a better person than he is."

"I guess"

"No Julie, you're a good person" Luke insists, "Man, I think that makes me like you even more."

Julie laughs, "God, if my high school self could see me now..."

"You were a big fan?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now with you,"

"Okay cuz now you got me curious-"

Julie swats his shoulder but it doesn't deter the guy from snickering.

On a more serious note though-

"I think..." Julie hums, "I think this means that I got some stuff to work through. Before I could start considering... this."

"I understand"

"But thank you... Luke. For tonight"

"It's been real, Julie,"Luke smiles and pulls her in for a half hug, "And you should keep the jacket. Looks better on you anyway."

****

Julie goes back to Flynn's that night and her bestie's still awake, wanting all the deets. But there's not much to tell. Nothing happened.

She shrugs off the jacket and resigns to the couch, not caring that her makeup is still on. She's about ready to pass out.

Her phone dings.

She pulls it out and sees two notifications.

luke_patterson is now following you

luke_patterson is requesting to message you.

Curious, she accepts the request.

'here if you want to talk, Tin Foil :P'

Julie rolls her eyes and collapses onto the couch, sleeping with a smile on her face.

She doesn't know it now, but the oncoming years would be filled with more messages back and forth, meetups with their friends for more shady street food, building a solid foundation of friendship and eventually, when Luke asks again if he could kiss her, Julie would eagerly prop herself on her toes to close the gap.

Yeah, Julie's high school self would definitely be screaming...

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN **** 

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown. 

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W. 

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.” 

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.” 

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.” 

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.” 

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance. 

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.” 

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.” 

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long. 

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.” 

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.” 

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.” 

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered. 

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled. 

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.” 

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?” 

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street. 

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.” 

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.” 

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

[sitaarein]

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot​

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

 (Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

 In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it. 

 Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate. 

 But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences. 

 Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

 Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands. 

 She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment. 

 The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more. 

 Zoya prefers the cold. 

 (She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

 Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

  The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

 The woman was Grisha. 

 Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

 The officers never returned.

 Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

 But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

 The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

  The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was. 

 And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

 And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

  The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end . 

 Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up. 

  But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

 Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

 “Yes?” she asks bluntly. 

 “Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.  

 Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat. 

 “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

 “Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

 She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

 Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant. 

 She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

 Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

 Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance. 

 Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

 “How bad is it?”

 The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

 Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

 “We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

 “I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

 Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

 Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

 “I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

  A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

 “You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins.  She can not handle another Kirigan. 

 In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

 “We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.” 

 Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

 “The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

 “Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

 Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

 “How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

 “Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

 “Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

 “And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim. 

 Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

 Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

 Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up. 

 “You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

 “It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says. 

  Shit.  Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes? 

 She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

 Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

 Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

 “And what do you mean by that?” 

 Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

 “He what.” 

 Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

 “Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

 “He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

 “Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

 “Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

  But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least. 

 It was irritating as hell.

 And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own. 

 Absolutely wonderful.

 “So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks. 

 Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

 “I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

 Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

 Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

 “ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

 The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

 “Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes. 

 “Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

 Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

 She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response. 

 “If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

 “Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

 “Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

 “An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores. 

 Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them. 

  “Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

  Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about. 

 She finds out fairly quickly.

 Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

 David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes. 

 She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room. 

 “Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

 “Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

 Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

 “We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

 “Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

 Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces. 

 “Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either. 

 “And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”

[cafedanslanuit]

pairing: jumin x mc

tags/warnings: canon divergence from episode three of the jumin bad ending dlc, mentions of parental abuse, fix-it fic, happy ending, fluff.

summary: your late night conversation with jumin takes another turn into a much better scenario.

words: 1.9k

"When I was young, I had no idea such sweetness could exist. That love could be so heart-warming and good.”

Jumin’s eyes are tired and I feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. There’s a raw vulnerability in his eyes I haven’t seen since we lived at the penthouse and I’m scared the tiniest move or word from my part could shatter him in pieces. His hand is resting on my waist and I feel his muscles tighten in yearning as he speaks, almost as if he’s scared I’ll disappear.

“You said you had bad memories around your basement. Can you tell me about them?”

“I don’t know how that would help,” Jumin answers, his mouth forming a thin line. I push his dark hair away from his forehead softly and give him a small smile.

“How about we try?” I offer.

Jumin shifts on the bed a little closer to me. He rubs his eyes and then sets his hand back on my waist, his thumb sliding under the fabric of my pajamas and drawing idle circles on my skin.

"My mother would lock me up in the basement when I was a child,” he starts, his gaze unfocused. “Once I was locked up for seventeen hours and fourteen minutes. I managed to find a way out eventually.

My expression falls at his words, my chest clenching at his remembrance. I immediately flush my body against his, his arms holding him tightly. I feel his muscles tensing for a couple of seconds before melting under my touch. Jumin buries his head on the crook of my neck and lets out a long sigh, so long it makes me feel he had been holding it for longer than I could imagine.

It all starts falling into place. The subtle jokes about keeping me inside a cage to protect me from harm and the way he had done the same to Elizabeth the 3rd before she escaped. I had always thought Jumin’s desire for control was rooted deep inside his need to be on hold of things. I knew he had been handled several responsibilities from a young age and I always guessed that where my need to control his surroundings started but now I knew I was wrong. 

I was so wrong.

I had spent months feeding into his control fantasy, thinking it would ground him enough to find peace within himself and now I feel like a moron for letting it get this far. For thinking he would eventually start letting me go little by little when he felt better about himself. But I had definitely underestimated how much the man in front of me had gone through and how my intentions of helping him were practically useless.

I hold him in silence for a few more moments, my right hand caressing his dark locks while my arm is still around his body protectively. A million questions swim around my mind and I don’t know where to start. So, I decide to follow the line of Jumin’s story.

"Jumin, do you think your mother loved you?"

He lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyebrows scrunch for a couple of seconds while his holds tightens on me.

"... I have never experienced my mother's love.”

A lump forms in my throat and I carefully cup his cheek with my hand, my thumb stroking his skin softly.

"I know,” I whisper. “But when you were a kid, did you think she did the things she did out of love?"

"I guess? Parents are mandated to take care of their children. So I assume a part of me thought she did it out of maternal love, yes," he reasons, his grey eyes surveying the room as he spoke.

"So, do you think maybe you're keeping me in this mansion because a part of you thinks that it's okay to lock up someone you love?"

Jumin furrows his eyebrows and shifts on the bed uncomfortably. I watch him in silence, almost listening to the gears inside his head turn, hoping my questions would help him ease the mess of threads he had talked me about back in the penthouse.

"Maybe,” he mutters, his fingers drumming against my skin.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m not leaving you, darling. My heart only knows one name and it’s yours. There’s no need to keep me restrained when you already own every part of my soul.”

“You said this was okay,” Jumin counters. “You even chose the heels where I put the tracking device.”

“I did. I…” I sigh. “You were hurting so much, my love. I thought if I complied with your demands you would find peace. I thought if I let you control me you would feel better. But I was wrong and I’m sorry. I see you losing yourself more and more as the days go by and it breaks my heart,” I confess, my thumb grazing the space between his chin and his lower lip. “I fell in love with a noble man who would do anything to protect the people he loves. A honest man, who may come off as blunt, but you know he would never lie to you. A man who is kind and loving.”

Jumin listens to me, his eyes widened. In his pajamas he looks young, a glint of fear in his expression as he tries to sink in my words.

“I don’t know if I can give that love,” he whispers.

“You can,” I assure him.

“How can you know?”

“There’s so much love inside of you, Jumin Han,” I smile, letting my hand settle on his chest, right above his heart. “I saw it the night you read me to sleep. I saw it all the times you helped the other members of the RFA expecting nothing in return. I see it when your eyes light up when you’ve had a good dinner with your dad. I don’t know why you believe you are unable to give warm love, because you’ve been filling up all my senses with exactly that from the moment I decided to stay over at your penthouse. I am in love with you, Jumin Han.”

“Say it again,” he mutters, bringing my body closer to him. The remains of his perfume still linger on him and I love how relaxing I find it. How much it feels like home.

“I love you.”

“Again,” he demands, his lips lingering against mine. I smile.

“I love you, Jumin Han. I am in love with you. Truthfully, madly, without any sort of question or doubt,” I say, holding his face tenderly. “I am in love with your heart and soul.”

He finally breaks the distance between us both and his lips collide against mine. His kiss is soft, yet firm, his hands holding me into place. I let my body mold itself against his and wonder if it’s alright to love someone as intensely as I love this man. His tongue grazes against my lips for a moment before softly pushing its way inside. His grip on my body tightens as he keeps deepening the kiss and I have to remind myself we’re not done talking to have the strength to pull away as softly as I can. I lay a couple of more kisses against his warm lips before smiling at him.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to C&R,” I say and Jumin’s shocked expression doesn’t take long to show up. “Just a quick visit so you can take care of the paperwork Jaehee mentioned yesterday,” I explain, my fingers stroking his arm in a soothing motion. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs at C&R’s cafeteria.”

Jumin shakes his head. “No.”

“Jumin,” I say, holding his face and forcing him to look at me. “Just for a couple of hours and just so we can try something new. After that, we’ll return here. I promise.”

He lets out a long and tired sigh. When he looks at me again, my eyes are set on him, the smallest pout on my lips. To my surprise, he laughs.

“My mind keeps telling me there’s a chance you won’t be there,” Jumin admits, stroking my sides with his hand.

“You are my home, Jumin,” I remind him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be but your arms.”

Jumin stays in silence, his eyes lost somewhere in the bedroom and I can almost listen to the loud and contradicting thoughts inside his head.

“If you’re still not done after two hours, you can leave the rest for another day,” I offer. “Two hours tops, my love. Could we try?”

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He looks defeated, yet there’s love in the way he sets his eyes back to mine.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my love,” he breathes out and a big smile makes its way to my face. I press two soft kisses against his lips and then a couple more on his right cheek and forehead. “I’m sorry for my troubling thoughts.”

I shake my head. “I love you, Jumin. Troubling thoughts and all. I adore your mind,” I smile, pushing some of his hair away from his forehead. “I understand you’ve gone through rough times during your childhood and I know there’s nothing I can do to erase those memories. I want you to revisit them, understand them and finally heal. And no matter how long that takes you, I will always be there by your side”.

Jumin smiles and holds my waist as he turns on the bed, leaving me to rest on top of his chest. I see the warm smile back on his face and I realize how much I had missed it.

“Always?” he asks. I press a kiss on his lips.

“I promise. You are the love I always dreamt about since I was a little girl.”

Jumin arches an eyebrow.

“You dreamt about living in a mansion?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I dreamt about someone loving me exactly as I am, no matter how low I thought about myself some days I dreamt about someone caring for my well being and protecting me if necessary. Most of all, I dreamt about someone that would make me feel like there’s no one else in the universe but us both.”

“And do I make you feel that way?” he asks, a playful smile on his face that makes me wonder if it’s possible I love him more than I did an hour ago. I nod at him, an equally cheeky grin on my face strengthened by the knowledge that my words made him decide to do better.

I had never loved anyone as much as I loved Jumin. So any hardships that would come between us, would face to face us both. There’s a soft red hue on his cheeks again and for a moment it’s hard to recognize the cold man I first met in a chat room.

But Jumin Han is more than that. He’s more than his job, more than his money, more than the darkness and tangled thread inside his mind. He’s kind, he’s loyal and the rock his friends turn to when they find themselves in dire situations. He’s had everyone’s back before, in one way or another, and I love that he’s now giving me the chance to have his. To show him that he also deserves warm, pure love. That even if he can deal with everything by himself he doesn’t have to. Not anymore.

“You do, my love. You do.”

[missmonsters2]

Between the Lines || III

PAIRING: Steve Rogers & Fem!Reader (Platonic) / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: This series will contain smut(**), poly-relationship, and dark themes.

Note: Things..are happening. Please let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this fic :)!

PART I || PART II

PART III of XX

Count: 3311

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The following week was routine once more. Natasha didn't revisit the café, which you couldn't tell if you felt relief or not. David did lecture that you had to be more careful because it was most likely that Black Widow was looking into your background. He wasn't worried she'd find anything, but one can never be too careful.

Steve stopped by the café less too, as they now hung out outside the café more regularly. You had finally given in and hired two more people to the café and promoted Sarah to the manager position, so you didn't have to spend too much time there yourself. You essentially only came in when you knew Steve was going to be in...or maybe on the off chance Natasha would come in again.

Allison's mother was finally discharged from the hospital, but with all the missed time from work, you still found yourself looking after the young girl while her mother picked up extra shifts—not that you minded.

It was currently the weekend, and you had planned to take Allison to the park for a picnic and some games. You had asked Steve to tag along if he wasn't busy, but it turns out that he did have work that day. He seemed really crushed that he wasn't going to be able to go, but you had assured him it would be fine, and they could get together another time.

It was strange. They weren't dating or anything, definitely just friends. But the last time they had gone out together with Allison, the number of strangers who commented they looked like a beautiful family made you panic a bit, especially with the wistful look on Steve's face. It seemed like he was thinking about other things as people made those comments, though, not necessarily wistful to have a family with you.

And you knew—about this lost love, about Peggy Carter.   

The poor man seemed unable to move on while wanting to, but then feeling guilty about it. Since you were supposed to pretend not to know anything, it wasn't like you could talk to him about it. So, they were stuck in this weird limbo.

"Lainey, can we please get peaches?"   

You immediately brought your attention back to Allison, who you had in your shopping cart with multiple things strewn in for their picnic date.    

You grinned at the kid, "Alright, put the puppy face away, you're killing me here. We can definitely get some peaches."   

As the two of you stood in front of the peaches, you meticulously picked out peaches as Allison animatedly recalled a story.   

"Really? How interesting," you hummed to Allison.   

"Quite a cute one you've got there."   

The gruff voice brought your attention away from the peach. You looked up to see a man in his late 30s standing next to your cart with a basket.    

"Thanks," you said politely but curt.   

"My name's Glenn. I just wanted to say hi," He gave you a flirty grin and held out his hand.    

"Hi," you shook his hand politely as he stared at your gloved hands.   

"Cold?" He asked.   

"Something like that," you said with a wry grin.   

"Anyways," you said with an eyebrow raised at the stranger, "We've got to head off now, nice to meet you."   

Just as you were turning away with the cart, the man grabbed you by the arm to stop you.   

"Wait!"    

You clenched her jaw, turning back to him, eyes darkening, and just as you were about to speak a command, someone grabbed his arm and gripped it tightly enough to make the man let go. You blinked, your eyes clearing as you looked over to see Natasha standing there, her jaw set in a tight line and eyes entirely calm.   

"I think you should leave now," her voice was low, and she gripped the man's arms tightly enough for him to wince before she let go with a fling.    

The man looked like he wanted to say something, but there must've been warning bells in his head when he looked at Natasha, so he grumbled and turned to leave.   

Natasha turned her attention back over to you, eyeing the kid from the side. Steve definitely did not mention that you had a kid.   

"Natalie! What a surprise. Thanks for that, really," you said sincerely, a happy grin on your face.   

"No worries," Natasha shook her head with a wave of her hand.   

"You're not working today?" You asked curiously. It was only about one in the afternoon.   

Natasha grinned. "Got off early today," she said simply.   

"Lainey...peach..." Allison whined slightly, her lips jutting out in a pout. You turned over with a slight chuckle and roll of your eyes.   

"Alright, alright, I've got the treasure in tow, we can go." You turned back to Natasha, biting your lip slightly. It was a long shot, but why not. Sometimes it was better to keep people like Natasha close to ward off suspicion.   

"Listen, I don't know if you're busy today. We're about to head to Central Park for a picnic. Steve couldn't make it, but would you...would you like to join us?"   

It was a lot to ask someone who you've spoken to just once, even though it was a lengthy time. Natasha considered it for a moment with a tilt her head.    

"I'd love to," she said after a moment. If the opportunity to get to know the mysterious girl presented itself, why not?   

You smiled, "Great! We'll meet you there. Bring anything you'd like, but I do have a lot of food and drinks."   

With that, you went separate ways before shortly meeting up at the park again. You made small talk as you put out a picnic blanket and set everything down. Natasha helped carry some things, and as they sat down, Allison already pulling the kite that you packed.   

"Oh, hold on, I'm just going to get her set up," you said, walking off with the bouncing child.   

Natasha watched from a distance, arms crossed as she sat with her legs pressed together and on her side.   

She thought about calling Steve to see what the deal was with the kid but decided against it since she didn't want to end up answering the hundreds of questions the guy would have about seeing you. Allison didn't quite look like she was yours as the two of you shared different hair and eye colors.  

Maybe a niece?   

Before she knew it, you were back and taking a seat with a small huff.    

"Tired?" Natasha asked with a grin.   

You gave her a wry grin back, "Think I'd be used to that bundle of energy now, but she definitely keeps me on my toes."   

"Is she yours?" Natasha asked with a tilt of her head.   

You shook your head, feeling like a broken record with how much you had to repeat things.

"Oh, no. She's my neighbor's kid. She's a single mom and just got out of the hospital. They don't have any other family in the city, so I offered to watch her. Now, her mom is picking up some extra shifts to make up for what she's missed, so I watch her when needed."   

Natasha gave a small gentle smile. "You have a lot of free time?"   

You shrugged, "Well, I did end up hiring more people and promoted my one employee to be a manager. So, yeah, I guess I do have more free time now."   

Natasha hummed. "I guess your side book rentals does make a good profit after a certain point."   

You laughed, "Sure does! I'm like a blockbuster."   

"You do know they went out of business, right?" Natasha said with a raise of her eyebrow and a smirk.   

"I'll become Netflix then," you replied right back without missing a beat. It caused Natasha to chuckle. With that, you pulled out a thermos and some paper cups.   

"Coffee?" You asked, and Natasha nodded. You handed the redhead a cup, and the aroma already made Natasha feel warm.    

"Mmm," Natasha purred at the taste. "Seriously, there's got to be a secret ingredient in this coffee. I refuse to believe you can just make it this good."   

You jokingly looked affronted. "Well, suck on it. I do just make it that good."   

You pulled out the peaches that you bought, wiping them clean with a wet paper towel, and began to cut it with a knife. Natasha watched, again, with the black gloves but also that it was clear that you were experienced with holding a knife as you cut it with ease and quickly. You took out the pit and shaved off peach skin into a plastic bag and put the sliced peaches in a container.   

"Allison!" You called out. The little girl looked over and beamed with pure happiness as she trotted over for the fruit.   

"Thanks, Lainey!" Allison made a move to grab a slice, but you grabbed the girl's hand gently.   

"Hold it there, my little criminal. The last thing we need is sticky fingers. Here, use a fork."   

Allison grinned as she grabbed the utensil with the fruit already on it and took a bite. She eyed Natasha, and the redhead smiled at her.   

"Are you friends with Steve?" Allison asked, remembering that you told Natasha that Steve couldn't make it.   

Natasha looked taken aback slightly before smiling at the kid. "Yeah, we're friends."   

Allison simply nodded but didn't ask any more questions, which Natasha found a little strange.   

"Okay," she said simply. Maybe the kid was assessing her?   

"Do you like peaches?" Allison asked, and Natasha blinked. She should be more used to this, with Clint having kids and all.   

"Yeah," Natasha replied with ease. "They're delicious."   

Allison grinned, and Natasha felt like she passed some sort of test.    

"Great!" Allison exclaimed, passing over her container with some peaches left. "You can have some of my peaches. I'm going to go play now. If you play with me later, I'll tell you some funny stories about Lainey."   

You looked in disbelief as you looked at the child, "Don't you dare, Allie."    

Allison stood up, grabbing the frisbee, spotting some other children in the field. She laughed, looking at Natasha once more and winked as she ran off.   

Natasha had to put her hand over her mouth as she tried to control her laughter. You glared playfully at the redhead.   

"I can't believe I was just used as leverage for your participation," you muttered.   

"Why? You got some really embarrassing stories?" Natasha smirked.    

You merely pursed your lips together and pretended to zip your lips, and Natasha found herself relaxing a little more. She really should use this opportunity to find out more about you, but she found that it was just natural to be the moment with you.   

But as you handed her a cut sandwich that had a fried cutlet in it with a mystery sauce, Natasha found it was the time to ask about the gloves.   

"Are you a germaphobe? Or perpetually cold?" Natasha found that the weather itself was warm, no need for gloves. She knew some people with arthritis would wear gloves, but the type that you wore didn't seem like it was for warmth.   

"Kind of a germaphobe," You answered, without missing a beat. You took a bite of the sandwich, leaning a little back.   

"Nothing extreme, but working at the café and touching money has gotten me sick a couple times. I don't like touching things directly if I can help it."    

Natasha nodded, enjoying the sandwich. She didn't question it too much when there were people like Tony Stark out there with weird quirks himself.   

"So, I guess since you know I own the café, what do you do?"   

"I'm a personal assistant for Stark Industries," Natasha answered, eyeing your reaction. You didn't seem to react much.   

"Oh, cool. Must keep you busy if you work for Tony."   

"You know Tony Stark?" Natasha asked with an eyebrow raised, and you gave her a look.   

"Who doesn't know Tony Stark? Even I, a hermit, would know."   

Natasha smiled, but she felt it. There was something off about you. Knowing Tony Stark meant knowing about him being an Avenger. So, you had to know about other members who were publicly known. Steve had been doing so many interviews.   

But Steve wouldn't appreciate her asking outright.   

Even if she wanted to, Allison had come back from playing frisbee. You gave the girl a hand wipe and handed her a sandwich and juice that was in a bottle to avoid spilling.   

"Alright, kid. We got enough time for one more game, and we're gonna head out. Your mom said she's going to be home for dinner. Choose wisely."    

Allison pursed her lips, gripping her bottle before she seemed to come to a decision.   

"Jenga! I'm going to win this time."    

You smirked, "alright."   

Allison immediately moved over to Natasha. "Can we team up? Lainey never loses in this game!"   

Natasha blinked, looking over to you, who nodded. The redhead looked back to the kid and smiled. "Alright, we'll secure victory this time."   

"In your dreams! Allie will spill my dirty secrets, so there will be no mercy."   

With the game set up, they began. You were pretty good, but Natasha was just as good. The redhead noticed that you had incredibly steady hands. As you took pieces out, your hand was impossibly still.    

Eventually, they had gotten to where the stack was pretty unsteady, and a lot of the levels had only the middle pieces, including the bottom. It was coming down to that even trying to take any side pieces would result in the stack collapsing. As it was Natasha's turn, she eyed the stack, calculating her best bet. It would have to be the bottom piece. She steadied her hand as she latched onto the piece, and with precision and quickness, she yanked out the piece, the stack moving down perfectly without even swaying.    

Allison cheered, and Natasha smirked at you. You didn't even look phased. You eyed the stack, and just like Natasha, it would be foolish to try to grab a side piece. 

This was it.    

Natasha watched in disbelief as she saw you eyeing a middle piece that was literally in the middle level of the stack with no side pieces.   

No, you wouldn't.   

Would you?  

There was no way you could grab that without having the stack fall over.   

You lifted your gloved hand and put your fingers in a flicking motion, and with just the right amount of force and speed, you flicked the piece out, and it flew right into Natasha. The stack lowered another level and barely swayed as it settled.   

You looked at Natasha smugly.   

"ты серьезно," Natasha muttered are you serious in Russian and she swore, the slight twitch in your lip made Natasha believe that you knew what she said, but as quick as she saw it, it was gone.   

"Ugh," Allison groaned, taking out a piece, making the entire stack collapse. "I'll never beat you, Lainey."   

You laughed as you collected the pieces to put away. "Practice, sweetpea. You can challenge me in the next lifetime."   

You cackled as Allison playfully threw a piece at you in retaliation.    

"Don't worry, we'll get her next time," Natasha said to comfort the young girl who leaned against her and sighed.   

"There's a next time?" You asked playfully, and Natasha tilted her head.   

"Should there be?" The redhead asked back cryptically.   

You licked your bottom lip slightly, the action drawing Natasha's attention to it.   

"Yeah," You said finally. "We're friends, right?"   

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, friends."   

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was a few days again before you saw Natasha at the café. She seemed to stop by more often now to pick up coffee but didn't have the time like Steve did to sit around and chat with you.   

It was fine by you, it seemed like Natasha did find you odd, but not to the point where she was investigating you.   

It was becoming a problem, though. You liked Natasha and Steve, liked spending time with them. But the more you did, the more you were putting yourself at risk, putting David at risk.    

You figured you would have to leave soon. Maybe tell them you had a family member in another country that was ill, and you needed to take care of them. Then, you would die in a fiery car crash with nothing to identify you but your dental records and disappear and start over with a new identity.   

It was another month that passed that neither Steve or Natasha showed up, and it worried you.   

Steve used to stop by 3-4 times a week and Natasha at least 3 times when she was free. You were aware that sometimes they would have missions, but they were always back within days, the latest a week.    

That night, you called David.   

"What's up? Great timing, I have some more news about The Winter Soldier and the descendants." You got an immediate reply.    

"Great, brief me on that later. I need you to look up something else. Something's wrong. I haven't seen Steve or Natasha in over a month. Can you find anything?"   

You could hear something like "good riddance" being mumbled, but you chose to ignore it.   

"Oh shit," David finally said.   

"What? What's wrong?"   

"Steve has been listed as a fugitive. It looks like SHIELD is compromised by HYDRA. Black Widow is most likely helping him, and Nick Fury is dead." 

It was quiet on the other line for a bit, you could hear him clicking on his keyboard.   

You were shocked, and worry overcame you. Steve was a fugitive?    

"Ah shit, this was what I wanted to tell you. The Winter Soldier is in America, caught him on a couple street cameras. He killed Nick Fury."   

"Is the man actually dead?" Based on your past experience, there was no way the man would die that easily.   

"I'll have to look more into that and get back to you. I don't know. There's a lot of shady shit going on within SHIELD. It doesn't look good right now for them."   

"Where are they? Can you find them?"   

"Hold on, let me find any live feed from street cameras." 

The minutes passed by agonizingly as you heard typing on the keyboard and the mouse clicking.

"Okay, I've got visuals. I'll send the details to your phone. What are you going to do?" 

You were already changing and packing anything you might need.

"Well, I know The Winter Soldier doesn't play around. I can't just let them deal with whatever's happening. I need you to send more intel to my cell, okay?"

David was silent. "You know this means you're exposing yourself, don't you?"   

You sighed. "Yes, but...I don't know...I care about them enough."

David let out a huge frustrated sigh. "Fuck sake's, fine. I'll send you some details. You better hope our asses don't get imprisoned."

"Well, if Fury is really dead, we might not have to worry about that too much. Worst case scenario, we can work for Stark."   

"Oh, so we just really exposing our asses to everyone now."

"Well, I highly doubt we'll be able to keep our existence a secret to just two Avengers."   

"I hate you."   

You let out a chuckle as David hung up. You sent a text to Allison's mother that you would be out of town indefinitely handling some personal business, but you left some money and a babysitter's number in Allison's drawer when you were over the other day in case of emergencies.   

Grabbing your car keys, you left.   

Somehow, you knew you were going to change everything by doing this, but maybe that wouldn't be the end of the world.  

PART IV

[jawritter]

Miracle On 37th Street

Summary: Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. 

Part two of: Merry Christmas Sweetheart

Warnings: Language, fluff, mentions of past heartbreak, multiple viewpoints, I think that’s about everything for this one. It’s pretty much flooff lol. 

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo and also for @deanwanddamons 2k celebration! Congrats again hun!

Square Field: Coming Home For Christmas

Prompte: You had me at hello

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2802

A/N: This fic was beta’d by the lovely @miss-nerd95! Thanks again love!! Also fun fact. There really is a 37th street they deck out in Austin, Texas every year for Christmas. It’s pretty awesome, look it up. Please don’t copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

**MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

Jensen’s POV: 

To say that sleep had evaded Jensen was an understatement. All he could think about was you and the hurt in your eyes when you turned away from him for the very last time, and stepped out into the cold. It haunted him. Seeping into his subconscious, and turning into nightmares of blinding snow, and him calling your name, but never being able to find you, you were always just out of reach. 

At around three in the morning he’d given up on sleeping all together and decided it was time to revisit the bottle of perfectly aged Royal Salute he kept for nights just like this. He did note that he’d been seeing this particular friend a lot more since him and Danneel decided it was time to stop fooling themselves and move on to at least try and be happy; but he was way too stressed and heartbroken to worry about his drinking habits right now. 

A quick glance outside his bedroom window told him that there was no way in hell you were flying out to New York before Christmas. It had to be the biggest snow storm Austin had seen in years, and he knew for sure all flights were probably gonna be grounded well after next year began. 

He didn’t know what the hell he expected of you. Why did he think that you'd just fall at his feet after over 10 years of him being a dick and rubbing his marriage directly on your wounds? Fat chance. You were stronger than that, always were stronger than he was. He was a coward when he ran from his feelings all those years ago, and he was still a coward now, hiding three glasses deep in his whiskey and alone. 

He couldn’t let you go back to New York without telling how he really felt for what felt like the millionth time in a row, it would kill him. He had hoped placing the little box on Steve’s door step would be enough. That you’d find it, and maybe you’d see how serious he was. Sitting here without anyone around, now he knew that was just a shot in the dark, so he picked up his phone and tried to call Steve to retrieve it for him, but his phone just went to voicemail. 

That started a whole new set of worries for Jensen. What if you were with Steve? What if you had gone to bed with him? Seeking comfort from a long standing friend that you were never able to get from him?

“Goddammit!” Jensen yelled to the echoing and empty room around him, throwing his phone across the room before running his fingers through his hair harshly, trying to literally pull the cruel images his mind had placed there of you and his best friend together out by the roots. 

He had to go get that ring. If you saw it, it would only make things worse either with you and him or for you and Steve. It was a heartbroken and desperate move that he shouldn’t have made, he should've known better than that. He wasn’t drunk, and it wasn't like anyone would be on the streets in this weather. It was very unlikely for whatever the reason that the two of you were awake still, and it wasn’t like Steve lived that far from him. 

Grabbing his coat and boats Jensen raced to the car through the cold, still steadily falling snow, scrapping the window as quickly as he could, and sliding inside to start the heater so that he could defrost the window enough to back out onto the ice and snow covered road. 

Once he was inside the safety of the car with the heater and defrost going full blast he saw something as he backed out onto the street that made him halt his movements. The small star christmas lights that were hanging on the pole that the town workers placed every year twinkled at him like a small little beacon of hope against the falling snow. It hit him then, the perfect plan to get you talk to him. The time he couldn't mess this up. This was his last chance. Step one was to go get those rings before either Steve or your found them. Then he’d set the rest up in the morning. 

Readers POV: 

“Steve, it’s cold out here. Why the sudden interest in Christmas lights?” you whined at your friend as he pulled you from the warmth of the car, and started to walk down the crowded street through the mass of people heading towards Austin’s main Christmas attraction. The lights on 34th street. 

You couldn’t deny it was beautiful, and something you hadn’t seen in person in a decade or so, but right now you just weren’t in the mood. You’d spent most of last night pissed at Steve for letting Jensen pick you up from the airport when he damn well knew why you left for New York in the first place, and two-seeing hurt you caused in the green eyes you loved as you slammed the car door in his face before going into Steve’s house had not given you the feelings of acceptance, revenge and that you could finally move on that you had hoped for. 

After you had ripped Steve a new one and drank enough alcohol between the two of you to numb you broken and bleeding heart a little, you had decided to just fly home and cancel your interview with the client that had yet to return your calls since you landed in Austin; only to find out that there would be no flights out of any of the local airports until after the New Year. Texas just wasn’t used to this kind of weather, and it had effectively put you home for Christmas for the first time in years, whether you wanted to be here or not.

“Come on, it’s the first year you’ve been actually home for Christmas in over a decade Y/N, it will be fun, you used to love going to look at the Christmas lights on 37th Street.”

You grumbled under your breath as Steve lead you to the little street booth that was set up to sell hot chocolate and cookies, letting him buy you a warm drink to help fight against the bitter cold before leading you to sit down at one of the little tables a little further away from everyone else on the street. 

“Wait here, I’ve got to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said once you were settled, disappearing before you could argue about being left here alone amongst the bustling crowd of strangers. You glare at his retreating back and curse his bladder before looking down into your steaming cup of hot chocolate, taking a sip of the warm liquid and humming at the hot, sweetness as it hits your taste buds.  

The street was beautiful. There were twinkling lights and decorations everywhere, it looked a little bit like a little piece of the North Pole had dropped itself right down in the middle of Texas. You had forgotten how nice it was this time of year around here. The little shops on full decorated display, and everyone seemed to just about know everyone by name, almost like in the movies that play on those crappy hallmark channels. It was sweet, and even if you were hell bent on avoiding it due to a certain someone, it was still home. This was the first time you’d missed the simpler, slower pace in a long time. You didn’t know if it was the nostalgia in the air or if it was the season itself, but this was the closest you had felt to at home in years. 

“This seat taken?” A deep, smooth baritone voice asked from across the table, and your eyes met the green gaze that had been haunting you like an old ghost of your past all night long, that  wounded look which tugged at your heart strings buried not so deep under the surface of his soft gaze. 

“No,” you answer shortly, afraid to see those pathetic eyes that he’d given you when you left him last night.

Jensen gave you a stiff smile and slid into the seat across the small table. Looking around at the passing people who seemed to all but ignore their local celebrity like seeing him was just another Tuesday for them. 

“It’s beautiful down here this time of year isn’t it?” he asked, eyes shifting over the glittering sparkling decorations that were still hung with a small bit of snow that lingered on them, only making them shine brighter against the night sky. 

“What do you want Jensen,” you asked him, cutting right to the point. “I was pretty sure we said all we had to say to each other yesterday.”

Jensen sat up a little straighter in his seat, and looked down at his hands that were folded on the table in front of him before meeting your gaze again. 

“That’s just it, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but scared all the same, letting all his emotions be out on full display for you to see. Not hiding anything at all. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it open and honest for the first time in his life, no matter how much that scared him. “You said a lot, and what you said was valid, but sweetheart I still have a lot I need you to hear.”

You swallowed around the lump of nothing in your throat, but didn’t trust your voice to work, so you just stared at him and waited. Not getting a response out of you, Jensen sat up a little straighter and dug around in his pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box and sliding it across the table at you. 

You stared at it suspiciously before meeting his gaze wearily. 

“You wanted to give me a present?” you ask him a little dumbfounded and he chuckled darkly before sitting back and shoving his hands into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Yeah, you can say that,” he said, guestering for you to open it with a nod of his head. 

Slowly, hesitatingly you picked up the box with shaking hands and began to unwrap it by pulling the little ribbon on top carefully before removing the lid. Inside lay two wedding rings, a broader and bigger one which was definitely for a man and another a gorgeous feminine wedding ring. 

You looked up at him in confusion before taking the small, golden band in your hand and turning it, reflections of the twinkling lights above you making it shine. 

“Jensen, I don’t understand,” you tell him honestly, and this time when you met his gaze there were tears there, burning his eyes a little redder just below the surface that he wouldn’t allow to fall. You swore your heart broke all over again. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than you were used to. You just sat there in silence sensing there was a lot more to this story.

“I hurt you. I did you as wrong as I could go, and I’m really sorry. I used you as a safety net, knowing damn good and well what you felt for me, but I was to afraid of the way you made me feel to ever act on what I should have and instead listen to people that didn’t know shit; people that said she’d be a better fit than you for me.”

Realization hit you, along with a flood of tears that seemed to fall of their own free will as you dropped Jensen’s wedding band into the box and sat it down in the middle of the table as if it were on fire. “Jensen I…”

“Baby please let me finish. Then you can tell me to go to hell, or fuck off for good, but let me do this,” he cut you and you bit down hard on your lip as his own tears started to fall down his perfect face. “Before you even say it, no, you were not the reason I left Danneel. She and I were not good for each other, we were both unhappy, and we both deserved to have something better. She didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did I.” 

You nod to show him that you understood, even if your head was reeling like you were drunk . You could just sense he needed the encouragement to keep going, and you saw him breath a small sigh of relief before he continued. 

“I tried to love her, I swear I did, but no matter what I did or how hard I tried it always came back to you. You may not realize it, maybe I hid it too well, but sweetheart you had me at hello. You asked me last night if I missed you at the altar, and through all these years of milestones I shared with someone else, or even when I was with her. Baby girl, you were always my first thought in the morning and the last one I had before I went to sleep at night.” 

Jensen moved his chair a bit closer to you, taking your hand in his and holding your gaze. 

“The night you left I damn near drank myself to death, and I couldn’t even tell Danneel why. She deserves someone who could give her their whole heart. Mine always belonged to you sweetheart. I know I'm asking for a lot, but if you’d let me, I want to try and make up for all these years I’ve wasted. Years I should have given to you. I loved you then, Y/N, and I still do. Now if you can look at me and tell me you feel nothing for me anymore and walk away I wont try and contact you again, but baby please, please let me do now what I should have done all those years ago. I wanna be yours, if you'll have me.”

You stared at him in complete disbelief for a moment as your mind tried to wrap around his confession. You were numb, but this time not from heartbreak, but shock. You never knew. He’d hidden it all so well. You never knew he had feelings for you at all, and now here he was, asking for a chance. Something you had never even let yourself dream that would happen, and all you could do was cry and he made his way to his knees in the cold snow in front of you, tears of his own falling freely down his wretchedly beautiful face. 

“Please sweetheart, I know this is overwhelming. I know it’s a lot to process, but baby, I’m not above begging, not when it comes to you. Say something. I was the client you were supposed to meet. I was trying to get you down here to me so I could ask for another chance with you. I’m putting everything I have on the line for you here, and it’s all for you. Please”

His eyes showed years of hurt that you were all so familiar with, and all you could do was shake your head and say, “okay.” 

It was all he seemed to need, standing to his feet in front of you, he pulled you up to him, lips meeting yours for the very first time in all the years you had known each other. It was deep, and held so much feeling that it knocked you breathless for a moment. When he pulled away from you, Steve was standing next to you two with a smirk on his face and his arms folded across his chest.

“About goddamn time,” he said, smiling at the two of you, you still nestled in Jensen’s strong embrace as snow started to flurry around you again. This time though it didn’t feel quite as cold. 

“He’s got a lot of making up to do,” you tell Steve, looking up to meet Jensen's soft stare. He looked as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, and you could have sworn he looked years younger standing there in front of you. 

“Baby, I look forward to it, won't let you down now” he told you, brushing his lips against your own once more, sealing a promise of forever, and renewing your faith that miracles did happen, even in the most unexpected place, and even when we think that they never will. 

You just have to keep your eyes, ears and heart open.

Forever Tags: 

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Jensen and Dean’s Babe’s

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[tunedtostatic]

truths and dares

After the Iris 2 crew spends a wild night celebrating together, Sana is wishing through a pounding headache that certain crewmates hadn’t dared her to drink straight from the bottle. Meanwhile, Park seems more concerned with the truth part of the night.

2.5k, Sana/Park (and Iris 2 crew)

Also posted at archiveofourown dot org, /works/33560497 (I’ll put a real link in a reblog)

CW: Drunken shenanigans, excessive alcohol consumption, mostly played for laughs but not totally. Suggestive language, though nothing beyond T-rated if that.

The hangover/coffee storyline is a retread of the premise of @iffeelscouldkill’s wonderful Sana/Campbell fic “Strong Coffee and Sourdough,” because my brain went “What if THAT but with PARK?”

Sana opens her eyes and immediately wishes she hadn’t. The sunlights in her cabin on the Iris 2 have come up, and Sana decides she wants to go back in time and kidnap whichever IGR engineer decided, doubtless to optimize personnel efficiency, that cabins should default to scheduled natural lighting. Anything to stop the photons now stabbing into her very soul.

Memories come back hazily: The first batch of moonshine on the new ship. A patch of the Deep familiar to the former Rumor crew, but days away from the more populated routes. Things feeling steady for the first time in a while. A crew dinner and a night of drinking to celebrate.

A lot of drinking. Sana groans, trying to put images together as her head pounds. She remembers sitting at the mess hall table with the others, singing. She remembers racing up and down a hallway with Krejjh and…McCabe?...with some kind of objective in mind, passing a ball back and forth, as the rest of the crew cheered. She remembers sitting in a circle on the floor of the darkened mess, Krejjh dramatically taking shelter in Brian’s arms as someone…Violet?...told a spooky story.

After that, she draws a blank, though she does have an odd sleepy memory of waking up, in this bed, to the sound of…Arkady giggling?

With a frown of confusion, Sana groans again, then sighs. She normally tries to watch her limits a little better than this. Oh well. Deep or no Deep, as Captain, she should probably go check on her ship.

Rubbing her eyes, she steps out of bed, and immediately has to pinwheel her arms to avoid tripping over the sleeping form of Violet, who is stretched out on the floor of Sana’s cabin. Arkady is twined around her, an arm slung around Violet’s chest and her face in the crook of Violet’s neck.

It’s extremely cute, though Sana can’t for the life of her guess why it’s happening on the floor of her cabin. She frowns, noticing that both of their eyes look puffy from lack of sleep. Well, Arkady and Violet awake in here at what Arkady would call “shit o’clock in the morning” would at least explain that last memory. Kind of.

As soon as she steps into the dimlylit hallway, she is hit by the welcome aroma of coffee. Feeling like a bloodhound on a scent trail, Sana heads toward the mess hall.

As she passes the bathroom, she sees what looks like an empty mug on the floor next to the doorway, along with someone’s—Brian’s—glasses. Sana picks up the glasses and polishes them absentmindedly on her shirt, tucking them into a pocket.

There’s also a bedraggled feather boa hanging off the sign on the supply closet door, and Sana squints groggily at it. Since when did the Iris 2 even have a feather boa?

As she comes up on the mess hall, Sana can see that its sunlights are up as well, but at least the mess hall makes up for them with a noticeable increase in coffee aroma. Rubbing her eyes again, Sana gingerly makes her way through the doorway, but before she can step around the corner to the kitchen half of the space, she is stopped by a sight not unlike the one in her cabin.

The hammock Sana rigged up—this one not from safety harnesses—is empty in the bright sunlight, but under it, three of her crewmates are sprawled in a sleeping pile. Krejjh is lying on their back, snoring loudly. Brian seems to have taken it upon himself to act as a human pillow for their injured knee, lying with their leg draped over his shoulder. And, a foot above him, the person who inflicted that injury is lying with their head pillowed on Krejjh’s stomach and Krejjh’s arm around their waist. McCabe is snoring almost as loudly as Krejjh is, their cheek squished against Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana stares in bemusement for another second before shaking her head fondly and inching around the tableau, making her way around the corner into the kitchen.

Park is standing at the counter, fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sana blinks at him for a second before the rest of her brain kicks in. “Park! Good morning.”

Though Sana is sure she made plenty of noise rounding the corner, Park looks oddly startled to see her, keeping his eyes directed at the mug and coffeepot in his hands for a long second before turning to meet her gaze. “Captain. Good morning.” His eyes drop momentarily away and he clears his throat awkwardly. Meeting her eyes again, he asks, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would love some coffee.” Sana stares greedily at the steaming hot liquid in the mug in Park’s hands. Park has very nice hands, strong and sure as they set the coffeepot on the counter and pass the mug…to her?

Sana stares at the mug for a second before her brain kicks in again and she stretches out a hand to take it. “Park, being the captain doesn’t give me coffee priority,” she tells him, amused.

“It will be a hardship to take another thirty seconds to pour my own,” Park intones, deadpan, as he takes another mug down from the cabinet, “but no sacrifice for my commanding officer is too great.”

“Point taken.” Sana chuckles as she raises the mug to her nose, sniffing it blissfully before taking a sip. Oh, that’s good. “Thank you, Park.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.” Park replaces the coffeepot in the coffeemaker, raising his own mug to his lips. “You look like you need it.”

Sana eyes him suspiciously. Was that a drag? His voice is as bland as ever, but of course with Park that doesn’t mean anything.

Setting the mug down on the counter, she raises a pessimistic hand to her hair. Sure enough, she can feel it escaping its former ponytail to form a chaotic frame around her face. Glancing down, she can see that her shirt, which was already stained with engine oil, is crooked, Brian’s glasses still poking out of her pocket. At least she wasn’t wearing any makeup last night. “I must look a disaster.”

Park snorts into his coffee. “Don’t worry, Captain, you always look—” He blinks, as if his own brain is suddenly catching up with his mouth. “Like a captain,” he finishes lamely.

Sana smirks, wondering what he was going to say. “Like the undisciplined captain of a scrappy smuggling ship, you mean?” She eyes Park’s tidy button-down shirt, pilfered from one of the storage lockers onboard. “I guess to your discerning eye, a hungover smuggler captain with hair from here to Neptune isn’t that different from a smuggler captain at her glossiest.”

“Something like that,” Park says drily, taking another sip of coffee, and Sana laughs.

“Thanks for the coffee, Park. I definitely needed it.” She winces. “It seems like last night got a little…wild.”

“I think certain members of the crew, including you, may have…imbibed a little more than originally planned.”

“Yes, I’ve been getting that picture,” Sana says drily, wincing again. “Park, I…do usually try to watch my limits a little better than this. I’m not sure exactly…” She trails off.

“Well, you can lay part of the blame for that on that final, uh, drinking game.”

Park’s voice has turned suspiciously sheepish on the last words. “Drinking game?” Sana prompts.

“Truth or dare.” Park’s voice is mild again. “Specifically, the part when your pilot said, ‘Time to get Cap’n Tripathi wasteeedddd—’ Park’s Krejjh impression is eerily on point. “To which you said, ‘Someone needs to be able to keep an eye on the emergency alarms,’ to which Patel said, ‘Violet and I already agreed to stop for the night, Sana can get fucked up if she wants to.’” He sets his empty mug on the counter, reaching for the coffeepot. “At which point Liu said something to the effect of, ‘Go, Captain, go! Woooooohoo!’”

Sana groans.

Park looks amused, though this fades a little as he adds, “Uh, I think the thinking was that those who were a little more sober would keep an eye on the rest of us, but after McCabe dared you to drink straight from the bottle, things got a little…out of hand? If, uhm, memory serves—” He winces, the first visual indicator Sana has seen underlining his self-categorization in ‘the rest of us.’ “If memory serves, that was when Liu did think to spirit the booze elsewhere. She and Patel went to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t, um, stop breathing, and things here—” He nods toward the pile of crew under the hammock, “wound down to their natural conclusion.”

Krejjh, Arkady, Violet, RJ, I am going to kill all four of you, Sana thinks, though she has to concede that the person she’s actually mad at, or maybe rattled by, is herself. Getting drunk is one thing; passing out too drunk to be left alone is a different story.

For right now, she just sighs. “Sounds like we need to revisit our protocols for how much booze gets brought out in one night.”

Park has raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth at ‘protocols,’ but Sana premeditates him. “Informal protocols. The word ‘protocol’ was probably never spoken.”

Park snorts again, taking another sip of coffee.

“Anyway, thank you for the update, Park.” Sana leans against the counter. “At least no harm was done.” She thinks back to Arkady giggling in the early hours of the morning, and the puffiness of her and Violet’s eyes. They must have stayed awake until morning keeping an eye on her. Well, at least they seem to have kept each other entertained.

“Yes. Um.” Park sounds uncharacteristically uncertain. “About that. I’m…uh, I’m glad I happened to catch you this morning before the others…Well. Alone.”

Sana frowns curiously at him.

When he begins again, his voice is professional. Too professional.

“Captain. I’d like to apologize for what I said last night.” He winces. “Uh. Even if you don’t remember what I’m apologizing for, which it seems you don’t. But if you happen to, or someone mentions it…I thought I should apologize.” He squares his shoulders. “It was a tactless thing to say and I give you my assurance that it will not impact our working relationship going forward.”

Sana eyes him, deciding on a gentle, “It sounds like we were all pretty drunk, Park. Whatever you said, unless it was a confession of…I don’t know…” She tries to think of a crime that would actually set him apart from the rest of her crew. “Killing…a planet…for fun, I think we can overlook some less than tactful words.”

“It wasn’t,” Park mumbles into his coffee. “That kind of confession.”

Sana frowns again, confused.

“During the ‘Truth or Dare’ game.” Park’s voice is a careful monotone. “Krejjh asked me, ‘Former Agent Park, if you were to smooch anyone on this ship, who would it be?’ and I said, well, you.”

“Oh.” Sana takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She can see why Park is freaked out, but, she tells herself, it all sounds fairly standard for a drunken crew escapade. It didn’t—doesn’t—mean anything more than that. “Well, it sounds like they didn’t give you the option of saying ‘Absolutely no one aboard, thank you,’ so picking the first crewmember you could think of who wasn’t in a committed monogamous relationship sounds like a very reasonable…”

“I also said,” Park continues miserably, “that you were not only the smartest criminal I’d ever tracked but also the sexiest captain I’d ever met, that Roderick Quincy Cresswin Junior didn’t know what he was giving up when he betrayed you and left you and everyone you cared about to die horribly on Cresswin Landing, that if Ignatius Campbell loves you as much as it sounds like he does then he was an idiot not to kiss your beautiful face last time you were on Telemachus, and that anyone lucky enough to love you should strew nuts and bolts and rivets and flowers in your wake wherever you walked. Or flew.”

Upon finishing this recounting, Park stares into the middle distance, and Sana leans against the counter, staring at him.

“Park,” she says feebly, “You know I’m not technically a captain, right? I don’t have any accredited training—”

Park, who still looks like he wants the kitchen floor to swallow him up, gives this the non-answer it deserves, and Sana takes another few seconds to compose a less inane response.

“Well,” she says, in her best captaining voice, “Sometimes when a group of humans drink together, some, uh, horny language happens. People find other peoples’ bodies attractive; booze removes some verbal filters around that. You were too far gone to have the filters you would have wanted to have; you clearly didn’t mean it in a creepy way, and it doesn’t have to affect anything in our working relationship.”

Park relaxes. “Thank you, Captain.”

He hesitates, still looking a little uncomfortable. “While we’re discussing this, I should add for the sake of completeness that I feel a certain attraction to you all the time. It wasn’t just finding you, uhm, ‘sexy’ while I was inebriated. But I assure you I won’t let it affect our working rel—”

“You do?” Sana interrupts. She can feel herself staring at him as several weeks’ worth of pieces finally fall into place.

She’s definitely blushing.

“I do.”

“Park,” Sana says gently. “For the sake of…completeness…I’ll add that I feel a certain attraction to you. All the time. As well. But—”

Sana looks at him, really looks athim: this attractive man who three weeks ago was an IGR agent representing everything Sana is against, who calls her Captain and still flinches at sudden movements in his peripheral vision.

“But,” Park finishes for her, “there are a lot of ‘buts.’”

“Yes.”

“Whatimesit?” Across the room, Brian is blinking in the faux morning light, looking bemused to see his fiancé’s leg draped over his shoulder. “Wheresmglasses?”

At his motion, Krejjh starts to stir. RJ blinks and makes a face at the sunlights, squeezing their eyes shut and trying to bury their face in Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana smiles at Park. He gives her a small smile back, and Sana feels as though they have settled themselves onto the same team, two people facing a universe of strangeness both external and internal.

“We’ll talk about this more. Sometime.”

Park nods, his usual taciturn motion.

“Good morning, crew,” Sana calls as she makes her way toward the pile of hungover crewmates under the hammock. “Good news! Park made coffee!”

[coldmorte]

How you think Dutch likes Arthur's hair to be? Medium, short or long? And does he likes Arthur clean shaven or not. I know it is weird question. 0///0

Okay, anon. I want to say straight-up that if I did not have a big ass history paper to write, I would have turned this into a drabble/short fic on the spot (that is why I didn’t reply right away. I was seriously considering it. But AHHHH I know I won’t have time until this weekend at the very earliest sooo I figured I might as well just put this out there for now, and perhaps, it shall be revisited on a more serious level when I can give it the attention it seriously deserves… if anybody would like.)

(Or maybe, you are asking for your own sake, and if that is the case, I would love to learn what anybody else might turn these general thoughts into 😱)

Anyway, these are VERY great questions. I don’t think they are weird. I have been giving them lots of thought, so here are some of the headcanons and ideas I came up with! 😘

About Arthur’s hair…

Dutch definitely likes something he can grab onto and run his fingers through. Medium-long is best for that. However, he would be okay with somewhat shorter hair, but not less than a good two inches (and certainly not shaved).

When I first saw this, I immediately imagined them somewhere risky (like behind a saloon or on the edge of camp). Arthur wants Dutch, but he is hesitant about their location.

Arthur prefers a definite feeling of security, while Dutch thrives on the threat of discovery and danger. It’s like a turn on for him.

Dutch combs his fingers through Arthur’s hair gently as he presses himself closer.

Arthur tries to resist, but he doesn’t put too much effort into it. Dutch knows that despite Arthur’s statements to the contrary, he can find a way to get Arthur to give in.

Suddenly, Dutch twists his fingers hard into the hair at the base of Arthur’s head and holds him there. The grasp isn’t so much painful, but it certainly is powerful and hard to break.

Dutch leans in, then. He captures Arthur’s lips in his own, aware that he has him right where he want him.

Dutch knows he can release Arthur afterwards, yet he keeps his hand wrapped in his hair as he tugs at it tenderly. He enjoys the feel of it all.

As for hairstyles…

Dutch isn’t too picky about this, but there are a couple of ways of looking at it.

If Arthur’s hair is a bit messy and unkempt, Dutch enjoys the carefree and rough aspect. Arthur isn’t necessarily trying to impress anybody, and Dutch respects that. He admires Arthur just the way he is without needing anything special.

However, if Arthur’s hair is neatly combed with pomade applied to it, Dutch also enjoys watching it get tousled. He revels in the fact that he was the one to “leave a mark” on Arthur by allowing their actions to be physically seen in the state of his hair afterwards.

Dutch loves to watch Arthur try to put himself back together and appear presentable when they depart. Maybe, if he is in a particularly vulnerable mood, he even helps Arthur out. But watching is still his favorite part.

Side note - the longer Arthur’s hair is, the more prone it is to becoming a mess. This is another reason why Dutch prefers it to be longer.

As for facial hair…

Dutch likes a short beard (think level 2-3, maybe 4).

It has a coarse aspect to it. It’s unrefined.

The feel of it all… it’s a constant reminder of just how “wrong” their actions are in the eyes of high-society. Dutch is definitely turned on by the knowledge that the people he loathes would be repulsed by what they are doing. He loves it. 

Clean shaven just doesn’t have that same “forbidden” feel to it.

Mmm, but now, I have a random question for you (or ANYBODY who sees this). It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, and I am considering even finding a way to write a fic about this...

What about DUTCH and his hair?? More specifically, his decision to cut all those beautiful curls off? 

It cleared happened somewhere between 1907 and 1911, but it’s the motivation for the change that captivates me. As an apologist, I take the interpretation that Dutch knew he messed up with Arthur and deeply regretted it for the rest of his life. He was at Mount Hagen for the same reason as John - to kill Micah. He thought if he could accomplish that, it would bring some sort of closure to the mistakes of his past, but even after Micah was killed, Dutch realized it really didn’t accomplish anything.

The past still haunted him. Arthur was still dead.

I imagine Arthur also had a fondness for running his hands through Dutch’s hair (who could resist??) The feel of those curls, the pomade slick on his fingers… 

Whenever Dutch looked in the mirror, he was reminded of what he lost.

Now, I’ll try to bring this full-circle. Dutch thought he could fix some part of the past and the ache within himself by helping to kill Micah, but in the end, it changed nothing. No matter how hard he tried not to, he thought about Arthur. 

A lot.

Thinking about Arthur and the way Dutch used to love running his hands through his hair continually triggered the memory of Arthur doing the same for him. He became deranged by the fact that he could not escape, so he sought to literally “cut” the painful memories out of his life (by chopping his hair off). He tried to force himself to move on from the past, but his inability to cope with it and find reconciliation for his wrongdoings only made himself more miserable.

It was never the same without Arthur. It never could be.

Anyway, I hope this very long-winded as usual response provides you with some thoughts!! Asks pertaining to VanderMorgan are ALWAYS loved and appreciated here!!! ❤️🖤❤️

[galacticlamps]

Tagged by @the--highlanders​ ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

[fabulouspotatosister]

Reset - Part Five: Back to Normal

a/n:  Finally, we're here at the end of this fic! It's been super fun getting to revisit this fic and my love for Eleven, and writing this has been super fun too! Thanks so much everyone for enjoying this fic, and I hope you enjoy the final part!  Credit to @kisstherainwriting​ for "Forbidden Orbits", the Doctor's favorite romance novel. Used to be his favorite romance novel. Haha. Again, enjoy!

word count: 4,415

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five: You are here!!]

gif credit: @mcgonagalle​

"I promised you a beach trip, didn't I?"

 You squint at the metallic panel in front of you as saltwater sprays your face. It's set into the sand, its metal surface pristine and shiny despite all the water that must be covering it on a daily basis.

 The Doctor laughs and peers down at the panel. "Welcome to Helnypso! I do hope this place isn't abandoned."

 At the sound of his voice, the panel flickers to life with a display that reads Helnypso Resorts: Have a Whole Planet to Yourself.

 "Welcome to Helnypso," a tinny voice says. "Identification, please?"

 You raise your eyebrows and turn to face the Doctor. "I don't think we ever made a reservation."

 "No, we didn't," The Doctor says. He fishes his sonic screwdriver and psychic paper out of his coat - he presses the psychic paper against the panel with one hand while he points the sonic screwdriver with the other. He grins at you with his "oh-I'm-so-impressive" face the whole time. "I think you'll find our credentials are all up to code. The Doctor and his companion."

 Companion. You just smile back at him and hope that he doesn't notice your eyes. "That's me!"

 There's a slight pause, then a mechanical whirr as the panel processes your information - then the panel speaks again. "Sir, I beg to differ."

 The Doctor pauses and frowns. "Excuse me?"

 The voice from the panel makes a strangled noise, then something like a cough. "You say she's your companion, but here it says that she's… she's your wife."

 A heavy silence falls. All you hear is the sound of the waves crashing against the endless beach and your heartbeat beating loud and steady in your chest. You can't deny the shiver that goes up your spine at the word wife, and you can't tell whether it's a good shiver or a bad one.

 And the Doctor - his hair blowing in the breeze, his face a little damp from the spray of the ocean, is as unreadable as ever.

 "Well," the Doctor starts, glancing at you, "sorry. That's on me. Yes, she's my wife."

 He pockets the psychic paper before you can snatch it out of his hands and ask him about it.

 ---

 "Unpaid bills!" The Doctor laughs as he stumbles into the console room. "I'll admit, that's a first for me."

 You cough and run a hand through your hair, shaking the sand out - it falls onto the floor and starts making a small pile at your feet. "Why did you even agree on the Sweethearts Package if we weren't gonna pay for it?"

 The Doctor straightens and pats the front of his coat. Grains of sand flutter to the floor. "I can never resist a good discount."

 You shake your head and sigh, but you're smiling. "We can't go back there again."

 "Yes, they'd arrest us and I hear the death penalty is very popular in that system." The Doctor grimaces, claps his hands together, and bounds towards the console, already fiddling with the countless levers and buttons. His smile widens as the TARDIS sets off, the ship shaking slightly as it takes off of the planet. "Ah, it doesn't matter. There are better hotel planets. We could try Henestea, or Alreneth - absolutely beautiful places -  Henestea has treehouses, love a good treehouse -"

 Are we going back to normal now?

 You find the answer to that question watching the Doctor ramble on about different resort planets - to him, it seems to be a resounding yes. His voice fades into the background and you feel something looming above you, something heavy and crushing that you're not sure you can deal with right now. Not when the Doctor looks so happy.

 It's been non-stop since you escaped the Director - Helnypso was just the third stop in what you felt like was a long list of distractions. Time is arbitrary on a time machine, but you know it's been a while since then - a long while of running away. When the Doctor looks up at you, you plaster a smile on your face.

 "Uh, Doctor, I was thinking -" You clasp your hands together, resting them right where your traitorous heart is, and you smile because if you're smiling, he's not going to notice anything wrong. "You could pick where to go this time."

 "Well, you're a bundle of joy." He pouts. "It never turns out well when I pick."

 "Yeah - I don't think it matters, though," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "You know, something always happens, and all that."

 The Doctor sighs, and nods his head towards a set of switches - you reach over and flick them up in rapid succession. The TARDIS stops shaking and stabilizes, probably drifting in space. "I suppose there is.”

 Whatever was hanging above has fallen - a heavy blanket of tension, a tension you haven't talked about properly for days since you escaped. The TARDIS has never felt so cold - or is it just you? The Doctor looks just fine. But you can never really tell with the Doctor.

 "I'll, uh -" Your voice cuts through the silence. "Get all this sand out, and then - maybe get some rest, while you decide."

 It comes through more like a question. The Doctor nods, and the light of the TARDIS shifts, suddenly a little bit darker. He moves to a different spot on the console, turning away from you. "Right. You humans and your sleep. Go ahead."

 The first step away from him feels like denial. The second step sparks a bit of anger in your heart, but by the third step you've pointed the anger away from him and right at yourself.

 "Okay," you manage, your voice small, and you think you see him take a deep breath in, and hold it. "I'll be back."

 Not soon, you think as you walk out of the console room. You don't look back. You don't see that the Doctor does.

 You're still angry, practically fuming, by the time you've carried yourself into the TARDIS hallways. The lines between anger, guilt, and embarrassment have all blurred and are now mixing in you like the world's messiest cocktail - what were you thinking, believing that one strange adventure would change anything between you?

 It isn't until the fifth minute of walking that you realize you haven't found a door yet. The TARDIS hallways are massive and endless, always leading to different places, never predictable. It made going from one room to another fun, usually - but you had been walking for five minutes, doing nothing but wallowing in your own feelings.

 "Look, I just want to sleep, okay?" you call out. The TARDIS had a mind of her own, and she could be quite snappy if she wanted to. "Can you please put my room a little bit closer?"

 Your voice echoes throughout the hallway - the only response you get is the faint humming of the TARDIS. You sigh and squeeze your eyes shut.

 "What, are you mad at me?" You walk a little bit further, wrapping your arms around yourself. The TARDIS still feels cold, and you're still in clothes ready for a beach planet. "Look, I haven't upset the Doctor, if that's what you're worried about."

 Or had you? Again, you could never really tell with the Doctor - sure, he had his moments, moments of happiness, anger, and sadness, but within the confines of the TARDIS you rarely saw those things at all. He was always somewhere else, fiddling with the console, keeping himself busy.

 Maybe you had upset him and he just wasn't saying anything about it. But the Doctor would let you know if he was cross with you, he always had. If he really was upset, what made this time any different from the others?

 You groan inwardly.

 Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice that the hallway has shortened in front of you. You stop and look up - in front of you is a set of big wooden doors. They look worn with age and behind them you can hear the sound of a fireplace crackling.

 "Where have you led me now?" you ask. The TARDIS still doesn't respond, but you feel a little better - curiosity is a better feeling than anger. You press your hands against the wood and trace its surface.

 You're not prepared for what you see when you gently push open the doors. You see books, shelves and shelves of books that seem to go on for miles. Tables piled high with books and papers, some empty and some full of scribbles written in alphabets that you don't recognize. Your gaze keeps travelling upwards, and the bookshelves just keep on going higher, staircases and ladders spiraling higher and higher into the air.

 So this was it then - the legendary TARDIS library. A whoosh of breath escapes you. You'd only heard of it in passing, and now that you were finally here it felt like stepping into the TARDIS for the first time. I hope you're not too jealous about that, you think, hoping the TARDIS can hear you.

 The room's warm, and it smells amazing. You wander through the room, tracing the spines of books and marveling at just how many there are - the books are in different shapes and sizes, some of them thicker than three pillows stacked together and some of them as thin as a single sheet of paper.

 The lights get dimmer and dimmer as you continue to walk. You feel like you're being drawn to something - when you stop at a random shelf to look at the titles something tells you to keep walking, and so you do.

 The shelves open up into what can only be described as a "reading spot". There are a few desks strewn around, but at the front of the space is a crackling fireplace, surrounded by several comfy-looking chairs.

 The whole place feels closed off, separate from the rest of the library. You walk up to the bookshelves, finding them covered in a thin layer of dust. Whatever this part of the library is, the Doctor hasn't been here in years. Your curiosity only builds, and you pick out a random book.

 One glance at the cover is enough to make you snort. It's one of those cringey romance novels, with the shirtless buff men and fainting ladies painted on the covers. "Forbidden Orbits", it reads on the front, in the same gilded font that these kinds of novels always seem to use.

 The book opens with much resistance - it hasn't been opened in a while, and its pages are yellowed, and you can spot dog-ear folds every few pages. You raise your eyebrows, though, by the end of the book - its last page is still there, miraculously intact.

 It dates the book to a time before the Doctor ripped out the final pages of books, and as far as you knew, he had always been doing that. The Doctor didn't seem like the type to read fluffy romance novels, but perhaps another Doctor had been.

 You skim through the rest of the books close to it and they all seem to be in the same category. You stifle another laugh with your hand.

 You carry the book with you and settle yourself into one of the comfy chairs. It almost swallows you - you sink right into the plush thing, and you choke out a laugh. But you're comfortable, so you flip the book back to its very first page and start reading.

 You don't mean to start falling asleep. You really don't. But the warmth of the fireplace, the faint hum of the TARDIS, and how incredibly comfy this chair combined is enough to make your eyelids grow heavy. You slip into a dreamless sleep, "Forbidden Orbits" still open in your lap.

 ---

 The TARDIS puts the library a little closer for the Doctor.

 He's not good at waiting. He's never been good at waiting. In fact, if there was a list of things he wasn't good at, waiting would be at the very top. And when he waits, the Doctor notices things. So the Doctor notices that you've been gone for a little too long, and he starts to worry.

 Now that, he's good at. Worrying about you, especially. He practically runs out of the console room and the first door he sees are the doors of the TARDIS library. The doors open for him without even a creak, and when the Doctor steps in he notices a little sound.

 He follows the sound, and when the lights start to get dimmer and the ceiling starts to get lower he starts to worry again, but for an entirely different reason. He's told the TARDIS to put that old wing of the library far away - old shame, he calls it, stuff that he'd never admit he enjoyed at the time - and if you've found it, he's in for a full day of teasing that he can't handle.

 He peeks from behind a shelf and a weight lifts off his hearts - the sound is just the sound of your soft breaths, and you're fast asleep.

 The Doctor's never walked this quietly before. He walks up to your sleeping form, sprawled out on a chair, and he feels an unexplainable fondness fill his hearts. He reaches out, gingerly, and brushes your hair away from your face. His hand catches on your temple, where you've haphazardly placed a bandage over the wound left by the simulation, and he frowns. Did he never get a good look at that?

 The Doctor's gaze travels down, to your lap, and his face burns. "Forbidden Orbits" lays open in your lap, on the twentieth page. He snatches it up and throws it back into the bookshelf, where it belongs.

 ---

 "Hey..."

 You groan and squeeze your eyes shut, clumsy fingers grabbing at whatever's trying to disturb your precious sleep. The crackling of the fireplace has died down, and you shift in your seat. Your brain is protesting, but your mouth hasn't quite caught up yet, so all you can do is mumble disjointedly and hope that your message is clear: "Please don't wake me up yet."

 You were having such a nice dream too - the events of the dream are hazy now, and when you try to grab at them they blow away into nothingness. But the dream's left a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart.

 You hear an amused huff, and feel a hand cup your cheek. You melt into the touch, a satisfied noise finding its way out of your mouth, and you smile. "Good dreams?"

 You hum in reply. There's another amused huff, and a thumb starts to gently rub your cheek. "You need to wake up now, I've got to take a look at you."

 "Don't wanna," you mumble, still trying to hold on to that warm and fuzzy feeling. You're still so comfortable, nestled in the soft fabric of your chair, and you really never want to leave. "Comfy. Tired."

 "I know." The hand on your cheek disappears, and the skin of your face feels cold. "That's my fault, a little bit. But come on, I gotta move you. It's easier if you're awake."

 You open your eyes and peek up through your eyelashes - your vision clears, and you see the Doctor kneeling in front of you.

 He smiles at you, gently, and it's brilliant. He looks a little flustered, his hair messy like he's been running his hands through it, but he's never looked better. You smile dopily at him, still a little bit sleep-addled, and he laughs softly. "Hey, sleepyhead," he says, and all you can think is that you could never get tired of looking at him.

 "Hey," you mumble, pushing yourself upright with your elbows. "Sorry. It's just so comfy here, I just drifted off..."

 "I don't blame you." The Doctor looks around, his smile growing wider. "It's a wonderful place to take a nap in."

 Your hands fall into your lap, and it's - empty… You raise an eyebrow. "Hang on, where's the book I was reading...? What was the title again? Forbidden -"

 You look up at the Doctor and he sputters, flushing a bright red. He hushes you before you can get the whole title out, raising his hands to cover your mouth - you catch his hands in yours, laughing.

 "You weren't meant to see that," he stutters, "or this entire wing. I thought I told the TARDIS to seal this up - did she put you up to this? Maybe I can find a way to jettison this entire area off the ship -"

 "It's fine," you say, still laughing. The Doctor doesn't look calmed by that, his eyes still wide and frantic. It's fun seeing the Doctor all ruffled. "Your secret is safe with me."

 "And it should stay that way," the Doctor huffs. He pries his hands out of yours, sticking them in his coat. Then, a little louder, "Anyway, I said I was going to take a look at you, so here I am."

 "Why?"

 The Doctor raises his eyebrows and nods at you, pulling out a bottle of liquid and a patch of cloth. "Your temple's still hurt."

 Your reach up and touch the plaster - you'd thrown it on just before the Doctor dragged you to Helnypso - and you wince.

 "Trust me," the Doctor says, uncapping the bottle and pouring it onto the cloth, "I'm a doctor."

 "Thought you were the Doctor," you say, and the Doctor laughs.

 "I am!" He puts the cap back on the bottle and stuffs it back into his coat. His coat has to be bigger on the inside too. "I've got the title, I should put it to good use. I'll take off the plaster now, alright?"

 It doesn't feel right under there, and dread settles into the bottom of your stomach at the thought of taking it off. The Doctor reaches over and pats your knee, giving you another patient smile.

 "You'll be fine," he says, "won't hurt a bit."

 Carefully, he reaches over and peels the plaster off - it stings, but not enough to really hurt. When the whole thing comes off, the Doctor makes a face at it and sets it to the side, hopefully to be thrown away later.

 "Right, turn your face to the side for me, please?"

 You follow, and the Doctor reaches out with the wet cloth. It smells a lot like alcohol, and alcohol on a wound means a lot of pain - you shrink back a little. "What is it?"

 "Oh, this?" The Doctor pulls back and brings the cloth to his nose, cringing at the smell. "Just a disinfectant. It should clean your wound up nicely, get rid of anything that might be hiding in there. Don't worry."

 You try not to worry as the Doctor reaches out again and presses the cloth onto your temple. It feels like ice against your skin, but there isn't any pain. You let yourself relax, your shoulders dropping, and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding.

 "Did I mention it's got nanobots in it?" the Doctor says nonchalantly, still pressing the cloth against your temple. As he says that, your wound starts to tingle, like little sparks of static electricity. "Little robots stitching your skin up for you. Like a mini-construction team, except for your body. I got it as a gift from some interstellar nurses, I never did give them anything back..."

 The Doctor peels the cloth off of your temple and sticks his hand in his coat again, this time pulling out a thin bandage. He presses it against your skin, and you feel it harden and grow taut, almost pulling at your skin.

 "And an Instant Bandage. From the same nurses, too. Revolutionary, the lot of them." The Doctor leans away, clapping his hands together. He's got his "oh-I'm-so-impressive" face on again, and you have to admit - you are impressed. "Well?"

 "Well," you echo. You can't really find any words, and the Doctor takes it as a compliment. "Thanks."

 "Oh, it's nothing." The Doctor smooths the bandage out. His hand lingers on your skin for just a second before he pulls away, dropping his hands to his sides. "I'm just looking out for you."

 "Still - thank you," you say, and you don't miss the way the Doctor's eyes crinkle in a tiny smile. "Really."

 "Yeah," the Doctor says quietly, and you settle into another silence, this one more comfortable than the last. There's still a tension in the air, but it isn't so thick anymore, driven away by the coziness of the fireplace. You can feel the Doctor's eyes on you, even when you glance away.

 The Doctor's voice breaks the silence, soft but sudden. "You're very loud."

 "What's that supposed to mean?"

 The Doctor startles, his eyes widening. "Sorry, sorry - it's just -" he stammers, blinking quickly, "-your thoughts, they're very loud sometimes."

 You can't stop the flicker of panic that jump-starts your heart into overdrive. "You - could hear what I was thinking?"

 "I swear, I didn't mean to!" the Doctor says quickly, holding up his hands, "I promised I wasn't going to go looking where I wasn't supposed to. I did. And for that I am so sorry."

 Curiosity overwhelms your fear for a second - "What did you hear?" you ask, before you can stop yourself.

 The Doctor stares at you, big green eyes still wide with apprehension. His mouth sets into a hard line. "Something about going back to normal," he says, his voice low.

 I didn't even know I was still thinking about that. You frown, your chest growing heavy with the weight of - what is it? Guilt? Sadness? Embarrassment? All three? Your heart's still a mess, and the Doctor's stuck himself in there and mixed everything up.

 "Yeah," you say, pursing your lips in an awkward smile. "I was thinking about that. It's nothing."

 "It can't be nothing," The Doctor insists. He's closer to you now, resting his hands on the arms of the chair. "I -" His voice breaks off, and he looks up, almost frustrated. "I care about you, and so whatever you're feeling can't be nothing."

 Now, the caring bit isn't a surprise. The Doctor has always cared for you, even when it had only been hours since you'd met. What's surprising is the conviction in his voice, the way he says it like a promise, and how much it sounds like -

 The Doctor raises his hand to brush his thumb against your temple, his touch trailing down until his hand cups your cheek. "All of that," he says, "everything that happened. I could take it away, and we'd be back to normal. If that's what you want."

 A reset. "No," you blurt out, meeting the Doctor's eyes. "No, that's not what I want."

 "What do you want, then?" the Doctor asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

 Behind him, the fireplace roars, and so does something in your heart. "Don't you know?"

 Something flickers across the Doctor's face - a shadow, an emotion you can't catch. “Don’t lie.”

 “I'm not lying," you say. You stare at him, lifting your own hands to wrap around his wrist. "And if I was, you'd know."

 You're trembling as your fingers curl around his wrist, your heart beating at a million miles per hour, loud enough to have it thumping in your ears. Slowly, you drag the Doctor's hand down until it reaches your mouth, and then - an echo - you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips to the inside of his palm.

 "I meant what I said," you whisper against his skin, "on the ship. I wasn't lying."

 "You weren't," the Doctor says. His voice shakes a little.

 You open your eyes to look at him, and you counter his watery gaze with your own. The Doctor blinks, gently pulling his hand out of your grasp only to wipe away a tear. "Don't cry," he says.

 "M'not crying," you sniffle, managing a smile. "Sorry."

 "No, none of that," the Doctor chides. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead - then, lower, pressing a kiss to your cheek, right underneath your eye, like trying to wipe away tears. The Doctor's lips brush against the corner of your mouth and you shudder.

 "None of that," he says again, his breath warm against your face. He peers at you, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

 You nod slowly - you've never been so sure about anything in your life, not since the day you decided to run away and join the Doctor among the stars - and the Doctor leans in and captures your lips with his.

 It feels real and is real this time, and you savor every second of it. The Doctor cups his face in your hands as he kisses you, drawing you even closer to him, and drowning is nothing compared to this, you think. He breaks the kiss for a second, making a wordless noise of satisfaction, and when he kisses you again you can feel him smiling.

 You're both breathless when you pull away. The Doctor's grinning widely, still holding your face in his hands.

 "My hearts," he murmurs, "both of them yours."

 "Well, my one heart pales in comparison to your two, doesn't it?" you ask, and the Doctor laughs again. "Don't worry. It's still yours."

 The Doctor hums in reply. Then, softly, like a promise: "I love you."

 You feel your heart swell, and when you breathe out you feel like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders. This, this is what you wanted all along - you let a smile spread across your face. It isn't a dream anymore, or an act. "I love you too. But you know that, don't you?"

 He laughs and presses his forehead against yours. "Can I kiss you again?"

 You wrap your hands around his suspenders and tug him closer – you never have to pretend again. "You never have to ask."

    “You know, I do think Mrs. Doctor does have a nice ring to it.”

 “Doctor!”

Taglist: @starlingelliot​, @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​, @littlemissslytherinprincess​, @just-a-nat​

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Sophia Jirafe

Seven of Sophia Jirafe’s fics are at Gossamer, but more of her X-Files stories are at AO3 (as sophiahelix). I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Stones and Bones. She was active in the fandom during the show’s run and has never strayed far from fandom in general. She co-founded Glass Onion, a great multi-fandom mailing list that now has nearly 1,000 fics from 100 fandoms at AO3. Big thanks to Sophia Jirafe for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It did initially, but so many old shows are on streaming now and getting discovered by new people, it makes sense.

I did get a comment from someone who said my first story under this name, posted in early 2000 when I was a college freshman, was older than her by a couple of months, and THAT took me aback.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was my first fandom, discovered when I was 17 and searching for info about the show on the school library computer, and it really shaped my whole life! I met a lot of people I still know today (mostly in non-fannish venues like FB, though I do still have some connections in fandom), and learned a lot about writing and just life generally, since I was younger than most of fandom at the time.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started off on a tiny forum at a website called Squirrel’s Nest, but I kept seeing people thanking Scullyfic in fic headers and eventually I was able to join the mailing list (which was capped to 500 members). Scullyfic was everything to me — I made friends, betas, discussed the show, learned about all kinds of things on Off-Topic Fridays, etc. A lot of those friends, I would email with or more often chat on AIM (individual or these sprawling group chats that would go on all day), and then at the end of 2001 we started migrating to Livejournal. I was getting into Buffy more by then, but it was still mostly the same crowd of people I knew from Scullyfic.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I feel like it started me on a whole life path really — finding that my deep obsession with fiction could be channeled like that and shared with other people, as well as deepening my writing. Online fandom has been a major part of my social life for over 20 years now, and I love the mix of getting excited about things with friends and also the creative outlet.

My corner of X-Files fandom in particular was just very calm and enjoyable for the most part, full of older professional women who were happy to be friends and give me advice about all kinds of things, and it really set the bar for me with my online interactions. Now I’m almost 40 and trying to be that person for my younger friends, as well as having no patience for toxicity and in-fighting in my fandom spaces.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

A combination of the creepy conspiracy angle and just adoring Scully. I remember how mysterious and fascinating the show seemed when I discovered it right before S5, and there was no way to find out more except to keep watching and hoping they explained. Scully was so smart and tough and beautiful and interesting, and as a teen I was just captivated by her (and the UST, though I didn’t care about Mulder as much).

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I ran across it a couple times early on but felt embarrassed by the concept, but then I read the first in Karen Rasch’s Words series and suddenly it clicked for me. After a while I started daydreaming my own conversations between them, very similar to what happens to me now when I’m getting into a new pairing, so after reading tons of recommended fic by big authors, I started writing my own (the 3-4 stories I posted in high school are all wiped from the internet now, though).

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Good memories, though because it was my senior year of high school and college, I know a lot of it is just tied to that time in my life, and also being in my very first fandom. I will rewatch episodes from time to time, but I basically never revisit former fandoms because they’re kind of like exes, even if I finished on a good note. I also think my taste in fic has changed (and there isn’t the same novelty of “characters I like getting together omg!”)

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

So many! None of them had quite the same combination of excellent central architecture (especially pre-AO3) and a really high level of discussion and friendliness without being enormous, but I’ve loved them all in their own ways. I’ve done fandom on LJ/DW, Tumblr, Discord, and now on Twitter, and I think I miss the mailing list days the most. You didn’t have to repeat yourself so much in multiple conversations, you weren’t character limited, and the discussion was all in one place, with personal stuff more confined to your side conversations. Discord is a little like that, but it moves too fast and there’s too much noise for my taste.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Heh, after X-Files I went through a whole phase of faves in the Scully vein — Buffy, Aeryn Sun, Kara Thrace, etc. Like many people I’ve shifted primarily into m/m in the last decade (Sherlock, YOI, and recently The Untamed have been my major fictional fandoms, along with a lot of sports RPF), but for non-fannish shows I’m always looking for awesome new female characters, like Elizabeth on the Americans, Peggy on Mad Men, Nadja on What We Do in the Shadows, etc. And I do LOVE Killing Eve and have written a little f/f over there.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I’ll rewatch favorite episodes occasionally, and I keep thinking about a full rewatch but it takes so much time! I never saw the second movie, and I didn’t finish the first of the new seasons because I was hating it, so it’s a little hard for me to think fannishly about them when I disliked basically everything after “Je Souhaite” so much (as far as I’m concerned the show ends there).

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

X-Files no, but yeah I’m still very active in fandoms.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I lost all my saved fic several computers ago, but I recall loving “Blue Christmas” by Plausible Deniability and “Diamonds and Rust” by MustangSally (obviously everything she wrote was great).

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Looking at my X-Files fic, I can’t believe how short it is and how comparatively little of it there is (I have lost track of a few ficlets). It felt like such a big deal to finish anything back then! I think my favorite remains Alphabetum, which involved a tricky structure and 5 elements given by people as part of the Scullyfic Improv challenge, where you had a week to write a story around those elements.

My favorite of my recent fic in fictional fandoms is probably the GoT/YOI crossover novel I wrote a couple years ago, for a completely opposite experience to this (and proof you can grow as a writer with a lot of effort!)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

It’s honestly hard to imagine going back (like I said, I usually don’t), but I guess I could get inspired by something.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I certainly still write, and I do have to give credit to XF fandom and Scullyfic in particular for giving me the start I got, where I really wanted to be writing good fiction. The few things I wrote in high school were just me jamming out romantic cliches, but the people I was lucky to know in XF fandom showed me that “just” fanfic can still aspire to be high quality. I am a much, much better and more disciplined writer than I was back then, but I might never have started on this path without fandom friends encouraging me.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually just daydreaming about emotional dynamics between characters/people, but sometimes something specific in canon or real life (I write a lot of RPF) gets me going, or maybe something I read.

What's the story behind your pen name?

When I wrote for X-Files, I picked “Sophia Jirafe” combining my favorite first name with a fancy spelling for my favorite animal (I was 18! Don’t judge!) Over on Livejournal, my friend Jintian and I initially shared an account with the same name as our website, double_helix, and when she got her own account I changed to sophia_helix, which is now sophiahelix just about everywhere. A little clunky, but I like the continuity (and I do run across old friends who remember the name).

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

The friends I’ve known for a very long time know about it, but we have never talked about it in depth. My husband, who I met not long after getting into fandom, also knows about it, and he’s encouraging and also a writer so we talk all the time. I told my mom in college and she was pretty dismissive, so we haven’t talked about it since (but my younger sister knows and is cool about it).

When I was younger, it was something I shared readily (I bonded with a new friend in law school I saw looking at LJ), but now I don’t really bring it up with new acquaintances.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I just made a Carrd the other day with all my various fannish addresses (Twitter, locked fannish Twitter, AO3, Tumblr)

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just that it really was a high quality fandom — so much excellent long casefic, so many cool down to earth people, just generally a great launching place for a young fan. The friendships I made with older people were really important to me, and it makes me sad to see a lot of younger people now getting upset about the idea of anyone over a certain age being in their fandom spaces. I hope someday fandom can get back to appreciating that people of all ages can be the fandom type, and that everyone brings something different to the community.

(Posted by Lilydale on December 1, 2020)

[livesincerely]

Librarian!Davey and Artist!Jack AU you say??? 😏🥺😏🥺

Uh oh! Here comes another round offfffffffffff

✨Thoughts From Ciarra!✨

Okay, so.

I’m still hammering out the concept, but I had this idea for either an ABO or a soulmates fic where Davey is a librarian and Jack is an artist commissioned by the city to paint a mural in their front lobby.

Except! Due to circumstances and shenanigans, Davey meets Jack and immediately realizes that they’re soulmates/true mates/whatever but Jack doesn’t. Then, the whole thing would be a bunch of miscommunications and misunderstandings where Davey thinks that Jack is rejecting him outright because he refuses to acknowledge that they’re soulmates or even talk about it, while Jack is totally oblivious but really wishes that Davey wasn’t so fixated on the whole soulmate/true mate thing because he’s really cute and Jack kinda wants to ask him out, but he’ll respect that he’s waiting for his mate since it’s clearly so important to him.

I had two different ideas for how to set up the initial misunderstanding, depending on what flavor of the au I go with. If it’s an ABO au, I think I’ll have it so Jack broke his nose just before the story starts and while it’s healing his sense of smell is all messed up, so he can’t tell that Davey’s his mate. If it’s a soulmate au, I think we’ll go with a ‘the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your body somewhere’—Jack is in the Art Zone™ when Davey first starts speaking to him, so the only words he catches (and therefore the soulmark he has) is something super generic like “Excuse me?” so he doesn’t clue in that Davey’s his soulmate.

Davey, on the other hand, has the full context—either he can smell Jack or he has a more unique soulmark—so he figures it out immediately. But he doesn’t know that Jack can’t smell him or that Jack didn’t hear the first part of his sentence and consequentially has a super short/generic soulmark, so he thinks that Jack must also know that they’re mates/soulmates and is consciously rejecting him.

Then, shenanigans!

Davey can’t figure out why Jack keeps flirting with him if he’s so determined not to acknowledge the bond between them, and every time he thinks he’s convinced Jack to at least give him a chance, Jack mentions something about how plenty of people find happiness without their ‘destined match’ and soul mates/true mates aren’t the end all be all. Which, obviously, is really hurtful and confusing for Davey.

Then, on Jack’s end, he doesn’t understand why Davey seems so interested one second, then completely closed off the next. Maybe he’s one of those assholes that believes you can only be “truly happy” with your perfect mate? Except he doesn’t seem close minded and, if he really feels that way, then why doesn’t he shut down Jack’s flirting straight out instead of playing along? He’s hinted as obviously as he can without saying it outright that he’s interested in him, and sometimes Davey seems receptive and sometimes he seems like the mere suggestion is a huge disappointment. The hot-cold thing is very confusing and Jack can’t figure out what the hell’s going on.

And then of course, eventually the source of the misunderstanding will come out and they’ll get together. But only after lots of confusion and pining.

But yeah, that’s the idea! I’m sort of leaning towards the ABO version, told from Jack’s pov because oblivious Jack is A++++ and because I had a great time working on invisible strings, so I think it’d be fun to revisit an ABO universe. And also, I’ve been itching to write some more dom/possessive Jack and I think I have an idea for a smutty epilogue that would make a great ending for this fic concept.

But, I also think I could maybe do both ideas?

Like, maybe do one version where Jack’s the oblivious one that doesn’t realize they’re mates, then do another version where Davey’s the one with the incomplete/generic soulmark and doesn’t understand why this very attractive stranger is flirting with him so aggressively? I think oblivious Davey and oblivious Jack behave differently enough that I could come up with two similar, but unique stories, despite them both blooming from the same idea.

Also, I think if I write the mirrored version with oblivious Davey, I’d have them be teachers at the same school—Davey teaches English Literature or maybe Music, and Jack teaches Art—and Jack keeps popping by Davey’s classroom to hang out with and attempt to woo his soulmate. Meanwhile, Davey is just like, ‘wow, Jack sure is wonderful and handsome and totally my type, too bad we’re coworkers and he’s so determined to find his soulmate, oh well, at least we can be friends!’ I also think changing the circumstances will help make the fics feel more distinct from each other, given the identical premise.

That is, if I actually get around to doing both ((or either!)) versions lol. (You know how I am 😅😅)

Ta da!! And that concludes this episode of

✨Thoughts From Ciarra✨