#he's so desperate / his voice literally breaks when the chosen companion tells him to go

[mihidecet]

Sbi&co D&D AU: Friendships and Rivalries

Surprise! Early posting ahahah Simply because I felt like it <3

I do hope you’ll like this! Final chapter before the action really starts, ideally? That is what should happen unless I go off in a tangent ... who knows ahahah

A special thank you to Ranch, Sky and Ozzie from the DnD Discord, who are the people responsible for the last part of the chapter <3

The first time he sees him, it takes him a moment to register who he's looking at. 

To be fair, the amount of people around them is incredibly high, everyone moving in and out of the room to check out who their teammates will be, voices raising in calls and shouts and gleeful yells - so, basically, hell on earth. 

There is nowhere in the world that Techno would want to be any less. If he could leave that instant, he would. But they had decided to accompany Tubbo, Niki and Fundy, who were going to find out the name of their future companion for the next months or so, and it is a very good occasion to scout out the competition. 

So there Techno is, leaning slightly against Phil - not for comfort, why would anyone ever think that - while his eyes scan the crowd, trying to focus on his self-appointed task instead of the uncomfortable feeling rising in his gut.

There are some individuals that he thinks are going to cause problems. The academy students are a given: one may think that lack of outside knowledge and adventuring experience would make them a weak target. Those who think that way have evidently never heard of the academy - which was built and is currently ran by a former adventurer - and have somehow missed the endless training fields just outside the academic buildings. 

But there are also some adventurers that seem to know what they're doing; Phil taps him once or twice to nod towards them. Although to be fair, he doubts that relying only on first impressions is a good thing - their group surely doesn't look like a competent one with Tubbo and Tommy excitedly calling out random names from the board. 

Then, his eyes catch onto green skin. Half-orcs are definitely not that uncommon, especially when in a sea of adventurers, but. It's a half-orc with an axe that seems to be as big as himself, its metal shining over the crowd, helped also by the fact that its owner is definitely taller than average.

So his eyes linger: the signs of Calvin's training are not that evident if you don't know where to look, but Dream has left the nest for so little, and Techno trained with the elf for so long ... It's all in the posture, the almost lazy way he places himself in the world, which highly contrasts with the way his muscles are tense and his shoulders are set. The pretense of relaxation is something that is very dear to Calvin, because it either gets your opponent overly confident, or it makes them extremely irritated and therefore more prone to making mistakes. 

Dream is surely going to be an obstacle in the tournament; him and the short human that's gripping at his arm and shaking it, who'd clad in outfits that resemble almost too closely those of Master Fruitberries. 

Techno lightly elbows Phil's side, distracting him from where he was staring at the row of academics looking down at the groups of adventurers. The druid turns with a small smile, a question in his eyes that is answered when Techno's chin juts out towards the half-orc. 

After a moment - during which Phil's eyes scan the young fighter's form, surely detailing weapons, armour and notable characteristics - he gives a small chuckle.

"So, your infamous rival?" 

Techno huffs, eyes rolling under the hood covering his face - they're not rivals, they were just trained under the same master. There is no sense of rivalry, no feeling of needing to prove himself - certainly not to him, and Calvin hasn't been a part of his life for so long, he doesn't need to confirm the fact that he is definitely better-

His arms cross over his chest without his permission - stupid subconscious movements - and he leans back, further into Phil. He does not care for all … that.

Especially since he has no idea if Dream knows about him - it had seemed so embarrassing to ask Calvin, if he still spoke about "his favourite pupil", "his brightest student", considering how he literally just bailed on him in the middle of the night with no explanation. 

Still, Phil's hand reaches his shoulder, a gentle but firm pressure that forces him to stop curling up into himself while his eyes search him. 

"You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. We know what we're doing, Jerry." Phil finishes with a chuckle, using for him the fake name they chose to keep their identities hidden. 

It makes Techno snort amusedly, which must have been Phil's objective with the way he's smiling at that moment, but it also eases his worries a little. 

It's just another enemy he'll have to face during the tournament. 

Nothing to worry about.

The first time Dream sees Techno, he doesn't realise it. 

He’s walking to his own team’s training field, talking enthusiastically with Sapnap about their new teammates. He's still reeling from the fact that they'll be teaming up with George: a part of him worrying about the endless hours spent annoying the wizard, hoping it won't get in the way of their teamwork - he doesn't know yet that the two of them were chosen, that George hand picked them from a crowd of endless adventurers. George doesn't plan on telling them, but that is a whole other subject.

Still, Dream sees a colourful group of people lead by what seems to be a young tiefling - eyes narrowing with worry and confusion, because … a child? In the tournament? - and doesn’t take note of the hooded giant whose ear is being talked off by said kid. 

And even if he does, his eyes do not linger: it’s probably another overly-dramatic rogue anyway. 

Nothing to worry about.

That very same morning, Tommy had woken up with a spring in his step. 

Finally they were going to have an actual proper place to train in, for what was basically the first time since he'd joined this group, and he couldn't wait to try it out. He'd spent so much time talking with Techno about their plans, since the shifter had taken it upon himself to do a bit of digging to find out what the tournament was probably going to entail; finally they could put all that planning into motion.

Tommy had, surprisingly, been one of the first people to reach the main downstairs area, snagging a table for the whole team while Techno and Niki grabbed chairs for all of them. The three of them started eating, talking strategy together while the rest of the team slowly trickled downstairs. Some more awake than others, with the notable mention of Tubbo, who had never been a morning person and had therefore plopped down on his chair, head pillowed over his arms as he waited for the mug of coffee that Tommy ordered for him the instant he saw his best friend dragging his feet down the stairs. 

To be fair, everyone in the whole tavern seemed to be a bit sleepy, since they'd all stayed up very late - probably to celebrate the team formation announcement, but adventures rarely needed a proper reason to party. 

The last one to join them had been Fundy, who had half ran down the stairs and almost smacked into a dragonborn on his way to their table - slowing down as he reached them to pretend he hadn't been in a hurry, as if nobody had been watching him stumbling over his feet. 

"Oh, for the love of the gods above, are you still talking about training? What nerds."  The mage had groaned, leaning back into his chair with a chuckle, ignoring the irritated look Tommy sent him. 

"You literally carry around a book that's as heavy as you are!" Tommy protested, gesturing towards the mostly pristine tome half-hidden under the shifter's dark jacket, but Fundy simply waved dismissively at him. 

"Aren't you worried we'll copy your strategies, too? We're supposed to fight against each other!" Fundy commented with a coy look, raising an eyebrow inquisitively towards Tommy as he raised his mug to his lips to take a rather dramatic sip. 

Before Tommy could find a good retort to that, Techno's low voice raised over the gentle chatter of their table. 

"Brave of you to think I don't already know multiple ways of crushing you to the ground." 

The deadpan in Techno's tone, combined with his words, had Fundy instantly choking on his drink - the sound of his coughing covered by Phil's wheeze on Tommy's left while Niki tried to pat him on the back, stifling her own laughter behind her hand. 

Still, in the end that is what they agreed on: they would train separately, avoid helping each other more than necessary, and they decided to ban tournament talk during breaks. For all that Tommy wanted to spend all the time they had preparing, he was also aware that this was definitely a long process, and rushing into it would only make them all more tired.

But on the other hand, they had a week to spar and practice, so they were definitely planning on making the most of it. 

After breakfast they all returned to their rooms, gathered what they needed, and then hurried to the fields, with the promise of meeting back again only once the day was over. 

Which lead Tommy to his current situation. 

What the fuck are you doing to these poor eggs?! The indignation in the voice of his patron is palpable, the demon's words resonating in his head for a moment due to the sheer loudness of it. 

Tommy huffs and rolls his eyes, continuing to move the eggs around on the metal plate with the wooden spatula Phil had carved out of a thin branch. The pained noise his patron lets out when he stabs into a yolk reminds him of a whining puppy. 

Why, why, why?! Just leave them alone, let them get nice and crispy! Don't you humans know how to cook?

Just for that, Tommy breaks another egg open and instantly breaks it apart, a part of him relishing in the desperate "no!" that follows. 

"I know how to cook, bitch! Why would I fry them, this is so much better!" Tommy grumbles under his breath, moving his other hand to the underside of the metal pan to strengthen the flame. Wilbur shoots him a curious look from where he's leaning against the tree, fixing one of the bandages around his fingers which had gotten loose from all the playing he'd been doing that morning. 

Why would you scramble perfectly good eggs?! Tommy lets out a frustrated groan, the hunger in his stomach doing wonders for how quickly he's able to get riled up, and he waves the spatula wildly in the air - thankfully, years and years of training prevent him from burning instantly the wooden tool in his hand, otherwise that would have been quite awkward. 

"I like my eggs scrambled! Suck it up, this is what I'm getting!" He yells out, which immediately prompts the other to look over towards him. His patron huffs out in his mind, and Tommy can picture him crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. 

Alright, whatever, your loss, bitch.

Tommy doesn't notice Wilbur standing up from his spot under the leaves, but he does notice the nudge in his side as the tiefling stands next to him. 

"Is good ol' cousin being a dick?" He asks, looking down at the eggs while Tommy snorts in laughter. 

"Yeah." NO! the two of them answer at the same time. Only, Tommy's the only one Wilbur can hear, so the young human definitely wins that conversation. 

"He's always been a picky asshole about food." Wilbur comments, absolutely unaware of how the demon in Tommy's head whines and starts protesting - further proving the tiefling's point. 

"In fact, you know what? -"Wilbur's face suddenly looks almost scary with how his grin turns menacing "- I have plenty of stories I could tell you if he keeps bothering you-" 

I am realizing right now I have something so very important to do don't wait for me see you in a couple of years bye-

Tommy's patron says in what seems to be a single breath of air, words slurring together and mixing with each other before the presence in Tommy's brain disappears. 

The young warlock blinks, stunned into silence at the suddenness of his patron's escape; a part of him wonders what memories Wilbur has of their younger selves that made the demon flee so suddenly.

Still, then thing is … now that he's gone, there's nothing stopping him from asking, right?

"So?? Go on, tell me everything!" The presence is, of course, back in an instant, and if Tommy was concentrating he'd be able to hear his patron physical flailing as he struggles against the intangible in order to stop Tommy.

DO NOT-

Fundy likes the new guy. He's extremely funny, that is for sure, but on top of that he is smart enough to keep up with his ramblings on team composition, and has been able to get along with the three of them quite easily. 

Fundy still considers a win the fact that he wasn't too weirded out by their less than stellar introduction, but in retrospect he shouldn't have worried. Quackity is cool. 

Or at least he seems to be, but Fundy will take it - he knows, despite what his mind likes to make him believe, that he can rely on others without risking too much, that he won't be ditched at the last second and left to pick up pieces-... 

But this is not the best time to be thinking about the past. 

Fundy turns another page on his notebook, the only book in his possession that's ragged and not well kept, and starts tracing down pathlines - the four of them have been talking about possible ways of getting around the obstacle course, since three out of the four of them are not that used to scaling buildings, and Niki can't really help all of them constantly, it would only slow them down as a whole. 

But before he can say anything, there's a sudden gasp from his left side as Tubbo darts upwards and starts running towards the edge of the training field - jumping straight into the arms of his best friend. 

"If you have a spell to make yourself faster, that could still be useful. The less people need help the better!" Quackity comments, bringing Fundy's attention back to the task at hand; the mage nods, now a bit absent mindedly as he watches the rest of their team trickle in their personal training area. He is suddenly more aware of the tiredness in his body and of the overall late hour. They have been working hard all day. They probably need a rest. 

Quackity, sitting in front of him, turns around to follow his eyesight with a questioning look and … Fundy knows he's not the best at noticing things about people, he's usually more interested in magic and how objects work, but he does notice Quackity's whole body flinch and the way his shoulders are suddenly ten times tenser than before. 

A bad feeling settles in his gut as questions start swirling around in his mind - he seemed cool, what is the problem now, and will it get in the way? - and he watches almost petrified as Quackity turns back towards him, two shades paler and eyes unfocused as he seems to be almost shrinking in on himself. 

The bard's body gives another jolt as if he's suddenly hit with a shocking spell as his eyes fall on Fundy's face - who, to be quite honest, was getting kinda worried - and then he blinks, as if coming back to himself with a small nervous chuckle. 

"You good, man?" Fundy asks tentatively, watching as Quackity shoots another look to the rest of the group only to turn back immediately when he notices that Phil is staring at the two of them - thanks, Phil, way to go. 

"I- I, yeah! Of course!" Quackity lies, evidently too shaken up to try and make it believable, but thankfully all Fundy has to do is level him with an unimpressed stare for him to crack - which is not a good sign, but Fundy will take what he can get. 

The bard bends forward, bringing a hand up to hide the movement of his lips from the rest of the group. 

"You never told me you hang out with Technoblade!" Quackity yells with a whisper, an edge of panic and urgency in his tone that makes Fundy burst out laughing, head thrown back as he clutches at his stomach. 

“Oh yeah! He’s a friend, a pal.” Fundy answers, waving around his notebook dismissively but unable to suppress the grin on his face: he hasn't had a chance to do this yet, this "I'm friends with one of the most famous killers for hire in the whole region" reveal, and he must admit he's been looking forward to it. The way Quackity's arms flail around in a mix of shock, anger and fear is definitely worth it.

“You’re friends with Technoblade?!” The bard whispers in panic, eyes wide, and Fundy is chuckling, lost in an internal debate on whether to double down on the traumatizing or to reassure the man, when he realises that Phil has been approaching them. The moment the elf kneels down on the grass, Quackity also notices him and jumps about a mile in the air. Phil, nonplussed, offers him a hand in greeting with a bright smile on his face. 

“Heya, mate! I don’t think we had a chance to properly meet yet, but I’m Phil. I love your songs.” Quackity, as Fundy has found out in the short time he's known him, does not know how to handle honest compliments - it's something the two of them have in common -, so he instantly flushes a bit, scratching the back of his neck self consciously. 

“I-uh- thank you! I really appreciate it!” Fundy sees his eyes subconsciously stray towards Wilbur, which makes him realise that it's not only Techno that has fame and renown; he wonders for a moment if Quackity's Techno-induced anxiety is also related to the fact that wherever the Blade goes, Wilbur Soot is always there with him - the Golden Bard, one, if not the best storyteller in the region. 

Phil's eyes follow to where Quackity seems to be timidly staring, and gives a small chuckle, making the bard's head snap back towards him.

“Don’t worry, he’s a big fan too.” Quackity sputters for a moment, rambled protests spilling from his mouth, but Phil merely laughs and pats his back, standing back up and offering one hand to each of them to help them stand up.

“Come on, we’re going to wash up and get dinner. You all deserve some rest."

[bard-llama]

When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback

Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt used to the lack of silence. Without him, the silence creeps up on him and itches at his mind until he must break it. AKA how Netflix!Geralt slowly becomes more like Game!Geralt.

If you like my writing, consider donating to my ko-fi! I am writing gift fics for all donors.

Read on AO3

--

When Geralt had first started on the path, he enjoyed silence. Well, there was rarely true silence with enhanced hearing, but he preferred when the sounds were more distant, when he could avoid human civilizations and the only sounds were the birds and the animals and Roach’s snorting.

Roach was his only companion on the Path for many, many years, and he’d picked up a habit of talking to her occasionally – the mutations hadn’t done away with the need for socialization, unfortunately, though they had made it much more difficult. The conversations usually burst from him and it wouldn’t be until after he was talked out and Roach was nosing at his side for a treat that Geralt would even realize that he’d needed to talk to somebody.

That all changed with Jaskier.

Jaskier, as it turned out, was not kidding when he’d said he didn’t go in for silence, and he had no need for a 2nd party to carry on full conversations. He did appreciate when Geralt made some sort of noise in response, but he also didn’t seem to care when Geralt tuned him out so he could actually listen to his surroundings.

The first time, Jaskier had only traveled with him for a week before the road had taken them different directions. And yet still, once Jaskier was gone, the world felt too silent. The wind whispering through the trees, the lizards and rabbits rustling through the brush, the growls of wolves and wild dogs – it was no longer enough. The silence was instead making him anxious and on edge, and in sheer desperation, he’d started talking to Roach.

And it had worked. It wasn’t a lot of noise, but it was enough for when the silence crept up on him. He murmured praise and directions and thoughts for Roach’s ears and felt his shoulders relax.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. In all honesty, Geralt had assumed they would never meet again, but apparently the bard was determined to prove him wrong. Not only did he insist on traveling with Geralt again – “oh but think of the marvelous adventures we had!” – he truly had dedicated himself as Geralt’s barker. It was absurd.

It was also very noisy again, because even when he was asleep, Jaskier could not shut up. Part of Geralt wondered if that was a natural ability or if Jaskier had honed it just to make life difficult for other people. But the rest of Geralt was just glad there was something to fill the silence again. He still praised Roach, of course, but he was honestly relieved not to have to talk. It was surprisingly difficult, to push words out of his mouth. Jaskier clearly did not have the same difficulty and Geralt’s lips twisted into a slight smile as he nudged Roach into motion and Jaskier immediately began a loud debate with himself about the merits of mustard-colored garments.

This time, Jaskier traveled beside him for a full season before their paths parted again. And as Geralt settled down to sleep that night, Roach already snoring softly, he was absolutely fine, he was.

Except for the way his skin was crawling and his mind was racing and he’d lit a fire just to hear the crackle pop of the wood, and it still wasn’t enough. So he started humming. He wasn’t even sure what it was, some tune of Jaskier’s no doubt, but the sound and the vibration of it in his throat settled something in him. That was good. He could hum to himself as rode around on Roach, as he set up camp, as he skinned and roasted dinner, even as he bathed.

But on contracts, it was distracting. He needed to be able to focus on his work, but he also needed something to fill the yawning silence.

The first time he’d mumbled his deductions aloud, it had been unconscious.

The second time had been on purpose.

By the seventh time, it was getting easier to let the words escape his throat, and he almost had enough information about the griffon that had attacked a convoy to hunt it.

The fourteenth time wasn’t really a deduction so much as a rant about the questionable parentage of the asshole who’d hired him and then fled without paying.

The nineteenth time, he spoke louder so that the herbalist’s apprentice, who was clearly more interested in monster hunting than herbs, could hear.

By the twenty-first time, it was nearly a habit and the words slipped out easier and easier each time.

By the fiftieth time, he stopped keeping track. It was still hard to talk to villagers and innkeeps, but talking to himself was getting easier and easier.

By the hundredth time, he no longer remembered why he’d started the habit, but it had nicely settled in now, and at this point, talking when it’s just him or just him and Roach takes almost no thought.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. Quite literally this time – Geralt was searching for a wyvern when he heard a very high pitched shriek and found Jaskier right in the middle of trouble again. How the fuck the bard had managed to wander into the wyvern’s nest without the draconid taking his head off Geralt couldn’t imagine. He raced into the fray, without even taking the time to oil his blade or take a potion.

He would regret that, as it turned out.

The fight was rough and exhausting and Jaskier didn’t seem to fully understand that he needed to stay behind Geralt, and it only did so much good against a flying predator anyway. More than once, Geralt had been forced to take a blow intended for Jaskier, and by the time he finally cut the damn beast’s head off, he was swaying on his feet.

“Fuck, Geralt, where’re your potions, you need Swallow. Roach, come here, girl, let’s get our Witcher taken care of, hmm?” Jaskier fretted over him and as his voice washed over Geralt, he felt surprisingly calm, despite the blood loss and cuts and bruises. There was a particularly deep gash across his shoulder and Jaskier tore at Geralt’s armor to get to it.

Geralt huffed and removed his armor properly, even though each movement sent sharp agony across his shoulder. The ache seemed to resonate up to his jaw, and Geralt slumped back heavily once his armor lay in a pile next to him.

Jaskier rushed in immediately, cleaning his wounds and applying fresh bandages. And the whole time, he spoke. He apologized for Geralt getting hurt rescuing him, praised Geralt’s alleged heroics, even started composing lyrics about the whole hunt on the spot.

And Geralt probably should have been annoyed, over the singing, the rescuing, the not fucking listening, but oddly, all he felt was content. When Jaskier finally paused, waiting for a response to some question Geralt hadn’t paid attention to, he found it surprisingly easy to ask, “sing for me?”

Jaskier inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to Geralt’s face as if checking for fever. Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn’t push Jaskier’s hand off. As Jaskier stared at him, the hand dragged down his cheek and made him shiver.

He had no idea why, but that seemed to convince Jaskier that Geralt wasn’t under some curse or illness or other such silly idea as to why he asked for Jaskier to do his damn job.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “What would you like me to sing?”

“Anything,” Geralt grunted, and he was amazed at how easy it was to form the word and give it voice. It was as simple as if he were just talking to himself or to Roach.

“Tell me if you’ve heard this one,” the bard grinned and launched into a slow, winding epic. His voice, surprisingly high pitched and yet, still able to sing such deep notes, coiled around Geralt and he let his eyes fall shut to fully appreciate it.

“So,” Jaskier began some time later, once Geralt was all patched up and he’d finished a few songs, “should I ask about your sudden – and much delayed – appreciation for my voice, or are we not talking about it?”

Geralt chuckled. “You got me used to – well, you. Silence feels weird now, without your chatter filling it.”

“My chatter!? That was some of the finest singing you’ve ever heard!” Jaskier swept his arms out, huffing in indignation. “My chatter. I will have you know, Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, my chatter is the highest caliber chatter you could ask for!”

Geralt sighed, regretting telling Jaskier about the name Geralt had originally chosen. Vesemir had vetoed all but his first name, and Geralt was vaguely grateful for that.

Especially because Jaskier insisted on butchering the pronunciation in the worst ways possible.

[frangipanidownunder]

So you simply can't post a list of kiss prompts and expect me NOT to ask you for one. Do you not even KNOW me? Please consider a ficlet (or more!) for #11-Reunion kiss. But maybe pre-breakup. A reunion after being apart for some other reason? This could easily be combined with another kind of kiss - first, shy, etc. (And I am holding my breath for your maid/master AU!) Fic is Medicine Anon

A Lifetime Ago: Fic

Fat blossoms, serrated petals, marshmallow pink, weighted the branches on the tree in the courtyard of her block. Sun heated the top of her head, lifting the hair from her scalp, and the interior of the car smelled of warm leather and dust. Motes danced as she laid her jacket on the passenger seat. 

When Mulder got in, he moved the jacket. Of course. She’d become so used to driving alone. More dust sparkled in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the glass. A glitter welcome party. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, lost in the weird sense of the strange and familiar, the old and the new. He looked at her oddly. 

It made her blush, the intensity of his scrutiny. But the house looked pretty in the rearview mirror. Climbing vines over the fence, vivid green leaves bushy on the trees and shrubs. She could see a row of stakes just by the shed.

“Tomatoes?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder.

“Dirty Girl, Super Snow White and Ruby Gold.”

She drove over the gravel towards the road. “Sounds like one of those movies you used to watch.”

His chuckle was chesty, and she caught his full smile out the corner of her eye. He looked well. He looked good. He’d been looking better each time she’d seen him over the past few months, as though he’d turned some corner in his mind and life was no longer the bitter drag it had been. If tomato plants with exotic names were the key to this change, she’d take that over Prozac and desperate, begging midnight phone calls.

Years before she had loved those quiet, murmured conversations. When they meant connection, trust. But the FBI was a lifetime, a lost child and a break-up ago. Now, phone calls were made in office hours, more recently, she realised, when she was already on her way to see him.

“Where are we going again?” he asked, winding the window down and resting an elbow on the sill. “I admit I was surprised when you called. It kind of felt like you were asking me on a date.” He looked across at her and the fresh blast of air saved her from blushing again. “Is this a date?”

Chuffing, she fixed her eyes on the road. “When was the last time you went out, Mulder?”

“I go out,” he said, indignant. 

She snorted. “Running at three in the morning does not constitute going out.” 

“I’ve become friendly with the guy at the nursery.”

“Friendly?”

“Don’t give me that look. I can be friendly, Scully.” She remembered his friendly as either empathetic, nerdy or flirty.  “He orders heirloom produce for me, teaches me about companion plants and has a fascination for UFOs. Funny how life works out, huh?”

“Huh,” she said. Nerdy.

A colleague at the hospital had married at the winery last fall and Scully had been struck by the setting, the ambience. Now she looked around and saw its precise beauty, high vaulted ceiling, wide landscapes on the silvery walls, starched white linen, gold embossed menus, cut crystalware. It was over the top. God, she’d misjudged this. Why didn’t she just go for Clint’s Diner where the talking point was the font used to spell the name, so that the L and the I were joined to form what looked like a U. Asking for the cunt’s special was Mulder’s favourite joke.  Even the Italian bistro with the red and white checked plastic tablecloths and fake tealights in jam jars would have been a better choice.

“So it is a date,” he said, but behind his broad grin there was a look of trepidation. He went to hook his thumbs in his belt loops but he wasn’t wearing shitty jeans. Instead, his fist curled into his pants pocket and he stood, uncharacteristically insignificant, in the magnificent room.

Guilt flared in her chest. Mulder had been a recluse for years, pummelling his chest with his self-hatred and lacing all their interactions with accusations and blame, and now, because he was growing fucking tomatoes, she’d decided he could cope with a three-course degustation lunch and two glasses of Pinot Gris?“This is not what I…” But she was cut off by the Maitre D who swept over and checked the booking. “Dr Scully, yes, that’s right.” Why had she chosen that salutation when she called. It made it sound like a business lunch.

Their table was on the terrace under heavy-scented purple wisteria. The waiter unflapped serviettes like he was cracking a whip. He placed glasses, crockery and cutlery with the precision required for surgery. Mulder remained quiet the entire time, but regarded her, not the waiter. His expression softened when the waiter left and dappled light filtered over his skin.

“This is not what I expected, Scully. But it’s a step up from chilli dogs and Shiner Bock.”

Ugh. Now she was craving an evening on the couch watching him watching the game. “I’m sorry, Mulder. This feels all wrong.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward, sliding his hand over the table top, but careful to leave his fingers just an inch from hers. “It’s fine. I kind of love being wined and dined. It makes me feel special.” His fingers crept closer, close enough for her to see the white fleck on his left index nail, the light abrasion on his ring finger knuckle, close enough to remember what those elegant digits used to do to her.“As long as you don’t expect me to put out, Scully.” He grinned suddenly. “You should know up front that I’m not that easy.”

No, she thought, you’re not. We were never easy, you and me. She laughed at his joke anyway, his smile urged her to indulge him. The waiter brought the wine and Mulder sniffed, swirled and sipped it before giving it his approval. They chose entrees and mains and he chatted amiably, telling stories about the nursery dude and his collection of blurry photos of cigar-shaped crafts.

“I hadn’t the heart to tell him it was all BS, Scully. Why burst his bubble? He gets a lot of joy out of it.” Ah, empathy.

“And you get free seeds. Sounds like a fair exchange.”

He sat back, arms behind his head, before realising where he was and sitting upright, hands on his lap, much more respectable. “I’ve missed you,” he said, out of nowhere. “But this was nice. Unexpectedly so. A nice date, if I may be so bold as to describe it so, Doc.”

Flirty. She chuffed, cheeks aflame. The wine, she thought. It was always the wine. “It’s good to see you so relaxed, Mulder. It’s been a while.”

“Was I ever relaxed, Scully?” he asked, genuinely. “I look back now and see how tightly coiled I was. Have been.” His head bobbed down, but his eyes lifted to hers. “Am.”

The first time she visited him after she left, he was cowering under the kitchen table, shards of glass and ceramic scattered across the floor. He didn’t speak for an hour. She sat at a chair six feet away from him, listening to his tight sobs, watching his shoulders bunch, while she embraced her old friend, guilt.

“You’ve been through a lot, Mulder. We both have. It’s been a difficult…”

“Life?” he supplied.

“I was going to say time, but yeah. That too.” She laughed and so did he. His fingers edged forward again, touching hers this time. Heat sparked. He felt it too, he almost recoiled in shock, but pressed on, covering her hand with his. He clasped it gently, lifted it, nuzzled her knuckles, eyes closed so she could admire the length of his lashes and the furrow between his brows. A lifetime of pain in two creases. She had an urge to kiss them, run her tongue along the downy lines of them, taste his familiar skin.

“We should go,” she said, after a time. 

He held the door open for her and stooped inside the car, dazzling her with his smile. “Just remember, I don’t go all the way on first dates.”

“What about first base?” she said, after he’d already shut the door.

They drove back, listening to an 80s radio station that Mulder found with ease. He belted out Living on a Prayer and other big ballads, air guitar and all. She smiled all the way to the house. When she parked, Sinead O’Connor’s singular voice introduced Nothing Compares 2 U. She went to turn the radio off but he held her wrist.

“I love this song,” he said. “Prince’s masterful lyrics. And that video clip.”

“It was a powerful statement,” she replied and let his fingers curl around hers. 

“I really did enjoy this, Scully. Going out, you know, where people are…out there. It’s hard sometimes. I…don’t…I haven’t done it often because it feels like I’m a trespasser, that I don’t belong.”

“You never did. We never did, Mulder. We were always on the outer.”

“But with you,” he said, snugging her single hand in both of his. “I always felt braver in company.”

Heat spread in her chest, her heart pinged. She didn’t know what to say. Literally no words formed, despite her mouth falling open. Tears burnt at her eyes but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. 

“What about that first base, Scully?” His smile was a little hopeful, a lot wobbly.

She nodded. He captured her open lips and closed them between his. It was strange and familiar, old and new again. Sparkles glittered behind her eyes, just like those dust motes. When was that? Just a few hours ago? Surely not. That glitter welcome party was a lifetime ago.

[sunstriderling]

The princess and the hitman Au for Gency? Or maybe just a fluff of Genji confessing to Angela ^^

+ @nappi​‘s request for sick!Angela & caring!Genji. :> Writing this took 7 000 years but to be honest I’ve been really sick myself for three weeks straight and my brain’s ability to put together coherent sentences was non-existent, so, uh, here we are.

( AO3 )

It’s late, well past ten in the evening - after a mission, most of them would be in bed at this hour. Yet here they are, both her and Genji, in the medical bay; the cyborg busying himself with the drink dispenser, the day’s newspaper, and a blanket-covered chair as if he’s set to move in, and Angela, well, cross-legged on the elevated hospital bed with multiple plush pillows piled behind her back. It’s uncomfortable. Unbelievable, really; it’s as if she’s forgotten completely what it feels like to be ill. All these years she’s tended the sick and the wounded and truly, she’s seen it all, but a mere cold, at worst a flu, something so ordinary and mundane and, most of all, survivable, now feels to her like she’s dying.

How long has it been? Fifteen years?

The puncture wound in her lower back aches like a gunshot wound, only so much smaller, like the infected bite of a mosquito or a horse-fly. It throbs with her fever-stricken everything, a drumming inside her brain and bones, an ache in her muscles, and she sniffs idly with glassed-over eyes, finding the whole situation… ironic, almost amusing. No, whatever was in that dart wasn’t poisonous. It did nothing but stunt her body’s artificially improved regeneration rates, her boosted immunity system, perhaps in the hopes that she’d get shot or just break a bone, leaving her vulnerable or, in the best case scenario for Talon, dead. What she’d actually become was just… sick, like her stellar immunity collapsing on her meant nothing to the lurking germs sticking to her but the open opportunity they’d waited for for a good half of her lifespan. Suddenly, it was as if her basic, unmodified biology no longer knew how to handle a simple virus.

This was a flaw in the design of the regenerative design she’d previously regarded as a succesful experiment. She’d realised it the first thing after noticing the aches in her joints, the thickness in her throat, and the slowly growing soreness everywhere. She’d have to fix that, this sudden immunity collapse syndrome, at once when she wouldn’t be shaking madly with the sickness anymore. When her brain worked again. When something worked again.

Everyone had been quite concerned. They couldn’t recall ever seeing her sick and even though surely they had, they may have not noticed it; sickness had never stopped her from working, she’d just chosen projects that didn’t risk her patients on those days, or her colleagues. Sickness made her antisocial, brought her mind back to the workings of her own body, what it was going through, and how she could turn this intimate knowledge of the process of the illness in her and the stages her body took towards recovery into the building bricks of medical science. Even now, that was where her mind had been, and perhaps it was that fact that had calmed the team down in the end. They’d all gone to bed, hadn’t they? She’d told them she’d be fine self-medicating and sleeping the fever off in the medical bay, and they’d told her they’d see her in the morning, wished her a swift recovery, and disappeared into their little holes inside the Watchpoint like a strike team of exhausted foxes.

Everyone except Genji.

He’s got tan lines over his cheeks and forehead, Angela notes as he sits on the side of her bed, offering her a steaming cup of hot chocolate from the dispenser. It’s summertime, and after settling in, after growing comfortable with his companions once more, he’s spent quite some time outdoors with his visor off. She wonders if sunlight still hurts his modified eyes; she didn’t quite know how to fix that after the repairs, after the improvements. She simply told him to get used to it.

Retrospectively, she always felt guilty about that, yet - he doesn’t seem to squint as much anymore, if at all.

“I am afraid it is not Swiss. I keep disappointing,” Genji says with a hint of a grin.

She chuckles, rolls her eyes and lets out a gentle cough that masks the desperate pressure in her throat demanding a much bigger, much sharper relief. She’s not holding it back for him as much as for her own body’s sake; she’ll cough hard when it helps some, but for now, the only thing it does is bruise her from the inside out.

“Silly. I wouldn’t be able to taste it, even if it was Swiss - my body will hardly know the difference,” Angela huffs in response, bringing the cup to her lips and taking the smallest sip to try how hot the drink is.

Quite.

Genji chuckles.“Are you telling me that there are no magical healing qualities to Swiss chocolate, Angela? For all the praise you’ve had for it…”

“I am telling you that, yes.”She thinks it over for a moment before taking another sip and placing the mug between her crossed legs, over the baby blue blanket thrown over her.“You do know that I will do just fine on my own, Genji. Go to bed.”

“No,” Genji replies casually, picking up his own blanket; it’s fuzzier, and sand brown; “I’ll stay here. I know you would do just fine on your own, Angela, but it is a special kind of loneliness, being alone when you are feeling under the weather. So I will be here and accompany you, so you can focus on getting better. It is what a friend would do, is it not?”

She smiles. Then, slowly, she nods.“I had forgotten all about that. I never let myself have it; my career left no time for sick leaves, and it left very little time for friendship, too. So I worked while I was ill and… the kindness you’re showing me is like remembering something from childhood. All those nights as a little girl, with my mother or my father bringing me cold medicine or soup to eat.”

It takes her a moment to get back to the present day, but when she does, she sees Genji tilting his head with a gentle expression on his face.“Tell me more,” he prompts her, “I have never heard you speak of your childhood.”

A quiet chuckle escapes her and she shakes her head, lowering her gaze to her steaming drink on her lap. She waits for some time, perhaps for her mind to start working again, to form a thought one way or the other, but it seems - feels - as if there’s some technical issue with her functions, the whole of her mind reduced to a blank state of white noise. Finally, she brings the mug up to her lips again, shaking a little at the contrast of the hot drink touching her otherwise so cold-feeling body.

“There is not much to tell, Genji. Or - perhaps there is, but it all seems quite mundane and so distant that I wouldn’t know what to talk about. Surely you have similar experiences. Surely nothing I had was that special. I had a mother and a father once, and I was small, and I was cared for and sometimes I was sick, and my mother would sit by my bed singing me lullabies, my father would read me lighthearted poetry from children’s books, and I - would fall asleep and have nightmares. I had a lot of nightmares as a child, from fevers, I remember that being the worst part of being ill. Strange dreams, that you wouldn’t think were scary; objects from the real world beginning to spin around the room, levitating. Impossible things. My blankets and bed turning to thorns. Those dreams scared me then, but I grew out of them.”

She lifts her gaze and examines him.

“What about you? Would you share some memories from your past with me, too?”

Genji’s eyes narrow, but the lingering smile on him is both thoughtful and a little bit amused, as if she’s challenged him.

“When I was a child,” he begins then, “being sick was the only time when my brother would stop pushing me around. Literally. I was our father’s favourite as a young boy - he gave me much of the attention he would not give to my brother, who had to be raised tough for the future of our bloodline, you see. So maybe I was raised like a little girl, too. I did not care for poetry, however. I remember playing video games and being bored out of my mind through illnesses, my body going through phases of fever chills and floods of sweating… Funny, I have not recalled these things in a long time. I have not had to.”

He eyes her, and a small chuckle escapes him as well.

“I suppose that is on you, Doctor Ziegler?”

Angela nods slowly.“Your body’s regenerative abilities -”

“I understand.”

They’re silent for some time, and Angela leans her sore back into the pillows, rests her head and breathes deep, as deep as her itchy lungs allow her from the spasms in her chest threatening her with coughing fits. No, not yet, she tells her body and relaxes; all of that will come soon enough.

“I quite missed your company,” Genji tells her then, his voice softer, quieter now, as if he’s either not quite sure how to approach this subject, or if he’s not sure if she’s asleep and doesn’t want to wake her up.

She peers at him lazily through a partially opened eye, then closes it again, nodding. The nod compresses her throat and she coughs unwillingly, but it passes quickly, letting her relax again.

“It seems strange, all those years we exchanged letters and yet I feel as if I am just now meeting you for the first time,” the cyborg continues.

“It is all quite different since we last met, face to face,” she mumbles, cheekbones burning with fever and most her attention directed towards the fact, “Much has changed; we are older, but we are also very different people. You are no longer lost, and I am no longer an overgrown child.”

“Was I lost when we last met? Were you an overgrown child?” Genji asks her, his voice amused.

“Would you contest either of those claims?” she asks him back.

He thinks for a moment.“No,” he says then; “With confidence, I can say that I was lost. And perhaps I saw you differently then, but now that I have met you once more, you are indeed a woman. I am not quite sure I saw you that way before. You were my doctor, but you were very young, and you seemed out of your comfort zone, even when you were the most experienced person in the room, doing what only you could do.”

“Precisely. I have grown since, Genji. Not quite like you have, and yet, if I could meet my younger self from those days, I would have much advice to give that silly girl.”

They look at each other, and there’s warmth in Genji’s eyes, acceptance, and somehow, Angela realises she needed to see that. She smiles at him before reaching for her hot chocolate again.

“Back then it seemed absurd that there is merely a year or so between us,” she says then; “in my eyes you seemed - immature. Boyish, as if you were stuck in the worst of your teenage years. And I was not done growing up myself. I quite never gave myself the chance to experience youth, and I suppose that made me young for a very long time in the developmental sense. I thought I could bypass the nonsense that other teenagers got caught up in, so that when I turned 20, then 25, all that unspoken rebellion and most of all the confusion and insecurity that I’d never worked through was still there. Yet I still thought of myself above you, because my way of carrying myself was so controlled, so pretentiously mature, and you were caught up in your unpredictable moods like you had no skills in fighting them. Trauma does that to people, and yet I allowed myself to think that this was simply who you were. A silly boy, to project away the truth that I was also a silly girl inside. I hope my words don’t offend you.”

Genji shakes his head.“No. If you’d spoken them to me then, I would have become very angry, but I see the truth in what you say today. I was very lost and I was very afraid, Angela. Perhaps I took much of that out on you.”

“You were angry at me very often.”

“You were safe to be angry at. And you had that annoying professional smile every time that just made me more frustrated. I hated that smile, the way it implied that you pitied me, the way it highlighted how unstable I was, how it made me aware of my behaviour. I hated it, and I knew that you wouldn’t leave me if I showed just how much.”

She nods.“You are not angry anymore,” she says.

“And you don’t give me that professional smile either,” Genji tells her, his eyes twinkling.

She laughs, a careless act that leads to another cough. When she recovers, she nods again, barely noticing the man’s fingers touching her arm with concern and affection. 

“Trust me,” she says to him, “I am even more capable of giving that look today than I was back then; that pained look covering up my frustration with a difficult patient. I give that same smile to my male colleagues who think they can outperform me by the grace of their XY chromosomes as well. I have practiced it, Genji, and I have practiced it long and hard.”

He lifts his brows, looking playful.“Which must mean that I do not frustrate you anymore. Am I wrong?”

“You are quite correct. In fact, I find myself quite fond of your company. I was nervous to meet you again after all these years; what if we wouldn’t have the kind of a - how would I describe it? That kind of a connection that was so apparent to me through our letters. I waited for them so eagerly each time, but the thought of seeing you in person after being separated for such a long time…”

“The fear that the person you were in writing would not be the person you were in flesh, I understand. I felt that too. I had butterflies in my stomach when I landed here, in fact, and the worst of them I felt when I had to shake your hand.”

Her smile softens, turns quite strangely gentle. She feels it linger on her lips even when she runs out of words, as if he’s said everything there is to say.

“Angela,” he begins then, if only to prove her wrong; “I have a confession to make.”

“And what would that be?” she asks him, sipping her drink with her eyes never leaving his.

He seems more confident now, but there’s a tension in his act of relaxedness, a relapse to that nervous tension he described before.

“There is another reason I was so nervous to meet you once more. It is a long story but I think the sum of it is very short indeed. Would you mind if I spoke it now, or would you rather sleep off the fever, and talk with me once you are in a clearer state of mind?”

Angela squints at him, then shakes her head.“My mind is quite functional. I would not work with it, but when it comes to mere interaction, I am not that far gone quite yet.”

He smiles at her, but his smile shivers and shrinks fast, and he seems to second-guess his intentions before regaining confidence.

“That boy you knew years ago, Angela, grew quite fond of you. He would always wish that perhaps we would have a chance to meet again under different circumstances, when he wasn’t quite so angry, and when you wouldn’t see him as that bed-bound project that he felt like then. After all, you were a girl, and he was a boy, and you spent much time together outside the professional framework. He enjoyed those times and when he left this place, those were the times he regretted losing the most.”

Her breath hitches a little, matching the inconvenient pause between her heartbeats, but she says nothing; the cold that grows in her fingertips, her toes and the tip of her nose has nothing to do with the fever chills now.

“That’s why he sent you the first letter,” Genji continues. “Over time, that boy became me, and his affections became my affections. I don’t feel the same way about you as he did, for many things changed since, and the girl he knew is not the woman who sits before me tonight. And yet, the affection is still there, and like myself, it grew over time, and as I learned more about you, it seemed to feed off all those new, wonderful things that I discovered. This is an awful time to ask, Angela, but I was wondering if, once you are feeling less ill, you’d like to have dinner together, or perhaps watch a movie with me? This - I promise you I used to be much better at this, but I also promise that I am doing my best, and yes, I am asking you out for a date. Of course if you’d rather do these things only as friends I understand and I would not mind, and -”

“Genji.”Angela closes her eyes, slipping deeper into her bed; the pillows rub at her raw back and her throat feels sandpapery and sickly, but for the time being, the dizziness, the cold, and the frantic beating of her heart aren’t connected to the illness.“I have a lot on my mind right now, but the first thing I found myself asking while listening to your rambling was that I can’t quite believe you are looking at me like this, with my swollen eyes and red nose and disheveled hair and dry lips, and yet decide to ask me out anyway.”

He gasps a little, physically pulling back from her.“Oh,” he says clumsily, “I - I understand, I should have waited, I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to pressure you while you’re not feeling up to it, I’m… very sorry, Angela, that was not my intention.”

She throws a bored look at him, her eyes unfocused but judgemental.“Calm your nerves,” she tells him, but there’s a hint of amusement to her harsh tone, “Like I said, I am quite in my right mind. What I am not is in my right anything else; I am a sniffling, sneezing, coughing, gooey mess of sweat. And yet, you see this, and you think, yes, this is still the woman I would like to take to movies with me.”

Genji’s quiet now, quite still; she enjoys the confused, yet increasingly hopeful look on his features.

“Of course I’ll join you for a dinner, or a movie, or a dinner and a movie, once my condition improves. I would like nothing better, Genji. As friends, or else; we will have to find out about the details later. Who knows? You are charming, and I’ve more than occasionally felt weak in your presence, or inspired, or yet something wholly different. I didn’t think you might feel something like it too - I never let myself linger on it, thinking it inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Genji lets out, and by the sound of it, the word is his first exhale in a very long time.

She nods.“Trappings of my profession, I fear. I quite simply don’t see myself as… dateable. Psychologically speaking, I think that may be something I need to work on in the future.”

A breathless laughter escapes the cyborg, and he shakes his head.“Trust me,” he says, his eyes playful once more as he looks at her, “You are quite dateable indeed.”

[ijustreallylovezebras]

UK Avengers Pt 4

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: The forth part in a series pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Requested: No

“Y/N! Y/N!” David burst into the hospital wing two days after our mission. Bucky was sat by my bed with a hot chocolate as he had every day since I had been injured. 

“Dave? What’s up, man?” I ask, laughing. David had disappeared shortly after the Avengers had come, going away to visit his family for a couple of days. I hadn’t realised that he had returned.

“It’s snowing!” He says instead and he is practically jumping with excitement.

“Dude! You being serious?” I question, hearing the joy in my own voice as I speak the words. Bucky looks between the two of us in confusion and then concern as he steps tries to stop me from getting up. I pout at the super soldier. “But Bucky, it’s snowing!” I whine, wanting to go outside with David and the rest of the team.

“You’re acting as though you’ve never seen snow before,” Bucky comments, raising an eyebrow at David’s retreating figure.

“I’ll get your coat!” David shouts behind him and I grin.

“I don’t need a coat, dude, this shit comes out of me too!” I form a snowball in my hands and launch it at David who laughs, turning around and shooting me the middle finger. “And this is the first not-made-by-me snow England has seen in five years,” I inform Bucky who still looks unconvinced. “I can’t believe it’s snowing in spring,” I shake my head, trying again to sit up. Bucky looks at me in concern.

“I can’t convince you to stay inside, can I?” He asks and I grin, shaking my head in confirmation.

“Come on, come join us!” I invite, wincing as I tried to stand up. I hadn’t yet fully healed from the gun shot in my side. “Even Maz’ll be there,” I put my arm over Bucky’s shoulder as he came over to help me up. He smiles and nods.

“Alright. I’ll come with you. I’m sure that the rest of them would like to come along too,” I smile in excitement and hug Bucky tightly. He tenses up at first before his other arm wraps around me, returning my embrace. 

“You literally have snow coming out of you, Y/N, how are you so excited about this?” He questions as he helps me out of the hospital wing. I shout a goodbye to Ginny on my way past. The doctor rolls her eyes at my decision to go out into the snow.

The rest of my team and many of the Avengers are stood in the hallway, putting their coats and layers on. Even the fifteen year old kid, who was in a bad way physically, was leaning on the wall and trying to button up a borrowed coat. I let go of Bucky’s arms that I was holding in an attempt to keep myself steady.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” I smile, going over to him. The kid looks up and I put out my hand. “I’m Y/N,” I say and he nods faintly.

“I’m Peter,” he says, taking my hand and visibly flinches at how cold they are.

“Yeah, sorry, I kind of make snow for a living,” I joke and Peter laughs at that. “For once, the snow outside isn’t mine,” Peter laughs again just as a strong gust of wind hits us as Lilian opens the door, hand in hand with Lee and the two of them rush outside. 

I offer Peter my arm to lean on and he takes it gratefully.

“Thanks,” 

“Sure,”

David and Jordan walk at the front, directing us towards the nearby park. I talk to Peter, loving the fifteen-year-old kid more and more every second I talk to him for. As we reach the park, Maria drops back to walk with me as Peter goes to talk to Wanda. Tony and Max had run off the second we arrived.

“I’m sorry, for the past... you know,” she says, gazing off at the landscape. I smile a little and shake my head.

“You were just looking out for us all,” I say and I reach up to pull my beanie down a little. I wasn’t wearing many layers, the cold not affecting me as much as the others

“So... we’re good?” Maria asks, looking at me hopefully. I grin and hug her.

“Just be a little nicer to them, though,” I say, moving away. Maria sighs but nods reluctantly.

“I’ll try. I’m just not good with people,” Maria excuses herself and I nod. I go to respond but am cut off by a snowball hitting the side of my face. I turn around and raise an eyebrow at Sam.

“Dude, I secrete fucking snowballs. Try me,” I grin, forming one in between my hands and launching it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Cheating!” Sam laughs and I shake my head.

“It was snow, wasn’t it?” I point out, already forming another snowball.

“Now, now, let’s do this properly,” Steve cuts in, standing between Sam and I. “Teams, come on now,” he says and I sigh, nodding.

“Fine, I suppose I can hold off beating Sam’s ass for a couple of minutes,” and I wink at the superhero who laughs in shocked delight at my challenge.

“I’m with Y/N!” Bucky, Jordan and David all shout and my grin widens as Bucky swings his flesh arm over my shoulder.

Eventually we manage our teams. Sam, Steve, Natasha, Lilian and Lee are all on one team and Bucky, Jordan, David, Wanda and I are on another.

The snowball fight lasts for hours, occasionally kids in the park would also join in, just pelting snowballs at whoever took their fancy. I could tell that Peter desperately wanted to join in, though he knew that it wouldn’t be good for his stitches and injuries. I was just too stubborn to listen to Maria and Bucky who tried to convince me otherwise.

Eventually it began to wind down, Sam and I calling a truce on pelting snowballs at each other. Bucky and I were just walking around the park now, many of the others had already headed back but the two of us had chosen to hang back. I had my hand wrapped around his arm, feeling my injured muscles screaming at me for what I had put them through. 

“I don’t get how you’re not cold,” Bucky says to me and I just shrug.

“I guess it’s one of the pros of my dad locking me in a freezer,” I comment mildly. Bucky doesn’t stop walking but his step falters for a second as he tries to make sense of my words. “He was kind of a prick,” 

“I can tell,” we walk in silence for a couple of moments longer until we reach a part of the park where the snow was miraculously untouched. 

I pull on Bucky’s arm and make him stop too before I let go and fall onto my bag, moving my arms and legs to make a snow angel. I grin up at the soldier as I do so and there’s a smile on his face too as he lifts up his phone and takes a picture. I make a noise of protest and it makes Bucky chuckle.

“You just looked too adorable,” he informs me and I wrinkle my nose, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to pull me up. I take his phone and grimace at the picture going to delete it but he stops me. 

“I look awful, Buck,”

“It’s physically impossible for that to happen,” he smiles at my blush and I try to distract him from it by lifting up the camera on his phone.

“I think that you should have a picture of me as your background,”

“I never use my phone,”

“But when you do, you can be reminded of me,” I hold it up and Bucky smiles, leaning down and putting his face to mine. The two of us smile into the camera and I take the picture, grinning at how adorable it is and then setting it as his lockscreen. Bucky smiles down at it when I hand him his phone back.

The two of us begin to walk again, just talking about anything that came to us. He would tell me stories of the 1940s and I told him about James. 

“How long do you think you’re going to stay in the UK for?” I question finally. I was dreading the day that the Avengers would go back to the US. I was going to miss them all. Especially Bucky.

“I don’t know. I suppose until the kids good again,” there’s a hint of sadness in the soldiers tone which prompts me to say what I do next.

“I don’t want you to go,” my voice is soft and I hate myself for how vulnerable I sound. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to care though and pauses, pulling me to a stop. His hand goes to the back of my neck, his eyes are bright and uncertain. Snow has settled on his hair and hat and his cheeks are flushed red from the cold. There’s a shy smile on his lips as his blue eyes flick from my eyes to my lips. He finally brings his lips to mine, kissing me softly. I move my hand from his arm and bring it to his jaw, the other one resting lightly on his shoulder.

I break away from his kiss but remain in his arms, not wanting to move away from him, enjoying his presence. Bucky smiles down at me and wraps me in a hug, pressing my face into his chest. I listen to the sound of his heart and allow it to calm my own erratic one. 

“I don’t want to go either,” he finally admits. His words make me smile sadly but I don’t respond other than tightening my hold around him. 

“We should probably head back,” I murmur and he nods, letting go of me but holds my hand instead. I whistle and hear Max and Toby’s footsteps scampering towards us. Max comes to my side and Toby whines in a way that makes Bucky and I laugh before the wolf finally decides that it’s okay to walk next to Bucky.

The walk back to the compound is short and we walk in companionable silence most of the way, occasionally one of us would point something out to the other but most of it was spent just enjoying one another’s presence. 

Bucky’s visibly shivering by the time we get back to the compound and I frown at it.

“You should go and warm up in bed, Buck,” I say but he shakes his head.

“I’m going to ensure that you go back to the hospital wing first,” I try to protest but he cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine instead. I make a noise of surprise before responding to his affection. 

Bucky breaks off the kiss and takes my hand, leading me to the hospital wing. We pass Peter on the way to my bed and I wave at the kid who just smiles back at me knowingly, nodding towards Bucky. I blush and look away, climbing carefully back into bed.

“I’ll let Ginny know you’re back and then I’m going to shower and change my clothes. I’ll be back,” Bucky assures me and then pressed a kiss to my forehead.

Part Five

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[jincherie]

Timid Mini Scenario | Uno

Companion piece to Timid, set in the 2 months before they got the call about the cafe, but after Sweets. Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: fluff, Hybrid!AU Words: this one is fucken 4.4k+  Warnings: none Notes: The second and final “drabble”, which I have been informed by the lovely @kitten-dont​ is actually more of a sequel than anything, but I digress. The next thing I will be writing for Timid after this is pt 2, an actual sequel, so look forward to that! Although it might not be out for a while (uni resumes for me in a week!). Also don’t mind this it’s a bit of a mess and I was up until 4:30 writing it<3 

Jungkook and Taehyung come over for a night of fun and games that result in Jimin realising that his feelings for a certain someone have changed and not in a way he was expecting.

Masterlist || Original oneshot. Timid | Companion short. Sweets 

The sheer fervour with which Taehyung was knocking on your front door had your fingers itching for a club to beat him with. You hadn’t seen him in a long while, since the café, and already before you’d even laid eyes on him you already wanted to kill him.

“Kim Taehyung you better stop trying to break down my door with your fist or you’re not going to be having very much fun tonight.” You warned, a promise in your tone as you approached the vibrating wooden slab, the knocking ceasing at last.

“Finally! My god, you took so long!” you heard Taehyung exclaim from the other side. You almost didn’t open the door for him. Taehyung’s voice was clearer now that the obstacle between you was gone, and the instance there was enough space to squeeze through he was barrelling past you and into your home, ever the excited pup.

“It’s so cold and you left us outside for so long!” he whined, the spitting image of a sulking puppy as he stood shivering in the small hallway, arms and tail wrapped around himself and his big puppy eyes staring straight into yours. You made a face at him.

“Hey y/n.” You turned to see Jungkook still waiting outside for you to invite him in, shivering where he stood. You instantly cooed, grasping his hands and tugging him inside before shutting the door behind him.

“Aww, Kookie! Are you okay?! You’re shivering so much! Let’s get you warmed up…” you wrapped him in a hug, shuffling you both over in the direction of the living room and making the bunny hybrid laugh at your antics. Taehyung whined, following behind you.

“Hey! Hey! I’m the cutest puppy here, not to mention your bestest friend, so why does Kookie get all the worry and concern?! Hey- y/n~! I’m cold too! Brrrr! See?!”

Jimin, who had been waiting in the living room for you and your guests to arrive, laughed when he saw the scene you dragged in with you, jumping up to give both the males a hug. “Desperate doesn’t suit you, Taehyung.”

You snickered, noting how just a month or so ago Jimin wouldn’t have been anywhere near as open or comfortable in a situation involving you. And now he was here, looking at ease and grinning cheekily at his puppy hybrid friend as he joked with him in front of you. You’d come so far, and it warmed your heart.

While your time with Jimin was going well, you could tell that lately he’d been missing his friends. Back at the café they’d all practically roomed together, and now he wasn’t anywhere near them and hadn’t seen them in weeks. So, you’d invited Jungkook and Taehyung over for a sleepover, the two hybrids eager to agree and see their fluffy friend. Tonight was going to be a night of fun and just enjoying the company of your friends, watching movies and probably playing some games later if Taehyung had his way.

“I got the pizzas already, so let’s all sit and put the first movie on.” You suggested, plopping down on one of the couches, the spot next to you quickly being filled by Jimin. You tried to ignore how his eagerness made your heart skip a beat, averting your attention to Jungkook and Taehyung as they wrestled for the other spare spot on your other side. Jungkook won, like pretty much everyone except Taehyung had expected, and slotted his firm bunny tush between your own and the side of the couch. You suspected his winning edge had been those powerful bun thighs.

Taehyung whined again, before literally jumping so he was laying across all of you. You let out a groan and Jungkook wheezed, the puppy hybrid having landed (probably purposefully, if you were being honest) on his junk with his elbow. Jimin looked appalled, but even then couldn’t help the laughter tumbling forth from his plush lips, eyes closing as he grinned. Jimin’s laughter was infectious, and soon all of you were laughing as you all grabbed the paper plates on the table before you and some slices of pizza. You pressed play on the movie you’d chosen and the night was off to a good start.

You were content to laze and watch movies with your friends, Jungkook and Jimin seeming to agree with that sentiment, but you should have known after all your years of friendship with Taehyung that the same would not be the case for the hyperactive puppy with too much energy and too many mischievous thoughts flying around in that pretty head. Halfway into your second movie he began to grow antsy, shuffling and shifting uncomfortably over everyone’s laps. You turned your attention to him, knowing any second now he’d break and—

“y/n, Kookie, Jiminie~! Let’s play a game!” he whined, rolling off you all into a standing position and jumping up and down. Yep. There it was. The whining and begging.

You resigned yourself to your fate, but Jimin and Jungkook seemed interested in the pitch Taehyung was throwing them.

“What kind of games?” Jungkook asked excitedly, scooting forward in his seat.

Taehyung flashed him a foxy smile. “Truth or Da—“

“No,” you interrupted, ignoring his pout. “Last time I played that with you I ended up doing something so embarrassing I couldn’t look certain people in the eye for weeks. No way, nuh-uh. That game is banned in this household.”

Realisation dawned over Taehyung’s features as he remembered the particular game you were talking about, causing him to burst out into laughter that sounded more like a cackle than anything. Jimin and Jungkook shot you curious looks but you refused to divulge; it was still just too embarrassing to talk about.

Taehyung calmed down, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Ah, good times.” He said, grinning at you. “Okay then, how about Uno?”

You groaned, because you and he both knew that you had the absolute worst luck at Uno, but at Jimin and Jungkook’s excited looks you didn’t have the heart to refuse. “Fine, I’ll go get it.”

Taehyung cheered, Jungkook joining in and Jimin merely smiling after you. Taehyung caught sight of the look and realisation took him, the gears in his brain beginning to work and churn. He bit his lip to stop the devious smile from spreading to his face and alerting his prey to his plans. He needed to tell Jungkook soon so that they could team up for this, but couldn’t do it until Jimin was distracted.

Luckily you came back just in time, the box of Uno cards in your hands, and like a gift straight from the heavens you tripped at the entrance to the living room. Jimin leapt up to go help you, and Taehyung allowed himself some brief laughter before he turned to Jungkook and yanked him closer by the shirt. The younger boy was startled but went along with it and listened as the puppy hybrid leaned forward and began whispering in his ear.

Over by the entrance to the living room you were too distracted by a worried Jimin hovering over you (who looked like he was torn between laughing at your klutziness and treating the situation seriously) to notice the looks of mischief that the two other hybrids had donned over by the couch. You took Jimin’s offered hand and stood, pretending the embarrassed heat in your cheeks wasn’t there as you moved back over to the couch with Jimin, not realising you hadn’t released his hand yet.

You did realise when you went to set up the cards, however, and you felt the heat in your cheeks worsen as you quickly let it go and rushed to pull the cards out of the box. You could tell already this night was going to be an embarrassing one for you.

Soon enough you were all set up, everyone with their respective cards and ready to play. You were all sitting around the coffee table, Jimin to your right, Jungkook to your left and Taehyung between them opposite you. You went to start already, before Taehyung interrupted you.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, holding up a hand. Not for the first time that night you felt the urge to hit him with something. “Let’s make it more…interesting. The winner gets something.”

You could see Jimin and Jungkook nodding in agreement, but were slightly hesitant to agree yourself. There had to be a catch…

“What does the winner get?” Jimin asked, eyes wide in excitement for the game. You were so entranced by how beautiful he was in that moment that you almost missed the twin looks of mirth that crossed Taehyung and Jungkook’s faces— keyword, almost. Your head whipped to nail them with a suspicious glare.

“Well, I’m glad you asked.” Taehyung practically purred, and if you couldn’t currently see his canine tail wagging a mile a minute behind him you might have suspected he was part feline instead. “The winner gets something from y/n.”

You sputtered, completely missing the look of shock on Jimin’s face at Taehyung’s words in favour of your own slighted feelings. “Excuse me?! What about me?! What am I supposed to get if I win?!”

Taehyung nailed you with a pointed look. “We both know that’s not going to happen. You’d honestly have more luck trying to win the lottery than a game of Uno. You suck.”

You grumbled, sitting back down with a pout because he was right and you didn’t like it. Jungkook patted your knee in a moment of brief comfort.

“Anyway as I was saying, the winner gets something from y/n. This round’s winner will get pets for the whole of the next round, because we all know y/n’s pets are the best.” Taehyung said, as though he was enlightening a class of students. Jimin and Jungkook nodded, muttering in agreement, and you rolled your eyes. Whatever, you’d play along for now, and then surprise them all by winning suddenly. Yeah, easy. You wouldn’t have to be petting anyone, ha.

Not that you would have had a problem with it, but you had a deep need to prove Taehyung wrong and beat him just once at this god forsaken game.

Taehyung kicked the game off and you all began. It didn’t take long for your collection of ‘+2’ and ‘+4’ cards to increase impressively and for you to realise there was a fatal flaw with your seating arrangement; with the way it currently was, in order to win you’d have to dump a whole tonne on either Jungkook or Jimin and you just couldn’t do it. You suddenly wished you’d sat next to Taehyung, just so you could hit him with the massive pile of pick-up cards you’d amassed. You spent too long lamenting on your mistakes and missed Jungkook saying “Uno” and consequently winning on his next turn. You threw the cards in the air in half-hearted frustration, unable to keep the frown on your face however when you saw Jungkook grinning at you and crawling over to lay his head in your lap. You rolled your eyes, missing the lingering, longing look Jimin gave both you and the other bunny currently on your lap, receiving pets and scratches behind his ears. If Jungkook could have purred he would.

Jimin didn’t know exactly what it was he was feeling, but he did know that he wanted nothing more than to be the one in your lap getting those pets right now. His cheeks heated at the embarrassing thought, and he quickly averted his gaze, happening to meet eyes with Taehyung. The puppy hybrid gave him a smile that made him slightly worried about the outcome for the night. “Alright, onto the next round! Y/n, keep petting until the round finishes, or I guess until your hand gets tired. Anyway, the prize for winning this round is~” Taehyung threw his hands in the air. “A back-hug from y/n for the whole next round!”

You resisted the urge to throw your new set of cards at him. What was with him using you in all the prizes? Boy needed to invest in a more creative imagination, but aside from that it just seemed like he was testing how many ways he could make you play Uno while in an uncomfortable or unconventional position.

Jimin’s breath had caught in his throat at that. A back-hug? For the entire next round? You offered to cuddle all the time, and he wasn’t as shy as he had been previously, but he was still making efforts to be less awkward because he did want to cuddle with you, all the time, but he just got so god damn shy sometimes. He bit his lip. In a way, it felt like it would be less embarrassing if it was the result of winning a round than if he asked you to do it himself. His gaze slid over to where you were, squinting at your cards like they were written in a foreign language with Jungkook’s head in your lap, your hand petting away. He felt a foreign feeling grow in his belly. He wanted that.

Taehyung watched the range of emotions cross his friends face and knew his plan with Jungkook to make him jealous, or at least realise his feelings, was off to a great success. He turned his gaze to Jungkook, meeting his eyes. ‘Milk it,’ he mouthed discreetly, Jungkook nodding in understanding with a cheeky grin.

When you moved your hand from dragging your nails gently over his scalp to softly rubbing the base of his ear, he let out a satisfied hum, and then a soft sigh. Jimin visibly tensed (not that you saw, too focused on concocting a foolproof strategy to win as you were) and Taehyung could have cackled at his genius. He truly was the smartest puppy, the best boy.

The game kicked off once more, and as per Taehyung’s morbid predictions you were losing tragically; a ridiculous amount of cards having built up over the rounds in your deck. Jungkook, the little shit, hadn’t hesitated before slamming you with four ‘+4’s at once two turns ago, and you’d been lowkey torturing him ever since by continuing to give him pets and scratches, but not where he actually wanted them and skirting around his favourite spots. You could feel his childish glare and refused to acknowledge it, pretending like you had no idea you were doing it. That’d teach him to mess with you.

All too soon you heard the dread-inducing “Uno!” from Taehyung and a turn later he was looking to you expectantly, hands empty after playing his last card and winning the game. Jungkook rolled off you with a pout and you sighed before getting up and moving over to Taehyung.

“You’re a little shit Taehyung.” You told the puppy hybrid as you wound your arms around his middle and rested your head on his shoulder for comfort. “If you even think of cheating and looking at my cards I’ll skewer you with the nearest sharp object.”

Taehyung laughed loudly and Jungkook snickered, but you noticed that Jimin hadn’t made a noise, his gaze transfixed on where your hands clasped Taehyung’s middle. Taehyung noticed too, but didn’t say anything about it, choosing instead to shuffle the cards and keep his smile to himself. He dished out your decks for the next round and once more opened his big mouth to put your dignity on the line again for a prize.

“This round we shall have the winner receive a kiss on the cheek from y/n! A once in a lifetime opportunity, virgin lips that have never— OW!!” he yelped suddenly when you moved and pinched his side, whispering a threatening “shut up Taehyung” in his cute puppy ear.

He snickered despite your threat, instead declaring the game officially started and once more you were thrust into the pain and misery that was your experience with Uno.

30 minutes later you felt like slamming your head into the floor and throwing Taehyung out the window for making you play this accursed game. Jungkook had won again and while you didn’t mind giving him a kiss on the cheek this game wasn’t very good for your overall winning streak and the worst thing was that Taehyung would remember that the next time you brought it up to compare against his.

Jimin was sitting in a mixture of shock, regret, and frustration, staring at the pile of cards in the middle of the table. He didn’t have a good enough explanation for his reasoning as to why yet, but he wanted that kiss damnit. He had been so close to winning, he had just one more card to go, and then Jungkook had snatched his much-anticipated victory away. He felt that feeling in his tummy boiling and he felt restless in his position on the floor. He couldn’t take this— he didn’t know what he couldn’t take, but he couldn’t take this.

While the silver-haired bunny was suffering through a messy inner monologue, Taehyung sat watching in glee. Jimin snapped out of his funk just in time to see you shuffle over and deliver a quick, cute peck to Jungkook’s cheek that had the younger flushing pink and his hand flying up to cover where your lips had just been, looking to you in surprise. You shot him a grin, resuming your original position between him and Jimin.

The silver-haired hybrid’s face had gone pink and he was staring at you with a troubled expression, Taehyung noticed.

Jimin wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms suddenly, shielding you away from the others so you couldn’t go kissing any more cheeks that weren’t his. His fingers twitched with the urge to grasp your waist and pull you close, and so he quickly busied them, shuffling the cards for this match.

Taehyung couldn’t have been any happier things were going just as he’d planned.

You all played a couple more rounds, the prizes being of a similar nature to the ones prior. Throughout each game Jimin got progressively more tense, until finally, after the last game where the prize had more pets AND a kiss on the cheek and Jungkook had won once more, Jimin looked ready to break. Taehyung seized his chance.

By this point everyone was beginning to grow a little tired; you’d all been playing late into the night. Taehyung decided to use this to his advantage.

“Okay for this round, the final round, there is a grand prize.” Taehyung announced, much too animated for someone awake as late as they were. He waited until he had everyone’s tired attention. “We all know y/n has only three bedrooms, right? So one of us would have to sleep on the couch. The winner of this round will get not only a kiss, but will get to room with y/n in her bed instead of on the couch! It’s a sweet deal, I was there when she bought that mattress, it’s an honest-to-god modern day miracle gifted to us mere mortals from the heavens above.”

You shot Taehyung a look for bartering your personal space like that but were too tired to bother arguing. You missed the pointed look Taehyung shot Jungkook.

“What do you mean ‘kiss’? Another one on the cheek?” Jungkook asked, and your gaze whipped to him. You’d just assumed Taehyung had meant a kiss on the cheek, but now that he mentioned it—

“A kiss on the lips!” Taehyung cheered, but quickly amended his statement at your murderous glare. “Haha, kidding— I was kidding. It’s just a kiss on the cheek, same as last time.”

You relaxed your facial expression with a small smile. You mightn’t have a very good win streak for Uno but that was a win right there.

You turned to Jimin suddenly, noticing he’d been relatively silent the past couple of rounds. As your face turned you caught sight of him looking at you. He flinched, whipping his head around with pink cheeks. Your eyebrows rose. You liked to think you were getting to know Jimin more and more every day, but there were still some things you just couldn’t decipher about him.

“Okay, fine.” You agreed to Taehyung’s terms, letting out a small yawn. “But I’m going to bed after and you all should too.”

They all nodded, pretty much just as tired as you were. Taehyung dished out the cards and you all started once more on the final game of Uno.

In short, it was a mess. You were all so tired that at some point or another you lost track of what you were doing or planning, and several turns later one of you would be crying in outrage and throwing a card at the other. Jungkook was glaring at the half of the entire pack he currently held in his hands, coming dead last by a long way. In a surprising turn of events, Taehyung wasn’t much better, and you and Jimin were actually winning. Jimin had declared Uno a turn ago and you thought you’d had time but you realised that was in fact not the case as Jimin threw his last card down on the pile, falling backwards with a happy cry.

“I won! Finally!” he crooned, tiredness evident even in his excitement. Jungkook and Taehyung groaned. He rolled over, looping his arms around your waist and dragging you down with him, your heart skipping a beat as you laughed. “Victory is sweet.” He mumbled tiredly, face resting in your neck.

He had been so lowkey stressed that he wouldn’t win this round and he would have to sit by and watch as Taehyung, or worse, Jungkook, won and subsequently got a kiss on the cheek and a place in your bed for the night. The elation he currently felt all but dissolved the funny feeling in his tummy from earlier and he was just so happy that he now got to lay next to you and cuddle you and hold you close—

He stopped himself, blushing at the embarrassing turn his thoughts had taken. He needed to stop that, why was he even thinking these things?

“Welp,” Taehyung began, rising and shaking out his limbs, stretching languidly. “As touching as it is to see Jiminie finally win, I’m dead tired so I’m gonna sleep. Jimin, I’m taking your room. Jungkook you can sleep wherever but that other room is there if you want it.”

You rolled your eyes at him giving out instructions like he owned the place, but slipped out of Jimin’s grip and stood up, helping him up afterwards.

“Goodnight Taehyung, and goodnight Jungkook.” You said, giving them both a hug before pulling back and moving towards the direction of your room. “Thank you for coming tonight. I hope you sleep well. ‘Night.”

You grasped Jimin’s hand thoughtlessly on the way past, tugging him with you and causing his cheeks to flush pink as he stared at you with an expression you wouldn’t be able to read if you saw it. Taehyung’s keen eyes noticed every detail of the interaction and he smiled to himself. That look, even if neither of you knew it yet, was of adoration. Jimin adored you, and he didn’t even know it himself yet. Although, after tonight, Taehyung had a feeling the silver-haired hybrid probably had a good idea.

You heard Jungkook and Taehyung go to their respective rooms as you went to yours, Jimin in tow. You’d already had your pyjamas on when the others had gotten there, and so didn’t need to change. You made a beeline for the bed, so tired the thought of flopping down and sinking into the goodness nearly made you cry happily.

Jimin couldn’t believe he’d actually won the final round, the grand prize; and now he got to cuddle with you and get a kiss on the cheek. For some reason he felt nervous, and that feeling in his stomach from before had been replaced with tiny butterflies laying waste gently to his insides.

You slipped in, the lights off, and there was only the slightest hesitance from Jimin as he followed suit, sliding beneath the blankets next to you. His heart was racing a mile a minute and he didn’t even know why.

He was content to lay there nervously with distance between you until he worked up the courage to initiate cuddling, but thankfully you seemed to sense his dilemma and opened your arms for him. A bright smile lit his face that you couldn’t see but you could feel and he happily shuffled into your arms, his own coming up to wind around you as he nestled into you and rested his face against your neck. A happy sigh escaped his lips as your hand rose to gently stroke over his hair and ears in a soothing manner. He could have fallen asleep just there, were it not for the slight nervous energy thrumming just under his skin. He felt so giddy and happy at having you close, but why? “Night, Jiminie.” You mumbled sleepily, pulling him closer before relaxing and slowly easing into the sleep your body had been begging for the last couple of hours.

He couldn’t sleep just yet, not matter how his eyelids ached to fall closed and he yearned to join you in dreamland. He couldn’t stop his mind from thinking, and whirring a mile a minute. Tonight had been strange for him, he’d ended up feeling a lot of things he’d never felt before and he didn’t know why. Jimin didn’t like feeling so confused, and uncertain.

You shifted in your sleep, cuddling closer to him, and at the sudden elated skip his heart did a sense of realisation began to gently wash over him. Oh.

He liked you.

Jimin, face warm, abruptly shut his eyes and buried his face in your neck. When had this happened? How had this happened? Oh god. He didn’t think he had it in him to deal with this sudden realisation right now.

Clutching you closer, he did his best to keep his eyes shut and go to sleep. As he successfully began to drift off, the last thought he had was that regardless of his realised feelings, he was truly happy where he was right now, with you and in your arms, cuddling and sleeping next to you. He’d deal with his realisation another day, and for now, would just enjoy his time with you. Being with you always made everything better. Always.

[circular-time]

Spare Parts Liveblog 7 -Disc 3 

EEEK. I’m impressed just how suspenseful and exciting Spare Parts is, even when we know it hinges on a fait accompli (creation of the Cybermen). Then again, Genesis of the Daleks was pretty good too.

Track 3.1 - “Popping the Seals” 

The Doctor’s in an unusual, impossible situation. Normally he’s trying to stop the Cybermen. This time?

IF HE DOES NOTHING, the Cybermen will be destroyed along with Mondas. Bonus: he and Nyssa may be killed before they can escape, and they’ll abandon a lot of innocent people to die, too. IF HE TRIES TO HELP, he’ll be saving the Cybermen. On the other hand he and Nyssa may die in that case, too. And either way the people of Mondas are screwed.

Ouch. Good luck with that, Doc.

Inside the Committee Palace, Sisterman Constant and Sisterman Allan are trying to herd some extremely terrifying cats: half-processed Cybermen demanding tasks.

Infiltrating the palace, the Doctor digs out some of Mondas’ history from Dodd, who doesn’t know which way to jump. This society is...sort of Communist? The leaders were executed, the People’s Committee rules.

The Doctor grabs gold leaf from an old statue. Early classic Who had Cybermen allergic to gold like werewolves to silver, but i think that may have been the Telos models. At any rate, nice nod to Deadric, whose gold star was handy for Five’s Cyberman-disposal on a previous occasion.

Poor Cyber-Yvonne bumps into them so Dodd can see how horrible they are— the Doctor is trying so hard to get this “I don’t care” cynical opportunist to care, but he’s just scared. Yvonne can’t remember who she is, only that she wanted to show off her uniform to her father (but he’s already seen photos and thinks they’re horrible). The pathos of having a Cyberman whose identity we know will be used again later by New Who.

[ETA: Apparently the Yvonne scene was adapted by new Who in The Age of Steel / Rise of the Cybermen, on which Marc Platt got a writing credit. Much like Dalek, that was new Who cribbing/adapting a Big Finish story.]

Track 3.2 - “Power Vacuum” 

It’s snowing inside the city cavern. Perfectly festive for the Christmans holiday (Big Finish and its scary Christmas stories!) except that’s a sign the planet’s icy exterior has broken into the biosphere. Power’s out, heat’s off.

So Nyssa and the two surviving Hartleys are standing on the doorstep of a poor apartment complex in near-darkness, watching the city die as cold death rains down... utterly helpless and terrifying.

Toto, I don’t think we’re on Traken anymore.

_____

Meanwhile Allan and Constant are now prisoners of paranoid, half-processed cyber-recruits. Allan manages to talk them into letting her go work on the generators. Bidding farewell to Constant who gives her a scarf and blesses her; that’s what passes for a touching farewell in this hellhole.

The Doctor sees Allan being herded by a mistrustful Cyberman and leaps to her rescue (of course) rubbing gold on its grill. A brief moment of gallows humor: 

“Well, go on! Choke and fall over.”  “Is this a thre-eat?” 

Whoops. Mind your head on that lampshade.

Allan proves she does actually care about life; she deactivates the cyber-recruit. “I had to abort him. I don’t take this decision lightly.” “No doctor does.” Speaking from experience: he doesn’t kill unless he absolutely must either. But the difference between them is that Allan still thinks of the Cybermen as people, and to some extent, her children.

“I’m closing his eyes. He was a human being.” “It’s a Cyberman.” 

And yet the last one the Doctor saw had vestiges of humanity— but that’s only because Yvonne was half-processed.

Nyssa doesn’t have a key and gets locked out of the TARDIS. Eeek. (Why did she go out without a key? Argh, the Doctor’s lack of common sense is rubbing off!) 

She wants to go to the Committee Palace to find the Doctor— brave lamb to the slaughter— but she and Frank see Cybermen on patrol and decide to take cover at home.

Track 3.3 - “Dead Planet Walking”

Eeek. Another really disturbing scene. As horrible as Sisterman Constant is, telling a Cyber-recruit “You were chosen for a purpose” as if she is somehow superior and had the right to condemn the person it used to be— it still freaks me out when it breaks her shoulder. 

Likes Robespierre, she’s about to find out how sharp that guillotine blade is. 

She treats the Cybermen as second-class citizens, yet Constant still deludes herself that the recruits are people and is outraged when Zheng shows up and shoots the one hurting her.

(actual first Doctor cliffhanger, first time Cybermen ever seen I think)

Zheng establishes himself as the Boss at once. Nick’s being brilliant again: same singsong voice, but deeper and more menacing. “Resistance will not be tolerated.” He sends Constant off to be processed, without pity. Buh-bye Constant, religious hypocrite who still somehow manages to be a (slightly) symapatheic character.

Back to Allan and the Doctor arguing Mondas’ fate in the chamber with the Committee, the 20 top minds of Mondas (literally; they’re kind of brains in jars). 

Peter has some great speeches, and he just goes for it. Passionate, outraged, horrified, blunt, trying to get Allan to see how ghastly the Committee is, that it and the Cybermen have both lost every human spark and shouldn’t be in charge of saving people they don’t care about.

Zheng barges in, interrupting him before he really gets going. The Doctor starts fibbing as only he can fib...

“How do you do, I’m the... Doctorman’s assistant. (Every Doctor should have one.)” 

YES. YES YOU SHOULD. GO FIND HER. (Every now and then these audios’ tendency to split up Doctor and companions drives me mad. They work together more often on TV.)

And now Platt provides a really good reason for the creation of the Cybermen: Mondas is moving into a radiation-heavy and highly dangerous region of space; they’re installing engines to move it away, but surface construction requires Cyber-processed workers. Plus, the radiation from the nebula and ice from the surface is reaching into the depths of the planet, so Cyber-processing may be the only way to keep anyone alive.

Amazing how this whole story maintains the atmosphere of crazed desperation, the frenzy of rats in a trap turning on one another, or a wolf gnawing its own leg off trying to live. 

Track 3.4 - “Switch Hitter” (Platt must be responsible for these gallows humor puns)

Back to a spot of home repair and ethical debate. Allan says the Cybermen are their saviours. Zheng: “We are the future.” Doctor: “EXACTLY!!!! *throws switch* Four down, six nails in the coffin to go.”

He knows damn well what he’s doing now: putting the future back on course, condemning the citizens to be cyber-converted (their fate is inescapable now), sending Mondas back towards Earth, where it will eventually meet up with the First Doctor.

He’s complicit in the Cybermen’s creation.  At least in THIS version of canon.

And now back to the human side of things: the ordinary people, the stroke of Big Finish genius that digs into human characters more in order to make the monsters more personally, intimately horrible.

Yvonne breaks into her old home, and we get the pathetic image of a Cyberman weeping. Oh this scene is so bleeping heartbreaking. (and awful; her dad tries to take off the mask not realizing that’s her face, and she screams.) 

Mr. Hartley is so sweet to Yvonne, treating her like she hasn’t changed, even though he’s horrified. He takes her over to the [Christmas] tree and gives us a little Mondasian symbolism: “the forests that once grew on the surface of the world... the stars... the worlds we pass...the star on top, the old Sun we left behind...” 

To her surprise, Nyssa learns that some Cybermen do have feelings (or do they? This one’s broken.) 

And Frank learns that what he wanted to be so badly -- a crewman -- is the ultimate doom of his sister.  Talk about growing up in a hurry.

Ooops! Time for Agony Acting Pete.  He’s so good at screaming. (Zheng uses the Doctor to get the repairs done and then electrocutes him, and Allan thinks he’s dead.) 

Track 3.5 - "Seeing the Tree for the Forests”

So let’s see. Gearing up for a classic Who Everything’s Gone To Hell Episode 3 Cliffhanger.

Doctor is dead. (Not) 

The Hartleys have had their world shattered, though Mr. Hartley’s in denial “We’re all back together now, like a proper family.” While a cyberman cries on his shoulder. Ugh. Poor Yvonne. 

Constant gets to meet the whizzy end of a dentist drill, just so we can squirm some more at the visceral image.

Doctor not dead; there’s still a few minutes yet before the cliffhanger. First thought as he wakes up is “Nyssa, must find Nyssa.” Someone should’ve hit him on the head sooner.

 (Then again, until now he had a Time Lord duty, horrible as it was: secure history. Done. Now he wants to get her out of there.) 

Unfortunately the Doctor is not in good enough shape to go anywhere, so Allan decides to use him as a template to improve the Cybermen and make them more durable. Uh oh.

HEY DOC? NEVER SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN INVOLVED.

Back to the Hartleys --- the power is restored, and Yvonne cries “DAaaad!” as her last vestiges of soul are ripped from her. :(  Again, she stands for all the Mondasians we don’t know about. 

And now Frank’s watching the frozen atmosphere pour through a break in the roof onto the hydroponics plant. Which means starvation. What an image. 

Track 3.6 - “Wetware Piracy”

Back in the Palace, the Doctor’s in hospital, and Dodd, who’s been skulking and hiding, offers to help him make a call to Nyssa at the Hartleys (”I never forget a creditor”) if the Doctor promises to give him one of his two hearts. Which may be a lie, but you never know; Five has a terrible self-sacrifice problem. (Again, he and Nyssa are too well-matched.) 

Thought Frank would have learned a lesson after seeing what happened to Yvonne, but know, he’s still being all too human and lashing out. When Nyssa tries to comfort him he screams something about how she can’t understand, “Who have you ever lost?!” and storms off. 

Well, her mother, her father, her entire world... but teenagers always think their problems are bigger than everyone’s.

FINALLY. Phone call from Doctor to Nyssa. He tries to ask for her assistance, but she doesn’t have a TARDIS key. You can hear his hopes dying as he tells her nevermind, he’ll think of something. They’re screwed.

Cliffhanger time! 

Dodd’s caught and sent for processing, Nyssa’s caught (thanks to the Doctor’s call?), the Doctor’s trapped as a guinea pig for Allan’s experiments. 

“NO! I will not be the template for your monstrous parodies of humankind!”

Typical broad-stroke Marc Platt script: after 40-odd years, he dares to suggest that the better, later, more powerful Cybermen were based on the Doctor! (I’m not entirely thrilled with retconning and making so many things the Fifth Doctor’s fault; Fallible Five is so cursed. But it’s a heck of a concept.) 

Episode ends with the eerie Cyber-voices of the Committee summing up their plans for TEAM MONDAS:  WE. WILL. SURVIVE. 

*twitch* 

DOOO WEE OOO.