#i couldn’t keep the scene and the flow of the fic so i sacrificed the scene

[limerenze]

the last time - adrian pucey

[Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader]

masterlist

Summary; adrian and y/n are stuck in a cycle that cannot be ended

Word Count; 3.6k

A/N; okay. at what point do the amount of taylor song fics become too much? also i was stuck on this for so long then i got covid and finished it <3 <3 <3 

i wrote on my last fic that my new year resolution was not to write as many song fics and i’ve already broken that so the next fic WONT be a song fic i promise.

and i have to dedicate this to my absolute muse- without her this fic would’ve never seen the light of day, @loverssfevers i love u

Warnings; angst, post hogwarts

Dates Written; January 2nd - January 10th, 2022

Part of her hoped he would be next to her when she woke up. And that part was much bigger than she was willing to admit.

Every time he left, every day he was gone- every morning she woke up alone, the faith she had that he would return got less and less.

And just when that faith was ready to burn out, just when she was ready to put her foot down and put an end to all the sorrow. There he was.

It was as if Adrian knew that if he was gone just one more day, he would lose her. And so he came back. It was as if he always knew.

Y/N didn’t know how he always knew. It wasn’t as if she could tell him, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. They didn’t speak when he was away. It wasn’t something either of them ever brought up, they just didn’t. 

Y/N and Adrian were in the seventh year when the quidditch scouts had come to Hogwarts. Madam Hooch hadn’t given the house teams much notice. One day it was to be a normal game against Hufflepuff and the next it was the biggest, most important game of Adrian’s quidditch career.

Adrian had gone absolutely ballistic with only just under two weeks to prepare for the game. 

Graham Montague was their captain that year. The two were quite good mates, but from the moment Madam Hooch had told them about the scouts to the moment the match was over- Adrian loathed him.

He wasn’t taking it seriously, was Adrian the only one who cared?

The Slytherin team was a joke that year.

Himself, Montague, Warrington, Bletchly, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle?

It was their first year without Flint. And it was a disaster.

Adrian hadn’t played Quidditch on the house team in two years at that point. He was a little rusty, but during those two weeks, it seemed he was the only one on the team with a brain.

Cassius and Graham had no interest in going into professional quidditch after Hogwarts. Malfoy and his two chums were never ones to overtly stress over their matches. The only time Draco cared whether they won or lost was when they played against Gryffindor. How they even made the team was beyond Adrian. 

It wasn’t that Adrian thought they were bad players, not at all. Draco was an ace seeker, when he wanted to be. Adrian even considered begging Malfoy to put his all into their match so they would win, but decided his pride was worth more. Adrian was never particularly fond of the blonde boy.

However, Miles agreed with Adrian, Miles wanted to make a good impression, the two boys just wanted a chance. They were willing to work for it, but that would mean nothing if their teammates wouldn’t do the same.

Y/N tried everything to get Adrian to loosen up during those two weeks. She would tell him how bad stress is for the body, and how all he can do is play his best. 

She thought it was helping, until one day- just days before the match, Adrian’s patience broke and he shouted at her in the great hall.

“Do you ever stop talking? No! really, every time you’re around it’s like I can’t hear myself think!” he snapped, his eyes wide and his- normally neat, hair was poking up in all different directions. “Just go!”

Y/N’s eyes were immediately glossy as everyone in a 15-foot perimeter stopped what they were doing and looked over at the two. She stayed in her spot next to him, just long enough to search for any sign of guilt or regret in Adrian’s eyes.

When she saw none, she got up to leave the great hall with her sight trained to the ground.

To make it worse, just as she was about to make her clean getaway from the hall of humiliation- she crashed into Draco Malfoy. “Watch where you’re going, Y/L/N!”

And when she looked up at him to apologize, even his eyes softened with regret when he saw her state. 

Y/N didn’t like to think about that day. But still, as she sat alone in her flat, she couldn’t help it.

It had gotten so bad, that if it weren’t for the Montrose Magpies game schedule she had, she wouldn’t even know where Adrian was.

The worst was when she would check it, just out of sheer curiosity- only to find out they didn’t even have a game that day. And she was left to her imagination to think about what he was up to.

Adrian didn’t talk to her after that day in the great hall, not until after the match.

No matter how much his friends pestered him to, even Malfoy. And Draco was never one to poke his head into other peoples personal business. Adrian would just scowl at him until he left him alone.

She felt bad for bothering Adrian during the most stressful time for him. Her friends comforted her when she busted into her common room with splotchy tear marks on her cheeks, then she had to talk them out of hexing Adrian.

She didn’t try and speak to him after that, and he didn’t try to speak to her.

He felt bad, of course he did. But he didn’t have time to feel bad. When he wasn’t in class or eating or sleeping- he was on the quidditch pitch. And when the quidditch pitch wasn’t available, he was in the library working on plays.

He didn’t realize the impact his words and actions- or lack thereof, had on his sweet girl. Not until he was in uniform, flying out into the pitch and his eyes darting around the stands.

Adrian scanned every face in attendance, biting back a nervous smile when he saw a group of grown men he’d never seen before sitting together- noting that they must’ve been the scouts.

His smile was long gone once he realized she didn’t come. 

Y/N was sitting in on her bed, the curtains were drawn open and her dormmates all sat on their respective beds as well. She had a novel open in front of her but it was forgotten as they practised their Patronus charms in the middle of their room.

It was her friends who assured her she didn’t need to feel guilty about missing Adrian’s match, especially after he made no attempt to apologize. 

And that evening Adrian felt he had never played worse.

He was overtly aware that there were people in the stands, judging his every move. Adrian was an excellent chaser- he knew that. But his hands were sweaty and were slipping all along the handle of his broomstick.

He should’ve worn gloves.

He hurled a quaffle towards the rings- and although it made it past the Hufflepuff keeper, a sharp pain shot through his body as his muscles strained near his right-side ribcage.

He should’ve stretched more.

To everyone watching, Adrian was flying as swiftly and graciously as always. But to Adrian, it was as if he had forgotten everything he knew about it. He felt uncoordinated and as if it was his first time mounting one.

And in the end, they lost. It was a narrow loss, Hufflepuff was a tough team- everyone knew it. But that didn’t make Adrian feel any better.

“You played brilliantly, mate” Graham had said to him in the locker room after the match. His hand smacking down on his shoulder, he wore a sorry looking expression.

“Thanks, Cap” Adrian tried to smile, but anyone could see he was far from happy. “You guys all did too” He paused, to look at his teammates, they all played sad expressions. “I’m sorry for all of this, I thought we had a shot.”

“We did, mate. Hufflepuff is just-” Cassius began,

“-Wicked” Crabbe finished. “They’re on a streak, they weren’t about to let us break that.” 

The rest of the boys nodded along and one by one- trickled out of the locker room, leaving Adrian alone.

Y/N was still sat on her bed, that much hadn’t changed. The novel was still sitting open and unread in front of her, that hadn’t changed either.

What had changed, is that her friends had left her alone in the room. The laughter and the joy they provided her with, the laughter and joy that had been doing such a good job of distracting her- was replaced with complete and utter silence.

It was almost deafening.

The light in the sky had gone and only darkness was left. She didn’t know how long she had sat there.

Surely she sat through the entirety of the quidditch match, and depending on the time- the entirety of dinner as well.

She wouldn't have been able to keep anything she ate down anyways.

A knock was what finally snapped her out of her daze, she hadn’t even called for whoever was on the other side to come in before the knob turned and the door was pushed open.

It was a girl in her house a few years below her. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” her eyes darted over to her and back to staring blankly.

“There’s um-” she stopped, looking down the stairs into the common room- “There’s a Slytherin boy outside the common room, he’s asked me to come up and fetch you?”

She didn’t say anything at first, and the younger girl was beginning to feel nervous. Maybe she should’ve just told the boy that she wasn’t there. “I can get rid of him, if you’d like?” 

Y/N was going to laugh, but she just thanked the girl and said she would be down in a minute. 

Her bare feet were cold on the stone steps. She probably should’ve put her shoes on, or slippers. She said hello to a few of her housemates who were lounging on the sofas and chairs with light music playing in the background. 

She pushed the door of the common room open to reveal Miles Bletchley. The Slytherin keeper in all his glory. Definitely not who she was expecting. 

He stood with his back leaning against the wall. His legs were straight out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was lucky the hallway was empty, or else he would be a tripping hazard. She knew he didn’t care though.

His eyes were glued to the space on the floor in front of him and his fluffy light brown hair was split down the middle and hanging over his forehead. 

“Hey, Milo,” she said in a small voice, leaning against the wall opposite of him- he looked up at her and smiled. The two had never really spoken before Adrian and Y/N started dating. 

To be completely honest, she had never liked Miles all too much. He was rather mean- possibly the meanest boy in their year. 

But after beginning to date Adrian, they had grown to be quite fond of each other.

Y/N was worried their own personal dynamics would clash with each other’s friends- but alas, they didn’t. Y/N loved Adrian’s friends, and Adrian loved her’s.

“Hi, Y/N/N” Miles looked relieved to see her, as if he didn’t expect her to actually come down.

And as if Y/N hadn’t done it enough on her own- she and Miles sat in silence for a few moments. It was a comfortable silence and Y/N knew- just on the fact that Miles was with her, and not celebrating- that their match against Hufflepuff had not gone according to plan.

“It didn’t go too swell, huh?” she asked hesitantly. She knew Miles was the only other player on the team who was taking the match that the scouts would see seriously. So she didn’t want to hit a nerve.

Miles just shrugged and hung his head. “We lost. It wasn’t a terrible loss- the boys were on top of it. Huffs were just a right sight better” 

“How is he?” 

“He’s gutted. Which is expected” She nodded along as Miles spoke. “He’s also stupid and bloody-minded” 

“What d’you mean” Y/N was beginning to get cold, and she was abundantly aware of the absence of carpet in the hallways. It was like the cold stone was absorbing all the heat from her body. She brought her hands up to cross and try to retain the warmth she had left.

“He won’t come apologize on his own, Y/N/N. He’s sorry, he knows it, I know it- the whole bloody dungeons know it.”

“If he was sorry, he’d be here on his own accord. He shouldn’t need his pal to track me down and tell me for him”

“You were in your dorm, I hardly tracked you down” Miles tried to lighten the mood. But Y/N was cold and annoyed. “He goes to the Boathouse to be alone. But you already knew that?”

Y/N stayed quiet, but she looked back up at the boy in front of her. “If you decide to go check it out, and you happen to see him?” Miles paused, moving to remove his Slytherin robes. He stood with just his black slacks and a black turtleneck, holding his robes open for Y/N to fall into. 

She ended up succumbing to the temperature and turned her back to Miles, sliding her arms into the boy’s robe and facing him with a smile. “Go ahead and give him this for me, eh? I’ll need it for class tomorrow”

After shooting her a quick wink, Miles bowed his head and walked away. 

And that was how Y/N ended up at the Boathouse, sitting next to Adrian- comforting him. Their legs were dangling over the edge of the doc- her head on his shoulder

Over a year later and nothing had changed.

Y/N stood to her feet from her spot on the sofa. She stood so she could walk to the kitchen to rinse her wine glass and turn in for the night. She had bought a bottle of red wine- which she intended to share with Adrian. But as the night drew on and he hadn’t shown up, she popped it open alone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she leaned over the stainless steel sink, she swirled water in the base of the glass gently and tipped it over, watching it fall to the middle and down the drain.

After all the silence she had been listening to that night, the pounding on the front door from down the hall made her ears ring.

And as she heard Adrian’s shouting and banging, she longed for the stillness her flat had once held. 

Part of her wished she had the stomach to leave him in the hallway. And that part was much smaller than she was willing to admit.

She wished she could ignore his pleas, until his knuckles were raw and he couldn’t bear to hit the door even one more time. Until her neighbours would wake up and go to the hall to shout at him. 

But she didn’t, and she couldn’t.

And so the chain of the lock jingled between her polished fingernails as she slid it off. She twisted the lock open and pulled the heavy door- to reveal Adrian Pucey.

Adrian Pucey. Chaser for the Montrose Magpies. Y/N’s boyfriend of over two years.

But ever since he donned the black and white robes, he never seemed to care that he was the ladder anymore. Quidditch was all that mattered, and Y/N didn’t know how much longer she could come second to it anymore. 

He didn’t move from his place on the floor. She couldn’t say how long she allowed herself to leave him outside, but it was long enough for him to sink to his knees.

“I wanted to surprise you, I tried to apparate into the bedroom but,” Adrian began to trail off. “It didn't let me, so I settled for the hallway”

‘It wouldn't have been much of a surprise considering I was expecting you. Waiting for you.’ she wanted to shoot back in his face. But she couldn’t, and she settled for: “The flat is full of protection charms, remember? You were there when Terry and I put ‘em up” 

Y/N made no moves to allow him in. And he made no moves to get past her and into the flat.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ as he remembered that afternoon. He couldn’t help them, they were always worlds better at charms than him anyway.

“I’m sorry, love” he hung his head, but Y/N wasn’t having any of it.

“Are you?” She snapped back at him. His ears perked up and his eyes flicked up at her, his head staying hung. “Are you sorry, Adrian? Because you do this over and over again. You show up here and you tell me you’re sorry but nothing ever changes!” 

She would not be shouting like this had she not had three glasses of that wine. She would not be unveiling all the feelings she’s had the last year so freely for him to see. But she couldn’t help it.

She knew she would always let him in, she would allow him to break her heart over and over again if she didn’t put a stop to it now. She had to do it now, otherwise, she was afraid she never would.

His eyes were glassy below her, as she spoke his head began to shake. And the more she talked, the faster it shook. As if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No,” he gasped out. “No, no, no, baby. No, you’ve got it all wrong”

“I can't keep believing you, Adrian.” Y/N sniffled. And she prayed that no one would come out into the hallway. “Not when there’s nothing to show for”

“There’s us to show for!” Adrian pleaded, finally standing from his place on the floor to his feet. “Isn’t that enough? That should be enough!”

Adrian moved to grab her by her shoulders, gently. And he began to take in her appearance.

The tender skin under her eyes looked raw. As if she had been rubbing them all night. But still, Adrian could see dried tears. The ones Y/N had been so desperate to get rid of. The innermost part of her lips were stained a deep purple-red.

“Have you been drinking?”

She scoffed at him. Rolling her eyes and turning her back.

Disregarding his comment, she continued. “It’s not enough. I can't believe you think it would be enough”

She didn’t know if she could say everything she needed to say while looking at him in the eyes. And so she stared ahead. She stared at herself in the mirror. Y/N could see the reflection of him standing behind her but her eyes stayed on herself.

“What ‘us’, Adrian? There’s no ‘us’. There’s just me, Me always alone, always waiting around. There’s me putting everything I have into this relationship and never getting anything back. Then there’s you. You leaving and returning whenever it’s convenient for you. You coming back and telling me you’re sorry and never meaning it. There’s you never changing.”

Adrian just wanted her to look at him. Everything always felt better when he could look into her eyes. They were comforting and familiar, and he’s gone through so much change that all he wanted was Y/N. She was the only constant in his life, and he needed her. He relied on her.

Adrian didn’t understand that that was the root of all their problems. Because Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she felt she could rely on Adrian. It wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“It’s like” she stopped, reaching up to wipe away the tears that were falling once again, but once one was gone another one would replace it. “It’s like I never know when I’m going to see you again, and the only thing I have to hold on to is that you’ve always come back before. And I can’t live like that, Adrian. It’s not fair”

She expected Adrian to intervene at some point. But when he didn’t, she kept going. “I deserve someone who will make me a priority. And you have never done that. And I can’t keep asking you to put me at the top of your list”

“You don’t have to” he finally spoke. “You don’t have to keep asking because I hear you, I swear I do” Adrian pleaded.

He brought his hands up to grasp onto her waist as he continued. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to ask, and this is the last time I will show up here like this. This is the last time. And I swear won’t hurt you anymore, Y/N”

And finally, he engulfed her in a hug from behind.

Y/N allowed herself to cry and cosy into his arms. And she didn’t know if it was smart, or if he deserved it. And she didn’t know if she would regret it later. But she turned to face him and pulled him into the flat and Adrian all but slammed the door behind him.

“I love you” He cried into her hair as they stood in the front entryway together. 

She didn’t know if it was smart. She didn’t know if he deserved it and she didn’t know if she would regret it later. Really, she didn’t know much, but there was one thing she knew for sure. And so she told him.

“I love you, too”

-

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[tundrainafrica]

that moment when you realize levi's last memory of hanji was her laughing - her last laugh. oh and levi would never have a body to bury. Also, I was wondering if you have done an analysis of the solute that levi did - you know keeping his hand over her heart. I personally headcannon that levi meant hanji to give her heart to him, to be his and that's why he kept his fist over her heart. (sorry if it sounds cheesy lmao)

OKAY SO WE’RE ON THE TOPIC OF CH. 132 AGAIN. So imma assume you guys really wanna hurt yourselves more so allow me to drop this really amazing animation of 132 which really captures Hange and Levi’s facial expressions well along with a lot of symbolisms about Hange so please, even if you’re not gonna read the whole meta I have down under. Please watch it. You won’t regret it. It’s beautiful. Here’s the link (The lyrics are good too, so I’d recommend you check the English translation out, the second verse all the way to the chorus, it really fits.)

that moment when you realize levi's last memory of hanji was her laughing - her last laugh. oh and levi would never have a body to bury. 

How are you so sure that Hange’s last memory was her smiling and laughing?

I actually like to entertain the possibility that Hange and Levi made an extremely conscious effort to avoid looking at each other, especially in the eyes. Why is that?

Maybe, the scene in 126 was that much of a profound scene relationship wise that they couldn’t look at each other after that? But I can’t help but think the Levi and Hange’s dynamics were particularly distant in 132? Especially if you compare it to just a few chapters ago where Hange couldn’t even leave him right? Like she was always next to him on his sleeping bag. 

That’s why I really hc-ed that maybe when she was changing his bandages, particularly removing the ones covering his mouth, they had a conversation. And I wrote out my take on it in this fic.

There are just way too many panels about them talking about so many deep things and in all of them they’re looking away from each other.

You can say, towards the last panels, of course he’s not looking at her, he knows she’s going to sacrifice herself, why put her to the pain?

And even the dedicate your heart scene right? He wasn’t looking at her. 

So the point is, do you really think his last memory of her was her smile? 

And was it really her laugh? Personally, when I see people smile, I don’t look at their mouths, I look at their eyes. I’m an eyes person. I think eyes talk more than someone’s mouth. 

And Hange wasn’t smiling at all, look at those eyes.

And do we really count a ‘haha’ as a laugh :’). Do you think Levi... who has seen Hange laugh so many times before, and had seen that same wonder in her eyes before and how she constantly smiles with both her eyes and her mouth, do you think Levi would have counted that as a laugh?

Anyway, I like to headcanon the last clear vivid memory Levi had of her was when she was changing his bandages back in the ship. They were avoiding each othe rtoo much, Levi was really avoiding looking at her this whole chapter and I really suspect there was a deleted scene, a conversation in the ship which changed their whole dynamic in that chapter before Hange chose to sacrifice herself. 

Anyway, moving on to the next question:  

Also, I was wondering if you have done an analysis of the salute that levi did - you know keeping his hand over her heart. I personally headcannon that levi meant hanji to give her heart to him, to be his and that's why he kept his fist over her heart. (sorry if it sounds cheesy lmao)

Omg, that is such a cute headcanon I didn’t think about. Thank you for sharing that <3 I’ll add that to my own personal list of headcanons that I’ll be sharing below. 

Before I move on to sharing it, I just have to say: 

I love the original Japanese translation.

For most western languages, you have to mention the “your” in Dedicate your heart because it just doesn’t flow well to say “dedicate heart” nor would it be consistent with Erwin’s iconic statement being constantly translated to “Dedicate your heart” suddenly being translated to “Dedicate heart” which is wrong grammar anyway. 

With 心臓を捧げよう, we only know there is an unspecified number of hearts which are to be dedicated. 

So Levi’s message could be translated to either “Dedicate your heart.” or even “Let’s dedicate our hearts”

So as a Levihan shipper I could headcanon this in so many ways. 

1. I’ll drop the vanilla one first.  “Dedicate your heart” okay Hange while sacrificing yourself, make sure to dedicate your heart okay, fight to your heart’s content, which is the most conventional interpretation. 

2. The next one is: Let’s dedicate our hearts. This could mean that he feels the war is reaching it’s climax and if she’s ready to die, Levi is willing to join her soon and he will dedicate his heart the same way. Since Japanese tenses in relation to time aren’t specified and future tense doesn’t exist in Japanese, it makes it vague enough to even foreshadow Levi’s own intentions to really dedicate his heart like his own comrades did. And the fact that Levi said see you later Hange? That only supports this headcanon. 

3. Another head canon I have is Levi figuratively left his heart with her with that salute and in that moment, maybe he was talking to himself when he decided to dedicate his heart to her. With that dedication and with Hange’s impending sacrifice, Levi showed his readiness to lose his heart and have it die with her. 

4. This is actually an analysis I read a while back from a Japanese website I’ll leave the link below and it’s definitely one of my favorites for this scene. 

So to summarize the analysis, the Japanese fans see it as a symbolism of unity for Hange and Levi. 

Remember Hange was betrayed by the Jaegerists a few chapters back probably less than a few days ago manga time. Hange is one of the few people who have this idea that what Eren is doing is wrong, the violence, the rumbling. And with Zeke, Flock and Yelena all explicitly disagreeing with her, she was living with this idea that she was doing things wrong especially since only recently a majority of the survey corps actually betrayed her. Yet Hange still continued to hold on to her idea that their ideas are all wrong, there must be a more peaceful way to end all this. Also, remember even do Hange had such an idealistic way on how she wanted it to end, no one explicitly agreed with her. 

Thus, she was lonely. And with that ‘dedicate your heart’ scene, Levi recognizes that loneliness and by saying “let’s dedicate our hearts” he’s telling her he is dedicating his heart to that same cause she is fighting for. And even if no one agrees with it, he agrees with her cause. 

He’s empathizing with it, he’s affirming it and he’s telling her what she’s fighting for isn’t wrong and he wants to clear her of any doubts in her final moments so she can fight till her hearts content. 

And I think that’s beautiful. I got the analysis  here.  

The “dedicate your heart” could mean one of all the things above but it can also mean all the things above at once. I like to hurt myself by thinking, Hange and Levi talk more with gestures than words and maybe Levi meant to say everything up there. 

And maybe with this face Hange gave we can see... 

She might have gotten all five messages before she sacrificed herself. 

Anyway, thanks for reading!

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

Who will be on the CHOPPING BLOCK!?

Eight fics were written following a [Dystopia] theme, including [Partner in Crime] and [Bed Sharing], with a Character focus on [John Murphy]! Voting determined the 4 who would continue on in this competition…

We had eight (8) INCREDIBLE fics this round, but, unfortunately, not everyone can move on to the next round. In this round, four (4) authors are on the CHOPPING BLOCK! Thank you so much to all the authors who participated, and, to the authors who were Chopped, we hope you’ll consider joining future Chopped events, and we are so happy you decided to be a part of Chopped Madness!

Our reviews can be found under the cut!

The four authors who have been Chopped are:

@probably-voldemort​: don't mess with the flow, oh no (stick to the status quo) [Murphy x Clarke] [Rated T]

Qualifying Round Fic: to dream about a life (where you’re the shining star)

Round 1 Fic: something more than momentary

@she-who-the-river-could-not-hold​: Survivor’s move [Murphy x Emori] [Rated T]

Qualifying Round Fic: straight on until morning

Round 1 Fic: and the road gets tough

@justbecauseyoubelievesomething: even heroes have the right to dream [Murphy x Emori] [Rated T]

Qualifying Round Fic: seeds in silence (exploded in riot)

Round 1 Fic: into a cloven pine

@captaindaddykru​: poison but tasty [Murphy & Josephine] [Rated M]

Qualifying Round Fic: When the party’s over

Round 1 Fic: venus, planet of love was destroyed by global warming

—-

Now that you have been Chopped, all the fics you’ve written in Chopped Madness have been revealed and you can post about your fics! Don’t forget to tag us!

But don’t be discouraged if you were Chopped this round (or unable to participate)! We’ve created a non-anon collection, where you can submit your fics if you would like to write for other rounds, keep pace with the writing period, etc, in a non-competive way! That’s where you’ll find us!!!! We’d love to read your fics and will gladly share them on our tumblr! The non-anon collection can be found here! To submit your fic to the collection, simply enter ‘chopped_non_anonymous’ as the name of the collection when uploading your fic!!!

Non-Anon AO3 Collection Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Chopped_Non_Anonymous

To all the remaining Chopped Madness Authors, we hope you’re excited for ROUND 3, which starts TONIGHT, 12:00am (EST) April 2nd!! Please be sure to check our google doc for theme and trope explanations! Good luck!

@probably-voldemort​

Mod Review: This was a really cool concept that fit both divergent and high school musical together in a really cool way! All character choices worked and were so fun to see! “People were split into Cliques, signified by the colour of the pendant around your neck.  Red for Jocks.  Green for Nerds.  Blue for Artists.  Orange for Stoners.  They had real names, proper ones, but Murphy didn’t care enough to remember them.  No one called them their proper names before Graduation, anyway.  Your Clique determined everything: where you lived, where you worked, who you loved.” Such a great way to world build right away! Murphy and Clarke teaming up was so good! Such an interesting way to wrap the HSM conflict in with the factions! We liked that you hinted at the darker elements of your dystopia, like mentioning the patrols passing with guns, and how Murphy was wondering what factions they were in! It added a lot of depth! Murphy dressing up like a Nerd instead of an Artist when he went to Clarke’s house was a great way to give us an image of the different factions, very well done! We also loved the touch of Murphy secretly being an Artist, and Murphy not caring! Not being allowed out after curfew was a great way  to enforce a bed sharing trope! The ending left us wanting more! Will there be a revolution? Will Clarke become an artist?! We have to know!

@she-who-the-river-could-not-hold​

Mod Review: We loved the world building in the beginning, showing us how the world looked and felt through Murphy’s eyes, showing us the people in his building and all that. Very nice touch, especially all the little nods to canon Settings and Characters!! This dystopia is so cool! The concept of the Judges is super scary, and we’d love to know more about this world! We really loved that you had Murphy harbouring a fugitive! It was such a cool ‘crime’, and it allowed for the focus to be on them as a pair rather than anything else, and it was a nice character focused fic! Also, Emori just being in his house when he got home? Excellent. Memori as Exes was SO good!! It added a level of angst and also seriousness to the fic, because them being together was hard for Murphy, but also he obviously still loved her, making the stakes so much higher! “How long had it been since he had last seen Emori? Probably their breakup. It had been an ugly one but he couldn’t help but think to himself that she looked just as beautiful now as she had then.” This quote really pulled us into the Exes plot line, because pining is always a good idea in a fic! The characterisation throughout was PERFECT! We loved that you weaved Emori’s hand into the fic, Murphy noticing it was wrapped up and acknowledging it was because she was running with people who didn’t appreciate her the way he did was so good. The bed sharing was excellent! 1) murphy… bro… clean that couch!!! And 2) the rom com of it all! Them being rigid and awkward! So good! And such a great ending! A daring escape is always a great plot line! What happened to them, we have to know!

@justbecauseyoubelievesomething

Mod Review: This was an amazing concept, and so fun to read!! We really liked how you tied in the canon plot of Murphy bailing and giving up, while everyone else kept going, it was a nice character touch that helped you weave in the world building in a nice way. Murphy having powers, and trying to quiet them however he could, not wanting the burden of those powers felt super in character, and added a really cool dynamic between him and emori! Speaking of Emori, her power was SO cool!! Such an interesting choice and so well used in the story! We really enjoyed how they kept constantly saying the wrong thing to each other, it really added a nice level of angst, especially in such dire situations when any conversation could be their last! Murphy’s reoccuring dream being about Kane was such a nice way to weave his power, the plot, and the emotional stakes together in a super cohesive way!! The use of the canon settings as settings in your story was awesome! Shallow Valley sounded beautiful! We especially enjoyed the description “Almost paradise. If you could ignore the armed guards stationed on key street corners and the sniper rifles peering through second story windows. A shiver runs down Murphy’s back.” Such a nice way to show tension! Future Emori showing up at the end was SO angsty!! So well done! And Murphy finally having to open back up and use his powers, even though it terrified him, was such an emotional scene, and it gave way to a very cool scene where we got to see Murphy really using his powers while self sacrificing. Such a good ending, and an overall wonderful fic!

@captaindaddykru​

Mod Review: This concept for a ‘crime’ was so interesting! It tied in so nicely with the dystopia itself, and the motivations for Murphy and Josephine, being so different, added a really nice layer. Josephine’s reason and Murphy’s reason also allowed for an exploration of the impact that this world has on different types of people, which was very cool! Murphy and Josephine have the best dynamic for reluctant Partners in Crime, and Murphy as the narrator makes it even better!!! “Josephine just smiles slowly. “At first I was going to go all Rumpelstiltskin--““Bless you.”” -hilarious. We loved the imagery of everyone living on islands due to rising sea levels! Eerie, and a little timely, but SO cool! Very nice world building! Emori being sterilized because of her hand, SO creepy and terrible. Such a nice touch that makes the world seem even worse. Josephine’s introduction is so good, so cavalier, so unbothered, but underneath so much fury just festering. A great exploration of her character! Her reason for wanting to take the baby sort of changing every time Murphy asks, getting a little closer to the truth before she finally divulges everything, was such a nice way of exploring her and their world! And also… SHE STOLE MORE THAN ONE BABY?!?! We were super impressed with how you were able to weave such intricate backstories for all the characters into this fic! Bellamy cheating the test, Josephine’s whole story with Gabriel, Murphy’s reason for being unable to have kids, and Emori’s storyline too! SO interesting, we’d love to know more! And your ending was so good!! Them being unable to sell the baby because everyone knew whose baby it was was an excellent touch, and the “wait, you guys are getting paid” was so funny!!! “Pointedly, Emori looks to him and Murphy’s smirk grows slowly. He already has a partner in crime, and he has to say she’s much better at it. “Nah, you can keep her.”” Such a great memori moment to tie the fic up!

[slashtakemylife]

Just finished the last episodes and I need to rant about Adam because boi, if they had actually given the importance to Adam they said he had, Voltron would've been very different, in a better way

When S7 aired and I learned of Adam's death I felt upset and shocked but I never raged, I was just disappointed, I nosedived to every interview to see if the general media talked about it, and they did! However in the interviews I read things about Adam like, "since Shiro is gone, Adam is the next best pilot there is" (as to why it was Adam on the first unsuccesful wave), "he didn't hesitate" " he was made of the same cloth as Shiro" "His importance to Voltron is very big", I got massive warning signs of they doing what I personally call "sugarcoating" specially after reading the apology were JDS said they never intended to make Adam a recurring character, but alas, I waited to finish the season and properly make an opinion, well the warning signs were true and now I AM RANTING!!

I'll be going a little off topic but one thing I seriously hate in movies and shows are when female characters, specially love interests, are the best of the best, the most high rank, the smartest, the strongest, the handmade creation of the gods themselves, up to a point that sometimes you go, then why is the male character the leader? Isn't she more qualified? well yeah but she isn't just because, but other than saying how awesome she is, they barely show it, in important, crucial, deciding, defining moments they are not there when by their rank they should be or they are just adorning the background barely making any opninions, or despite being shown to be badass in certain scenes they are just sitting plants in others just for the hero to rescue them

Female characters are awesome and I love many of them but there are obvious parts were they are simply pushed aside despite the amount of importance they give them, Hollywood is afraid of putting female leads but also afraid of being called mysogynist so they create secondary female characters and then they "sugarcoat" them to us with valuable aspects such as a big family conection, a big link to the plot of the movie, a rank, a skill or smth to show she is a "strong woman" but only when convinient

As a female I'm used to this sugarcoating, so when on interviews I read those things about Adam, that is what pissed me off. Listen, in my true honest opinion, the VLD crew really wanted to make this rep for us, Barlee admitted it was greenlit late, it was smashed together (and it shows) but they did their best, I accepted Adam as JDS letter clearly says, Adam was just a character meant to show Shiro's sexuality, nothing less and nothing more, it's not that he is not important, he just wasn't planned for more and I'm not mad about it, I can accept that.

Suddenly declaring Adam as a symbol of loss, regret and war; a major character that has a major impactful role in Voltron..., please, that comes straight out of nowhere, since they saw how meaningful Adam was to ppl, they decided to "sugarcoat" him by giving him more value than he actually has or was meant to have, just let the man die and let me mourn him in peace

If I really give Adam the characteristics and value they said, things would've and could've been different in a so much better way and here is my how: (remember Adam is supposed to be like Shiro, one of if not the best pilot, behind Shiro, the garrison has to offer and a brave man that doesn't hesitate to jump into action, a team leader)

(Take this as a prompt as well please because I would love a fic like this)

So Shiro wants to go to Kerberos but Admiral Sanda won't let him, Sam Holt is pushing for Shiro because he is the best, but you need to replace him so, who is the second if not also the best pilot such as Shiro? You know it, Adam, he was there for every record but he is Shiro's flight parter so there is a high chance some of those records are Adam's as well, also Sam is close to Shiro so he probably would accept Adam as a replacement (or at least that is what Sanda would think)

If Adam is a self sacrificing hero like Shiro, he would want to accept just to keep Shiro safe back on Earth, Shiro could feel betrayed by Adam and the whole drama would've been so much better, but we need Shiro on Kerberos (unless you want BlackPaladdin!Adam) so imagine Adam coming over to Shiro and saying:

"Out of our time together, out of my respect and love for you, I'm doing this last thing, I'm rejecting Admiral Sanda's proposal and promote for you to be there, so go, but don't expect me to be here when you get back"

So Shiro basically has Adam's blessing but they still break up, they still parted on rocky terms but is more bittersweet and you show how mature and deep their relationship is

Back to canon, I believe they introduced Adam in the breakup because we are supposed to like him but not get invested in him so when he does die we won't feel so bad, VLD promoted Adam as Shiro's significant other, then they sugarcoated him by saying they were close to marriage but when we finally discover Adam's fate they go like, "we'll remember he is his ex, not current, so while feelings are still there Shiro already knew it was kind of over, so don't feel sad for Adam or Shiro, just remember Shiro is gay"

Having Adam just, "how important am I to you?" let's just say I'm not surprised ppl disliked Adam because he gave Shiro that ultimatum, his character felt needy and greedy but then again, we are not supposed to get too invested in him. (Boi, that went exactly the wrong direction, the fandom imprinted on Adam like newly born ducks)

I'll be going a little off topic but I'm coming back to Adam after explaining this thing: the cadets, why you use cadets and not fully trained officers? In all shows the main characters share their audiences' age but they always explain why, the adults are evil, fate just happened to put them there, a mystical something chose them (in the paladins cases) but here? They just say they are the best of the best, and that is good but still, just cadets, you can't do test with them, they could die, ppl have died while testing things, some of the crew of the guys that went to the moon died in a test in rl, right?

I thought, ok I'll go with it, but the Why You Don't Do That pretty much slaps them in the face, when the Galra attack, why they don't want to deploy them?

They are just cadets!

THEN WHY TF TRAIN THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!????

Sam came back knowing a Galra attack is inminent, the garrison is about to make the most advanced ships and weapons and they are giving them to cadets?! WHY?!?!

(Fix it and prompt time!)

Before Sam arrives they couldn't even make the pod move, so they could've explain the cadets as this

"It will takes us Years to create a simple prototype, if we were to train older cadets, they woulb be close to or retiring so better young ones so when we finally fly something they would not only have years of training but would be at their prime"

When Sam arrives

"I know you all expected to use this years from now but the Galra won't wait and neither will we, you are already trained for this so may as well keep it up"

- (the continuation of this prompt is after we talk Adam some more)

Back to the interviews, in one they said Adam's death was inminent given the natural flow of the show, if the Galra attack then we will deploy the best we have but the best we have is Adam so tough luck.

Me after watching the show: I'm calling BS on this! They HAD a defense line, they HAD the knowledge, they just sent them because they were stupid enough to put cadets in the only advanced weapon they had and to show how shitty Sanda was, and our poor gay man was the price, also brave Adam? I don't doubt it but then again, he did what soldiers do, he followed orders, so they didn't show me how brave he was, they showed me him doing his job, he knows what those commands mean, he knows what is his job description so while yeah he is obviously brave, so is everyone, he doesn't stand out, if he had been already buckled in Before the command then yes he is great but no, he just followed orders

You want to show his bravery and leader skills? Hold my juice, (I don't drink beer, sorry) we are about to get to the next part of the prompt

- (The next part :D)

Sam:

"We will keep you cadets but since the making of the ships is about to be done with the info I brought, we need an experienced pilot to be your leader specially in battle since you are new to that"

-Quiz time!-

Who is the best pilot the garrison has to offer known and acknowledged by both Sanda and Sam?

ADAM!!!

MFE pilot and leader!Adam

When the Garla attack, Adam is no longer in his squad, he stayed in base when Sanda deploys his unit and sees them get decimated, before they all die he does this

Adam:

"Cadets, I won't force you into doing anything, but there are good man and women out there getting killed by the very threat we've been training to defeat, so I'm taking my MFE and blast them to the next moon, anyone who wants to come along is welcome"

Sanda: "don't you daaare, court martial BS!"

Adam, while in his MFE:

"Open the particle barrier or I'll see a way to blast throught it!"

Sam does open it and they cover fire enough to save the few remaining earth pilots

(End prompt)

You see?!?! This is how you show me Adam being brave and a team leader, the original paladins are 4 young ones and a space dad, they could've had the earth equivalent with the 4 cadets and their own Shiro with Adam as their leader, can I also mention how he is now VERY much alive? So yeah, Adam is dead because you chose so! Shiro is alive because you chose so too! He was supposed to die to let Keith be the leader but you found his value and made great things with him and we all love him!

WHY COULD'NT YOU DO THIS WITH ADAAAAAAM!!!!!!

And you can't tell me it wouldn't be absolute poetry to have Space Dad as Captain of the Atlas, Space Son as the Voltron leader and Earth Dad as he leader of the Earth forces, being the support to keep safe his two idiots he loves and calls family

Adam should've left Griffin in charge for a moment, go to Shiro and blast Sendak with his MFE while screaming, this is for killing the love of my life! (Ok I got over excited in that last bit but you know it would've been epic)

If you reached this far you probably think I'm just a rabbid Adashi shipper ranting about my ship, and yeah I sorta am, as I said, I'm really just venting but still my true discomfort is the whole sugarcoating thing

I accepted Adam as JDS said, as what the show is showing me he is, a background character that, while he definitely is a major someone to Shiro, it is just for him, he doesn't have so much major importance in Voltron as a whole but he was designed that way, he is still part of Shiro's backstory but he is dead now and we shall move on

Don't try to make him more than he is outside of the show canon, this whole issue is because EVERYTHING is out of canon, the show reflects NOTHING of everything you said of both Shiro's sexuality and Adam as a character, if S8 brings Adam back whether is a flashback or alive, I'll come back to this because I will judge if they will own up to what they said he is or once again leave vague things that reflect nothing and try to cover it up outside of canon, I'm mad but mostly disappointed

I'll be fine in a few days and I will see S8 with the same excitement as I have all the rest of the seasons

[bleedingout4you]

You’re More Important

A whumpy fill in fic for the pyre scene in Shanarra season 2. Riga captures Mareth and Allanon, and they face the possibility of death together.

@swingrlm suggested this and helped find the movie quotes so this piece could flow.

(gif credit: loisfreakinglane)

Allanon slowly dressed himself. He felt a little light headed, but it was nothing compared to the pain he’d been in earlier. He was about to go out and speak with Mareth when he heard someone call him from outside. “Druid!” It wasn’t just anyone. It was Riga. He could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Where is the Codex?”

He could hear the question sounding clear in his mind even though no one had spoken. He felt as if a lump of ice was nestled in his stomach. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt too tight to breathe. Cold sweat covered his body as he tried to fight the sharp tang of fear polluting his mind. He’d told himself he could take a beating, but all he could see was the torture chamber. He could hear the brand searing the skin off his flesh.

He wanted nothing but to flee, but he couldn’t. His fear of Riga might be crippling, but his love for his daughter was stronger. He didn’t know where she was, but he wouldn’t leave without her. He forced one foot in front of the other until he was out of the tent. He looked at the men surrounding him. All their faces were covered in hatred. He wondered how many of them had lost loved ones to the demons, and instead of finding closure they chose to blame him.

Allanon saw the elf that visited him in his nightmares. The elf that terrified more than he’d ever let anyone know. He paused mid step and rewarded by one of the guards shoving him forward. “General Riga...” He stated the name coldly his voice showing none of the fear that he was feeling. He was weak and outnumbered, and he wouldn’t be lucky enough to escape twice.

Riga stepped to the side. “I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Allanon saw Mareth on her knees, blood running down the side of her face. He moved forward to rush to her side. Riga slipped his sword in front of him, with a cruel grin.  “I thought that might get your attention. Bring me the Codex or your daughter dies.”

Allanon looked back at his daughter. He closed his eyes and reached out with magic. He wanted to absorb her pain. He could feel the gash on her head and sent a splintering ache through him, but that was nothing to the fear she felt. She was afraid of dying, afraid of losing him, and even more afraid that he would hand Riga the Codex. He rocked forward a little as the connection dissolved. The effort had cost him. He rapidly blinked his eyes refocusing himself.

“Don’t do it.” Mareth shouted. Her bravery was rewarded with a back hand across her face. She was nearly knocked down by the hand of the guard.

Allanon lifted his hand in the direction of the guard. “Don’t touch her.” He could tell the small gesture seemed to scare the man, but the sword at his throat never wavered.

“I suggest you tell me where the Codex is, druid.” Riga hissed. “You won’t like what happens next.”

Allanon looked back to Mareth. She was so strong, struggling to remain composed. He’d been here before. It hadn’t been the same, but he remembered as if it was happening in that moment……..

“Bandon, what did you do to him?” Wil question him.

Allanon was struggling just control his breathing, let alone speak, but he attempted to form coherent words. “....pushed him too hard, went too fast... Was trying to save the Ellcrys...” He managed to get the words out. He struggled to focus on Wil. He was the last person he’d expected to attempt a rescue, and it was clear it wasn’t because he wanted to.

“Someone else you sacrificed for the greater good?” Wil scoffed.

Allanon took the words like a slap across the face. “Bandon strayed off the path, because of me. I accept that. It is the reason I tried to keep you out of this. But destiny is stronger than the wishes of one man.” It had been his hope to stop Bandon by himself, but clearly that wasn’t going to possible. He was running out of time, and this detour was wearing heavily on him.

He looked up as Riga reentered with a cart. He hated to admit it, but a spark of fear flared up in his chest. His heart rate sped up and he looked down for a moment just to compose himself. He’d fought many evil forces; he couldn’t let him get under his skin this way.

“ Welcome Will... I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.” Riga’s voice dripped with disgust.

“Whatever you think I can do for you, I can’t.” Wil’s response was brave, and Allanon feared for him. Riga didn’t like bravery. He liked to crush it beneath his boot.

“Dont sell yourself short” Riga picked up the device on the cart and stepped up to Wil’s side.

“Riga!!!” Allanon called out, as he was forced to watch him plunge the drain into Wil’s neck. He wanted to beg him to leave Wil out of this, the boy had suffered enough. Why make him go through this? This was his fault again. Riga hadn’t broken him yet, so he would force Wil to suffer.

“With the valve wide open I can drain all the blood in his body within minutes. Tell me, where is the Codex of Paranor?” Riga demanded. He waited for a response, but Allanon didn’t answer. “I guess the longer you live the colder your heart gets.”

“Allanon doesn’t give a damn about anyone. He didn’t care about Amberle, and he certainly doesn’t care about me.” Wil smirked at Riga despite the pain he was feeling.

Wil’s word hurt worse than the touch from the brand. Did the people in his life truly believe that he never cared for them? He knew Wil had hated him, but he didn’t realize how deep the hatred ran. Wil actually believed that he would be fine just watching him die. Wil had been almost like a son to him, and he thought that perhaps they’d come to form some sort of bond. Instead it was clear, that Allanon was alone in this thought. Perhaps this was punishment for all the missteps he’d taken in life.  He’d foolishly thought that rejection would just get easer, but it stung just as much as it had before.

“You can drain me dry, and he still won’t crack.” Wil’s icy blue stare pieced what was left of Allanon’s heart.

  He knew what Riga was capable of. He couldn’t let him hurt her the way he hurt Wil. He had let Wil believe that he could stand by while he suffered and do nothing. He couldn’t abandon his daughter. “Give me your word that you will let her go unharmed.”

“No….no you can’t.” Mareth pleaded. “You can’t.”

“Fine. Give me the Codex, and she goes free.” Riga smirked.

Allanon stepped back. “I’ll bring it to you.” He wondered if Mareth was disappointed, but he couldn’t let her believe that he didn’t care about her. He wasn’t good with emotions, but she was all that was left in this world for him. She reminded him so much of her mother, brave and passionate. He would not fail her.

“I don’t think so.” Riga snapped his fingers and one of his men handed him a collar. “Put this on first.”

His stomach turned over as he looked at the collar in Riga’s hand. He could see blood crusted up the sides of it. It was the same collar he’d worn before. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his heart was racing. He was afraid that it was about to explode in his chest.

He took the collar from Riga, somehow managing to keep his hand steady. He didn’t want to put the collar back on, to be powerless. He couldn’t go back to that place. He looked back at his daughter. He couldn’t fail her this time. He slowly snapped the collar around his neck. His magic vanished and he felt weaker than before, but he also felt panic setting in. He was back in the Warlock Lord’s strong hold, facing a fate worse than death.

He walked calmly back into the tent, once the flap swung shut behind him his fingers slipped up to the collar trying to pry it off his neck. “Please.” He whimpered, choking back a sob as the steel refused to budge. He could feel his breathing escalating to hyperventilation. He stumbled forward and grabbed the table to balance himself. “He won’t harm Mareth. It doesn’t matter what happens to you.” He stated the words firmly and picked up the book with trembling hands, trying to believe the words he’d just spoken.

“We should have had more time.” He said softly to himself. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He had no delusions about his situation, the Codex could free Mareth, but there was no hope for him. Riga would finish what he started. He could only pray that it would be quick.

He took one last deep breath and walked back out into the sunlight. He clutched the book in his hands as he walked toward Riga. Every part of his mind was screaming for him to stop. The Codex couldn’t be handed to this elf, but he would gladly risk everything for his daughter. If she lived perhaps she could find a way to get the Codex back.

Mareth looked at the book in his hands and her shoulders slumped. “No...” She whispered under her breath.

Riga took the book from Allanon, if he notice the druid flinch he didn’t let on. “At last.”

“You should have let me die.” Mareth shouted, but she didn’t understand. He’d see so much death that he couldn’t watch her die, and Riga would never grant her a quick death.

Riga turned the book over in his hands and smirked. “You are a shadow of your former self Druid, not at all the man I met at Graymark.” His looked up at Allanon with his piercing look, and he knew in that moment that Riga understood just how broken he was.

The guards grabbed him pulling him away from their leader. He looked to his daughter, but she wasn’t freed of her collar yet. “You said you would let her go!” The panic was rising his throat again. He’d always known it was possible that Riga wasn’t a man of his word, but he couldn’t have done this for naught.

“Are you really that naive? She’s as guilty as you are and will share the same fate.” Riga held the Codex up in front of him and smiled. “Thank you for this.”

“You have no idea what you are up against.” Allanon growled under his breath. Riga would surely be murdered once Bandon had succeeded and for the first time in his life, he wished death upon someone. He wanted Riga to come face to face with the thing that he hated the most, and be torn to pieces.

“With your death, I am one step closer to purging the four lands of magic.” Riga announced to his followers, who all seemed keen to cheer him on. He turned to the troops that were approaching them, and listen to their report.

He could barely keep the smile off of his face. Riga’s days were number. If Graymark wasn’t responding he could only imagine why that was. Bandon was close to calling his new master to earth. It was a strange feeling to feel relieve that even though he was to die, at least Riga wouldn’t survive much longer.

“We leave for Graymark at once. Burn the Druid and his daughter at the stake and scatter their ashes to the wind. I want nothing left.” Riga turned back to Allanon one last time giving him a look of disgust.

Allanon looked at Mareth. He could see the free in her eyes, and the anger. He knew she saw it on his face. He looked back at Riga wondering if he knew that he was picturing his death in his mind. Magic didn’t work on the bastard, but he’d never been restricted to the use of magic. He jerked his hand free of the guard and smashed his elbow into the man’s face.

The guard fell back to the ground and he dealt a swift kick to the other guard’s knee. He heard the joint give way beneath his boot. He lunged forward feeling a small thrill of delight at the look of surprise on Riga’s face. The elf had thought that he was completely broken, but he couldn’t be more wrong. His fist connected with the side of Riga’s face.

The general dropped like a fly and his guards surged around him. Allanon spun to the side greeting the first guard with a fist to the jaw. He heard Mareth shout and saw her on her feet fighting off a few other guards. He turned to fight his way toward her, shoving an elf out of his way.

They were being overwhelmed and he felt a since of desperation. If only he could just generate enough magic to push the men back. He tried to use the magic even if he knew it wouldn’t work. He drew on the power of the earth feeling the tightening in his chest. He cried out as his skin tore open at his shoulder and then further down his arm, the skin on the back of his hand shredded as if knives were bursting out of his skin.

He stumbled to his knees unable to keep his balance. He’d suffered all the affects of magic use, but he couldn’t even perform a simple spell. He watched in despair as Mareth was tossed to the ground in front of him. He looked up at the sky above him. The world that he bled to save, was cruel. The cost was too much, and he didn’t want to pay it anymore. He didn’t want Mareth to pay it.

Riga pulled himself to his feet and spat blood across Allanon’s face. “Pathetic.” He hissed, turning his back to the druid.

The guards forced the two of them to their feet and marched them to the pyre they’d constructed. He was surprised he was actually able to walk to his fate. He was almost certain he’d have to be dragged there. He felt a strange sense of calm taking over him. He could stand the idea of his own passing, but he couldn’t stomach the fact that Mareth would die beside him.

They were tied back to back on the pyre, as the guards circled them. “This is all my fault.” Mareth’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“No.” Allanon couldn’t let her blame herself for what had just happened. In the face of death, she was concerned about a dusty, old book. It all seemed so meaningless when you thought about it that way. She was so selfless, and he didn’t deserve to be her father.

“Yes, you only gave Riga the codex to protect me.” Mareth’s anger at herself, made her sob.

“You are more important to me than any book.” Allanon told her firmly. He would do it all again, if there was even the slightest chance of saving her. She deserved a life, free of magic. She deserved happiness, love, and to grow old in the arms of someone who cared about her.

The guard slowly lowered a torch to the pyre. “Will your magic save you now Druid?”

He wasn’t surprised that the guard felt no compassion, the fool was dense. If he took this collar off now, he’d see just what magic could do. In his last moments he wasn’t going to focus on an army of foes. He tried to turn his head so that he could see his daughter. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. It wasn’t meant to end this way.”  

Mareth cleared her throat. “This isn’t the end. ‘Though we die, our struggle lives on.’”

Allanon smiled a little at the familiar words. “Your mother would have been proud.” He had no doubt that Pyria would have been pleased with everything that Mareth had accomplished.

“I guess I can ask her that myself soon enough.” Mareth’s voice didn’t hold any animosity it simply was resigned to her fate.

“In death just as in life....” The words brought a sense of comfort. I’m sorry Pyria. Our daughter is truly the best thing that I ever did. I’m sorry that I failed her, and that I failed you. It’s selfish of me to hope that we’ll be together after this……but I hope that you will forgive me.

“Burn you abominations!” Someone shouted.

Allanon could barely caught the words as the heat of the fire started to burn his legs. His robes were catching, and he knew they didn’t have much longer. Oh how he wanted to take away all the pain that Mareth would feel, he wanted to save her from a terrible death, but all he could do was reach of her hand. He was almost surprised when she accepted his hand. It was the only form of comfort he could give.

He gritted his teeth together as the skin on his legs began to burn. He tried to move his feet a little bit more, but it wasn’t helping. His collar suddenly jolted and fell from his neck. For a second the world seemed to move in slow motion. He watched the collar slowly fall into the fire, and then he felt the magic surge through him.

The flame vanished and he pulled his daughter off the pyre. He still had a little magic left, as he channeled it into her so she could heal herself. He tossed his robe off him tossing the flaming material away from himself. He stumbled back ward peeling the melting boots from his feet. He gasped as the skin of his feet peeled off with the boots.

Mareth was at his side. He didn’t see her run over, but her hands rested on his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

Allanon knew that the burns spiraled up over his calves, but he didn’t care about the pain. He cupped his daughter’s face in his hands. “You’ve done enough for me, little one.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Just seeing you alive is all the help that I need.”

[blackcoffeeandteardrops]

Learning How to Bend

I know everyone & their brother is writing post-MS4 fics, but here is my feeble attempt. Also available at a03.

“It's more than impossible,” Scully says, resting her hand atop Mulder's on her abdomen. She buries her face in his shirt, pressing her forehead as hard as she can against his chest. If she could, she'd burrow a hole and hide herself there. “Oh, Mulder,” she cries, not bothering to wipe at the hot tears flowing down her cheeks.

Mulder tilts his head back, staring at the sky that's haunted him for years. How many times has he stared up at the stars in hopes of finding answers to questions he’s never stopped asking? He rubs a hand down her back, thinking not just of her or the life impossibly growing inside of her, but also the boy whose body was slowly drifting through the water beside them. “We should call for help, Scully. They need to drag the river. We need to--”

At that, her shoulders start shaking even harder. “I didn't mean it. What I said. He's our son. William is our son, Mulder. No matter what Skinner or Spender or anyone says. It won’t change that.”

“I know,” Mulder says, unable to say much else. He blinks back tears of his own, knowing that she blames herself, but helpless at knowing how to fix it. “Scully, you can’t beat yourself up about it. You can’t. Especially now,” he says, furrowing his brow. At the time, Scully refusing to go with him to find William made so little sense, but now the pieces start clicking together. “When did you find out?”

“A few days ago. But Mulder, this wasn’t something I wanted to keep from you. Not ever. Considering our history, I wanted to be absolutely certain before telling you anything,” she says, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. She shakes her head, smiling sadly as a lump grows in her throat. “Before I knew it wasn’t you, there was something William told me. He kept telling me to let him go, that he needs to work through everything on his own. And he said--” she pauses, her breath hitching in her chest. Had it not been for the fact William sacrificed himself, the truth would have felt like such a relief, but instead it was more bittersweet. “He said he knows I love him, Mulder. Those were his last words to me.”

Mulder nods his head, soaking it all in. He thinks of the way he’d so desperately wrapped his son in a hug at the hotel, eager to protect him from the evils of the world. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t entirely known what his son was capable of. The image of Erica Price’s head exploding to bits was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. “He’s incredible, Scully,” he replies, brushing a tear away from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, knowing that in a way he’s sugar coating things, but also knowing it’s the truth. His son--and that’s what he is, Mulder knows, in spite of what Skinner told Scully--was incredible, if not also at times incredibly dangerous, but he knows it’s something they can work through if given the chance. His evil biological father had gotten one last dig at their lives before sinking into the abyss, but no clandestine conversation will change what he knows in his heart.

Scully blinks a few times in a feeble attempt at trying to clear her vision, and suddenly she grips Mulder’s arm, clinging tight for fear of falling if she doesn’t. At once, it’s not the night sky and Mulder’s face that she’s seeing, but a street light reflecting into murky water. A sudden shift in the wind, a chill despite the time of year, draws her back to the here and now. She lets go of Mulder’s arm and her mouth falls open, shaking her head in disbelief. “He’s alive,” she says, furiously casting her eyes towards the water for any sign of movement. “He couldn’t have gotten far, unless he started swimming. But Mulder--”

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Mulder asks. He’s heard enough impossible news for one night, and he’s not sure how many miracles he and Scully deserve, but hearing that William is alive is one he wants so badly to believe. “You saw him?”

“I could see what he was seeing. He was climbing out of the water. Mulder, he’s alive,” she replies, staring into the inky darkness hovering about the water, as if focusing even harder would suddenly make William appear. Still, reality is not as kind as she’d sometimes like for it to be, so she looks at Mulder and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “He’ll come to us when he’s ready,” she says, wishing things could be different. Wishing she could track him down and make him listen will do no good. He’s suggested as much, and so she closes her eyes and breathes in deep, trying to stave off the exhaustion that’s slowly catching up to her. “Take me home, Mulder. Please.”

He’s gone from watching his son get shot to learning he’s going to be a father again, to learning that William is alive in a matter of minutes. It’s enough to make anyone’s head spin, but while Mulder has been sapped of whatever energy he has for the time being, he knows full well he can and will do this. That they have no other choice, especially now. He tries bringing up details from pregnancy books he’d read when they’d agreed to try eons ago, tries to invision how small this new life must be. He hears the sound of police sirens and knows they don’t have long before they’re cornered and questioned. The questions will come soon enough, they always have, but he prays he’s strong enough to help them withstand whatever comes their way. “Home,” he says, letting go of her hand in favor of slinging a protective arm around her shoulders. “That sounds like a good idea.”

The police come and Scully stands by, arms wrapped tight around herself, aware she might appear standoffish, but she couldn't care less. She listens, nodding and pitching in when appropriate to the information Mulder gives the officers. Yes, there is a body in the water and yes, he was shot in self defense. The evidence will support it, she says, shaking just as much from her frayed emotions as she is from the cold.

When their statements have been taken, Mulder rubs his hands together for warmth before cupping her face, resting his forehead against hers. They're in their own private world, a momentary solace amidst all the chaos. “Have you seen anything else?” he whispers.

Scully shakes her head, sniffling a little. “No,” she replies. The disappointment in her voice is evident.

“Do you,” Mulder replies, pulling back. He shifts his gaze to the detectives working the scene, and he grips her elbow gently, moving them further out of earshot. “Do you want to go looking? He’s on foot, so he couldn't have gotten far.”

“No,” Scully replies, appreciating that no matter how much Mulder himself might wish for it, he’ll hold off looking if she wants him to. “Mulder, he told me to let him go. I can't do that, you know I can't, but--”

“We can give him time,” Mulder says, slowly nodding his head. It's not ideal, but if giving William time might make the boy clear his head and come to them on his own, Mulder figures it's worth a try. “Let's go home.”

Somewhere along the way, lulled by the silence and the smooth ride, Scully rests her head against the window and falls asleep, waking up only when she feels Mulder gently shaking her awake. “Home already?” she asks, pushing herself up in the passenger seat.

“Yes,” Mulder says, tightening his hands around the steering wheel, focusing very intently on their porch steps where he’s pretty sure he knows what he’s seeing, but he desperately wants her to confirm it for him. “Scully, tell me my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me,” he says, pulling the car to a stop. He unbuckles his seatbelt, listening as Scully gasps, drawing a hand to her mouth.

“Mulder,” she whispers, for fear of breaking the moment. Her eyes hone in on the figure slumped against the wall at the top of their porch steps, and she knows without even stepping out of the car that it’s William. “How did he get here before us? How did he know where to go?”

“I don’t know, but let’s find out,” he replies. Simultaneously, he and Scully step out of the car. He catches her eye across the hood, knowing that neither one of them want to mess this moment up.

“Jackson,” Scully says, carefully stepping closer. His name sounds strange coming from her mouth, she knows this, but if she’s to gain any ground with him, she wants her son to feel comfortable.

William looks up at her, shaking his head as he stands to greet them, walking down a few steps to not fully tower over her. If the moment weren’t so serious, he thinks he might’ve cracked a joke about how short she was. Somehow, he’s imagined his mother being taller. “Not Jackson,” he says, again shaking his head. He remembers hearing the name his parents gave him earlier that night and what a relief it had been, but he knows it’s different now. “I’m not...I’m not Jackson. Not anymore. I don’t know that I’m William either. You guys...you named me William, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Mulder replies, placing a hand on Scully’s shoulder as they watch their son process his response. “How did you know to come here?”

“I saw this place sometimes, when I’d dream. Maybe I was dreaming, I guess. I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t,” William says. He clenches his jaw and draws a deep breath through his nose, willing himself to remain calm. He’d promised himself before they arrived that he could do this. It wasn’t like he had many other options. He looks to Scully, watching as she averts her eyes, afraid of staring at him too long. His birth parents are standing here, holding onto each other, and the only way to get into their home is to go past him. “I wasn’t followed. I made sure of it,” he says, waiting until Scully looks up to continue speaking. “I know what I said, about needing to do this on my own. About you not being able to keep me safe. I didn’t say it to hurt you. I said it because I’m afraid of what I can do. I’m afraid that if I screw up, or if they catch me, that they’ll hurt me. That they’ll hurt you. You don’t deserve that.”

Scully steps closer, only to see a flicker of a flinch flash across his features, there and gone in an instant. She looks at his clothes, still clinging to his skin and damp from his time in the water, and points in the direction of the front door. “Will you come inside? We could put your clothes in the wash. Mulder has some things you can change into until they’re dry.”

William looks to Mulder, almost feeling guilty for taking his clothes, but getting the impression he wouldn’t mind. “So it’s okay that I’m here?”

Mulder looks to Scully, catching the way her lip quivers and how she is all but restraining herself from leaping forward at their son. “Yes. Of course,” he says, clearing his throat as he points towards the house. He scans the property line, wary despite William insisting he wasn’t followed. Satisfied, he presses a hand to the small of Scully’s back, urging her forward. “Let’s go inside.”

William waits for them to enter before following suit, his eyes drinking in the room around them. The office to one side, files and books stacked haphazardly atop the desk, and to the other side a couch and tv. He walks deeper into the house with Mulder and Scully trailing behind him, both afraid to say anything for fear of shattering the moment. At the entrance to the kitchen he spins towards them and shrugs, resting a hand on his hip. “So this is where you guys live?”

“Yes,” Scully says, and even when she didn’t live here it was still true. A part of her had never left, but had still been tucked between the pillows on the couch and the paintings on the walls, buried beneath the detritus that littered the desk in the den. “I know it’s not much, but it’s home.”

Mulder cocks his head in the direction of the stairs, feeling cautiously hopeful. “I’ll show you where everything is. Although you’re taller than me, so I can’t promise they’ll be a perfect fit.”

“It’s fine,” William says, not bothering to add that they’d be the first clean clothes he’s worn in days. Hiding out and dodging authorities doesn’t exactly give you much time to do laundry or pilfer new clothes from the store either.

Scully watches them disappear from view and waits until she can’t hear their footsteps any longer to move from the spot she’d rooted herself in. She moves into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and it’s not until she stares inside that she realizes how hungry she is. They’ve been running and searching for WIlliam for so long, she knows neither she or Mulder has taken the time to eat anything, and she figures it’s a safe bet that William hasn’t either. She’d fixed a batch of her mother’s beef stew over the weekend--had even dug out one of Maggie’s old recipe books to make sure she did it right--and figures it’s better to reheat that than waste time trying to cook something else.

She hears something, a branch scraping against the window maybe, and halts with the container of stew in her hands, counting a full ten seconds before she feels calm again. She wonders if the other two occupants of the house feel just as on edge as she does. Or three, she thinks, casting her eyes downward. “You’ll have to put up with me for a while,” she says, feeling just the slightest bit absurd. Aside from the doctor who confirmed the details, Mulder is the only one who knows.

By the time Mulder and William come back downstairs, she’s managed to heat the stew and poured three bowls of it, leaving them to cool on the table. She takes in William’s slack jawed look and hopes she hasn’t messed this up. “I don’t know what you like to eat. I can make something else if you want, or if you’re not hungry, it’s fine. I just thought--”

“You have to try it,” Mulder says, urging William forward. “Unless you’re vegetarian? Maggie Scully’s beef stew is legendary. Come on, have a seat.”

“Who’s Maggie?” William asks, picking up his spoon as he pulls his chair closer to the table, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor the only sound in the room.

“She was my mother,” Scully says, tucking her chin towards her chest as she scooped a spoonful of stew into her mouth to stop herself from saying anything else. There are so many things she wants her son to know, and she hopes she can tell him in time, but the fact he is here is miracle enough for the time being.

“Was?” William asked. He thinks he’s picked up on the mood, has seen this sadness in her within his dreams, but unknowingly pokes the still healing bruise, eager to learn more of their shared history. “She died?” he asks, his voice soft, when she doesn’t respond. The moment of pain that flashes through her nearly burns him, and without thinking about it he quickly reaches out for her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Scully stares at their joined hands on the table, recalling how when he was a baby his hand would grasp her fingers, testing his grip. She fights the lump growing in her throat and she nods. “Yes, she was. Your grandmother,” she says. The guilt of thinking him little more than an experiment starts to surge through her mind, but she fights it back. What Skinner told her couldn’t possibly be true, and even if it is, she knows it’s through the smoke fogged lense of the man who they couldn’t possibly begin to trust. William is her son and she is his mother, whether she has raised him or not.

“I want to say I’m sorry for making you think I was dead, but you have to understand why I did it,” William says, pulling his hand away. He’s welcome here, he knows it, but it doesn’t make the situation any less absurd. “I’m dangerous. You can tell me I’m not, but it’s still true. The things I’ve done in the past few months, just to stay alive--”

“Hey,” Mulder says, realizing only after he’s spoken just how harsh his tone is. He remembers shouting the same word just hours before, seconds prior to pumping the man bent on destroying them full of lead. Sitting at the table with the people who matter most to him, he’s never hoped more that the cancer man stays dead this time. “You did what you had to do. I know. And as for, well--” he stops, debating how far into detail he should go. How can he explain to Scully that he’s seen how violent their son can be in person, and how can he explain to William that even if he is dangerous, it doesn’t change anything? “You did what you have to do to be safe. But you don’t have to go through it alone. Not anymore.”

William is silent, staring at the table. He takes another bite of the stew, chewing slowly to buy himself a few seconds to come up with a response. “This is better than gas station sandwiches and nachos. Thanks.”

Scully laughs, a soft and hesitant sound bubbling from her lips, and she smiles. “I suppose that's a compliment,” she replies. She glances in his direction, noting how tight he holds his spoon and the stiffness in his shoulders. He's practically vibrating with energy, and despite eating with them, William isn't entirely comfortable. “Did you hear what he said? You don't have to do this by yourself. I know what you said, back at the docks, but--”

“But you guys can protect me. You can help me, is that it?” William asks. His tone is short, cutting them to the quick, and he knows it. “Look, honestly? I came here so you guys would...I don't know, see I was alive, I guess. I thought maybe seeing I was okay might be enough. But it's not, is it?”

“I’m going to clean these up,” Scully says, gathering their bowls. “The living room would be a bit more comfortable for this conversation.”

Mulder pulls his bowl away, reaching for the one in Scully's hands. He catches the way her eyebrow raises, asking without words why he’s stood up so suddenly. “Let me clean up, you go sit down. I’ve got this.”

“Mulder, just because--” Scully says, stopping herself from saying much else. Maybe Mulder’s offer to clean up is his attempt to give her and William time alone, or maybe it’s in light of the proverbial bomb she'd dropped earlier, or maybe a mix of both. But as she catches their son hesitantly standing out of the corner of her eye, she doesn't think now is the best time to tell him about their new addition. “Okay. Sure.”

In the living room, William wanders past the couch, lifting a book from a shelf and reading the cover before putting it back where he found it. He moves on, reading other titles and studying various trinkets on the shelves. He spots the snowglobe she'd grabbed from his room and laughs as his picks it up from the shelf, momentarily forgetting his surroundings. “You kept this?”

Scully shrugs, lacing her hands together, watching his movements from her spot near the sofa. “It just needed some glue. You can still see the cracks, but it's fixed.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he replies, carefully putting the snowglobe back where he found it. He feels her gaze on him, watching his every move. She’s not coming closer and the anxiety in her expression is evident, but she's still not backing down. “This is weird, right?”

“Maybe it is,” Scully concedes. “But weird isn't always a bad thing.”

“She's right,” Mulder says, emerging from the kitchen. He flicks his gaze between them, trying to hazard a guess at the mood of the room. “Weird is kind of our speciality.”

“Except I’m not just some weird X-File,” William replies, judging by their surprised expressions they didn't see that one coming. “I might've looked you up. I needed to know who you were, before I knew if I could trust you.”

“And do you?” Scully asks, already knowing it's not that easy. “Trust us, I mean. You came here, which means you must know on some level we're worthy of that trust.”

William opens his mouth, prepared to respond, only to narrow it back again instead. There's been a subtle shift, a slight change in the air they haven't noticed yet, so he knows he has to say something. “Someone's here.”

Mulder, alarmed, moves to the window. “We have alarms on the perimeter of the property. They'd have sounded if--” he stops speaking as the security system--a perk they'd made adjustments to when Scully moved back in--beeps, signaling someone is indeed entering their property. He parts the curtains, studying the black SUV slowly driving up the path. “We answered questions earlier, what could they possibly want?”

“Me,” William says, his voice shaking. “I knew it wasn't safe to come here.”

“We don't know that it's you they're after,” Scully says, walking towards him with her hands held out, eager to offer him some meager sense of reassurance. “They likely just have a few follow up questions, and then they'll be on their way.”

“No, they won't. How are you going to explain me, hmm?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut. He rubs at his forehead where the bullet had been mere hours before. “I was shot in the head. I shouldn't even be alive, do you understand that? I need to go.”

“William, please,” she pleads, gripping his arm, stopping him midstep as he charges toward the kitchen. “I know everything that's happening is confusing. It's impossible even,” she says, gripping his arm harder as she feels herself swaying, dizzy from everything the past few days have dealt them. She hears the truck doors slamming outside and knows they don't have long until they're interrupted. “But if you stay, we can figure it all out together.”

William takes a deep breath, drawing in so much air his lungs feel like they could burst. He could do it again--make these cops that are making their way to the door explode into a pile of blood and bits of bone, but he doesn't want to do that. He looks to Mulder, thinking he might not be as understanding this time around. “I can't,” he says, looking to Scully, watching as she closes her eyes, as if willing herself to remain composed. He flicks his gaze lower, squinting his eyes and shaking his head. “Besides, what do you need me for anymore?”

Scully gasps, jerking her hand away like she's been burned. “I will always--” she says, not finishing her sentence because there's a knock at the door. She turns toward the direction of the sound, all but glaring at whatever poor detective or beat cop happened to be on the other side. “Stay, we can--” she says, the rest of the sentence dying on her tongue when she sees he’s quietly slipped from the room. She looks to Mulder who is just as irritated at the intrusion as she is, and moves to answer the door.

Mulder takes charge then, answering their questions as politely as he can. Yes, they were there, and yes the cancer man shot first, and didn't they cover all of this at the scene? It's not until now that he hears about Reyes and Skinner, the latter of which would likely be thanking his lucky stars, providing he wakes up again.

“Monica tried to help us,” Scully says as soon as the officers leave. She stares at Mulder's chest, reaching out blindly for his hand. “She may not have been wholly honest, but she tried to help. She didn't deserve to die,” she continues, her chin quivering as whatever remains of her strength quickly dissolves. When Mulder pulls her to him, she doesn't back away. “And who knows if Skinner will ever walk again? It's not fair, Mulder. Nothing about any of this is fair.”

“Well, there is one good thing,” he replies, pulling away just enough to press the palm of his hand against her abdomen. His eyes meet hers and he smiles, cautious. “You're sure?”

Scully nods, slowly blowing the breath she'd been holding from her mouth. She rests her hand atop his, rubbing at the back of his fingers with her thumb. “I know it's not the most ideal of circumstances, but we’ll make this work, won't we?”

“Scully, this baby has the unfortunate luck of having us as their parents. But if the five missed calls and multiple text messages from Kersh are any indication, we’ll have a little free time on our hands,” Mulder replies, looping his arms around her, resting them against her back. He presses his forehead against hers and sighs, debating how best to approach what he wants to tell her next. “He didn't leave.”

“What?” Scully asks, afraid to believe what he's surely implying. “Mulder, I saw him run out the back of the house. Even if he couldn't have gotten far, he still thought leaving was better than staying here.”

“I don't think that's true,” Mulder replies. He breaks away, focusing his stare at the wall behind her, as if through sheer will alone William might appear. “Do you remember the barn? Near the back of the property? You kept telling me I should renovate, and I haven't--”

“Mulder, I have been standing on my feet for more hours than I can count. I witnessed who I thought was you but was evidently William masquerading as you get shot, and now miraculously he’s alive. But he doesn't want to be here, and as much as I might like for him to, I can't force it,” she says. She reaches for him, grasping at the hoodie still marked with blood, pulling him closer without stepping into his space. “What's your point, Mulder? Don't give me hope unless you have evidence to back it up. We’ve already lost too much tonight.”

The pleading tone her voice takes is nearly enough to make him cry. He's seen her vulnerable so many times, but never like this. “When I walked the officers back to their cars, I saw him. He was standing between the trees, watching. When he saw me looking, he didn't bolt. He just stood there watching for a few seconds before turning back into the woods. And maybe I’m wrong, Scully. I don't have evidence, not yet. But think about it. He wants to be safe, to have a place to stay without constantly being on the run. And you've watched the tape as much as I have, if not more. He wants to know you, Scully,” he says, reaching with one hand to brush a tendril of hair behind her ear. “One of us can go back and check once it's light out. And if he's there, or there's evidence he's been there, we’ll know.”

It's a small solace, she thinks, that William would seek shelter so close to home. Still, the words she spoke earlier have wounded herself deeper than she'd care to admit. “What kind of mother can I hope to be to him if he ever comes around, or to this new baby, considering what I said, Mulder? I doubted myself. I doubted evidence that I know to be true. He's our son, Mulder. Our son. He's not...not some lab experiment. He's not.”

“I know he's not,” Mulder replies, doubting it’ll make a difference. What Scully needs is evidence, and he hopes in time she’ll get it, that they both will. “You have the hair sample you took from him a few months ago, right? Test it against my DNA like you did against yours if you need to be sure.”

Slowly, Scully nods, enveloping his hand in hers. “That's a good idea,” she says. Had she been more awake, she might have suggested it herself. “I’m going to bed. Will you come up? Even if you can't sleep.”

There's an invitation in her words, an unasked question. Not for anything untoward, but for the comfort his embrace has always given her. They fall asleep in the middle of their bed, just as light starts bleeding into the sky.

It’s mid morning by the time Scully wakes. She meets Mulder downstairs, resting her hands on his shoulders as he takes a large sip of coffee. “Did you eat anything?”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Mulder replies. He reaches for her hand sitting on his shoulder and holds it there. They’ve both gotten a few hours sleep, but he knows good and well it wasn’t restful. “Are you going to go look around?”

She smiles and moves closer to his chair, wrapping her arms around him, clasping them together against his chest. She rests her cheek against his hair, breathing him in, enjoying the moment for what it is; a nice reprieve in a world left in upheaval. She appreciates that he’s giving her this choice, having expected more resistance from him. It’s a Schrodinger's cat situation; William could be waiting for them, but he also couldn’t, and if she doesn’t look they’ll never know. “I have to know.”

Mulder nods, feeling the weight of her chin pressed against his head. “I know you do,” he replies. He’d wanted to run after the boy the second he saw him lurking, but had been too afraid that he’d bolt if he did so. “Will you at least eat something first?”

“Mulder, I’m warning you now: if the next words out of your mouth are “Scully, you’re eating for two now” or--”

“Well, it’s true,” Mulder says, waiting until she releases her grip on him to push his chair back and walk to the coffee pot to pour himself another mug.

Scully watches him, studies the sheepish expression on his face, and despite the possibility of finding William, knows that they need to talk about this. “Mulder,” she calls his name, waiting until there’s not a cup of steaming liquid in his hands before continuing to speak. “Are you happy about this? Or, maybe happy isn’t the right word, but are you okay with it?”

He’s quiet, knowing his next words have to count. “We didn’t get this before, Scully. The first time I saw you when you were pregnant with William, you were already so far along that I felt like I’d missed out on so many things. The first ultrasound, feeling the kicking, all of that,” he says, vividly recalling the first time he’d felt William move. There was a moment, sitting on Scully’s couch, where they could clearly see the impression of a foot poking out at him. “I want to be there for all of that, you know? I want to help you. Just promise if I start being me about it, that you’ll tone me down?”

“If by ‘being you’, you mean being overly protective and constantly asking if I need something, you don’t have to worry about that,” Scully says, quirking an eyebrow as she presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I just worry that we’re too old for this.”

Mulder laughs, leaning in to kiss her cheek. His eyes shift downward to her still flat stomach and he wonders what it’ll look like a few months from now, in awe that he’ll be here to see it all unfold. “Me, maybe? But Scully, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. We’re going to be fine.”

The smile on her face fades then, but she tries her best to tamper down the doubts that poke and prod her mind, whispering that despite Mulder believing it, it might not necessarily be true. It’s odd, she thinks, that they could be so lighthearted, considering where they were less than twenty four hours before. “I’m going to eat breakfast, and then I’m going to go look for him.”

Scully manages to eat a piece of buttered toast and a banana before changing clothes and packing a canvas bag full of supplies, uncertain of the circumstances she’s walking into. She grabs William’s clothes from the dryer, shuddering at the thought of him shivering in the cold with nothing more than Mulder’s borrowed pajamas from the night before. As she puts a few food items--apples, bottled water, some bread and a brick of cheese--she hopes Mulder is right and that he hasn’t strayed far. “Wish me luck,” she says to Mulder, meeting him at the backdoor as she heads out. They’d decided it was best that Mulder stay at the house, provided William should make an appearance unannounced, and also to answer the countless calls from the night before. She laughs to herself as she nears the copse of trees near the back of their property, and she knows she’ll have to thank Mulder later for fielding what she knows will be a lengthy discussion with Kersh.

She stops outside the barn, tilting her head and studying the graying boards, trying to decide if it looks any different than the last time she recalls seeing it. When they first bought the property years ago, they’d had plans to renovate the space. They’d toyed with the idea of either tearing it down or repairing it and turning it into a functioning barn. Several years went by, and when no farm animals appeared, she suggested the idea they try renovating it into a home office. They could install electricity, she’d said, and insulate it. She’d envisioned painted walls, maybe desks. They’d both dabbled in hobbies over the years, and this seemed like the perfect place to go and think, surrounded by the woods and the quiet and nothing else. Still, years have gone by, and while Mulder has done enough to keep the building standing, it still serves as little more than an overflow storage for what doesn’t fit in the attic.

Cautiously, she pries open the door, prepared for a cloud of dust, and only a little surprised when there isn’t one. She stands at the entrance for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, and scans the area for any sign of movement. Near the middle of the building, just past a large box marked “Christmas Decorations”, she sees the toe of a shoe sticking out, and her heart leaps into her throat. William must have heard her, because as soon as she sees his shoe, he pulls it from view. “You don’t have to talk,” she says, wishing she’d planned out what to say, hoping that words don’t fail her. “I brought you your clothes. And some food, in case you’re hungry.”

She waits, staring at the box of decorations in hopes she’ll see him emerge from behind it. “I don’t know what you like to eat. Or if you’re allergic to anything,” she says, her breath hitching in her chest. What kind of mother doesn’t know what her child can or can’t eat? “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Across the room, William scoots closer to the wall, knowing he’s been made. He pulls his legs to his chest, resting his chin atop his knees, closing his eyes as he hears his mother speak. He’d expected one of them to come looking, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“I’m going to leave the bag here. If you want what’s inside, you’re welcome to it. If you don’t, I’ll understand,” she says, carefully resting the bag on the floor, shoving it a foot or two closer with her boot. “You’ve been through a lot. We all have. I’m sorry for that. You deserved so much more that that. You deserved to be safe, to feel protected,” she continues, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry, and already she feels like she’s failing. “You still do.”

William hears the emotion clearly laced through her voice. He remembers the time just a few months ago when he’d been hiding under a nurses’ station desk for safety, and what it felt like hearing her voice along with his father’s for the first time. He recalls the split second between rising up as himself or running away, and he wonders if last night might not have happened had he chosen the former option.

“Anyway, I’m going to go back inside. I don’t know if you plan on staying here, or if you plan on going somewhere else. But I want you to know that you are always welcome here. Always,” Scully says. She shakes her head, thinking that perhaps it was foolish to cling to the hope that her attempt at connecting with him would work.

“Hey,” William calls, his voice hoarse. He decides only after he’s called for her to come out from behind the boxes.

Scully stands with her back to him, sure she’s imagined it. She hears movement, the scraping of cardboard against cement, and turns to face him. She eyes something red and wrinkled in his hand and furrows her brow.

“I wasn’t prying,” William says, turning the object in his hand around so she can see it. There on an ornament cut out of construction paper is a footprint so impossibly small, along with the words “William, Christmas 2001” written in long-decayed silver glitter. He sets it atop one of the boxes, fearing it might crumble in his hands. “I was moving things around, trying to find a place to sit, and one of them toppled over. I tried to put everything back in as best I could. I didn’t break anything.”

She nods, slowly, thinking it’s probably not the greatest idea at such an early stage to tell him she wouldn’t have minded if he had. William being there himself is worth a few rattled ornaments, even if she doesn’t yet know how permanent his appearance in their lives might be.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” he asks after she doesn’t respond.

“We had a feeling,” she replies with a shrug. She watches as some of the tension dissolves from his posture. “Will you come back to the house?”

“I don’t know that I’m ready for that,” he replies, and the disappoint from her is nearly palpable. Still, there’s a glimmer of hope, a slight whisper in the air that suggests he’s left the door open. He owes this to her, just as much as he owes it to himself. She’s the mother he’s spent his entire life wondering about, so it’s no wonder he has questions. When he closes his eyes, however, he’s met with the man who calls himself a creator, who dares think he’s responsible for anything, and he’s met with the sharp pain of the bullet piercing his skin. He’s lived, although he’s not a hundred percent sure of how, and even though he’s got more questions than answers, he’s just as scared as he is excited of what he might find out once he starts asking them. “Do you understand?” he asks, fearing that she doesn’t.

“I think so,” Scully replies. The whole situation is surreal, and all she’s left to do is nod her head slowly and remind herself to breathe. She wonders if this will ever get easier.

“I meant what I said, by the way. Even if it wasn’t exactly me that said it. Sorry about that,” he continues, cursing himself as he wishes he’d been able to find better words. When he’d said them, when he’d told her he knew she loved him, there had been a part of him that was sure he’d never see her again. Now, standing mere feet from her, he hopes that kind of doubt never rears its head again, even if he’s not quite ready to cross the bridge just yet.

“It’s okay,” Scully says, knowing nothing about this situation or their circumstances is as it should be. “And as for this,” Scully says, uncertain of how to approach the subject. She rests the palm of her hand against her stomach, still reeling from the reality of the life currently growing inside her. They haven’t talked much about it yet, she and Mulder, but she knows it doesn’t matter if the baby is a boy or a girl, just that he or she is happy and healthy. “It doesn’t change anything. It’s important to me that you know that,” she says, words of love and care hanging unspoken but still just as evident between them.

“Okay,” William replies. He watches as she claps her hands and purses her lips, and he knows she’s about to go. He thinks maybe he should say something, come up with some reason for her to stay, but there’s another part of him that’s eager to shut the door and delve into whatever food she’s brought him in peace.

“You know where to find us, whenever you’re ready,” she says, nodding once more before turning to go.

They don’t see or hear him for the first day. When Mulder goes out the following morning, breakfast sandwich and styrofoam cup of coffee in hand, William isn’t there, but there’s evidence he’s stayed. There’s also a note scribbled on the back of a receipt sitting atop the bag Scully brought him, simply saying thanks. Days bleed into weeks, bleed into a month and then two. Their communication with him remains sparse, but once they catch him hauling dead branches away from the trees. He comes to the house, asking to borrow garden gloves, and both are too taken back to question it.

It takes them a while to figure out what he’s doing, that by cleaning the area and straightening things out he’s essentially burrowing a place for himself right next to them. When he’s out one day--neither Mulder or Scully have asked where he goes during the day, on the times they visit him or he happens to come around to borrow first the gloves, then a broom, and even a flashlight--Mulder digs out a stowaway bed they keep for whenever Scully’s family is in town and moves it into the barn.

No son--or daughter, he tells Scully, because even if it’s too early, he still has a feeling about the new little one--should sleep on the floor, and if he’s not ready to come to the house, he might as well be comfortable.

Scully is standing at the stove checking on the potatoes when she hears a knock at the back door. She’s told William before that he doesn’t have to knock, that he is always welcome, but there is something comforting about the fact her son is still so considerate about such a simple gesture. “Do you need another tarp?” Scully asks, looking past him at the gray clouds looming in the sky. He’d mentioned on his last visit that there was a hole in the roof that he’d been able to patch, but they’d given him a tarp just to be safe. “I could have Mulder go out there, take a look at it. I don’t want rain getting in there, especially when you’ve been putting in so much hard work.”

“It’s fine,” William says, shrugging as he drops the canvas bag on the floor, casually walking past her into the kitchen, holding a white box that appears a little worse for wear. “Do you like donuts? Or, if you don’t, maybe Mulder will. But I didn’t know what kind you might like, so I grabbed whatever was left. There’s a few sprinkles, a couple glazed, and even one that I think is boston cream. Or maybe it’s raspberry jelly, so I guess you’re taking a gamble.”

Scully eyes the box like it’s a bomb that she knows isn’t lethal; like it’s still dangerous to touch even if it won’t explode. In their interactions with William they’ve always been the ones to give him something and not the other way around, so this is new. “You brought us donuts?” “Donuts? Where’d you get those? ” Mulder asks, walking into the kitchen with plastic bags laden with produce from the farmer’s market spilling over the edges. “The tomatoes were on sale this week, Scully. If there’s still time, I can make the salad to go with dinner tonight.”

William sets the box on the table, almost thankful they’re both present “I got a job,” he says, surprising himself with how relieved he feels to say it outloud. “At a bakery. Hence the donuts. If you don’t like them, or if you think they’re stupid or whatever, that’s fine. They’re day-olds anyway, but I just thought--”

“Scully was just saying earlier she had a craving for something sweet. She said it was for watermelon, which I got by the way,” Mulder says, setting one of the bags on the table with a subtle thud. He points at the box before looking back up at him. “But if there’s a chocolate glazed in the there, you just might be lucky.”

“Maybe,” William replies, watching as Scully nods and turns her focus back to their dinner. He shifts his gaze about the room, staring at the spice rack by the oven and then the produce as Mulder puts it away, and then his eyes land on a picture affixed to the fridge with a magnet. He’s never really seen one up close, but he has a pretty good suspicion of what he’s seeing as he walks closer to get a better look. “Hey, is that--”

“It is,” Scully replies, having turned to see what he is so focused on. “It’s a girl,” she says, adding the words “your sister” only mentally, but she can tell by the way his expression changes that he’s sensed it somehow. Despite the time they’ve spent around each other, she’s still not used to the things he can do.

‘Wow,” William replies as he traces the black and white image, seeing her head pretty clearly, but wondering how a doctor could tell what to look for to be able to tell anything for certain. He’s about to say something else when there’s a clap of thunder that rattles the windows, and he jumps, a little embarrassed at being startled by such a normal thing.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Scully asks. The relief she senses from him is a bit of a surprise, but she starts serving the food, prepared to send him off with a to-go plate if he says no.

They’re halfway through dinner when William sets his fork on his plate and wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “So, I was thinking,” he says, ducking his head a little as he speaks.

“Historically,” Mulder replies, leaning in conspiratorially. “Thinking has gotten men in this family into trouble.”

“Do you think you could come take a look at the hole in the roof tomorrow? If you have time,” William replies, quickly shoving a forkful of the potatoes into his mouth before he lets himself say much else. Mulder catches Scully’s eye across the table, and he sees the slightest quirk of her brow. They’re both taken back but not entirely surprised by the olive branch William is giving them, so Mulder knows he should take it. “Time is something I have plenty of these days. I’d be happy to.”

“There’s something else,” William says, stirring his peas, watching as the tiny green orbs glide through streaks of grease from the meatloaf across his plate. “Since it’s going to rain, and since the roof out there isn’t fixed, I was wondering if it’s okay for me to crash in here tonight.”

Scully doesn’t have to look back at Mulder to know they’re in agreement on this front. While William’s been in the house on numerous occasions, to borrow things and to use the shower, he’s never been inside for more than an hour or two at a time. This night will be different, and she knows they all know that. “When we finish dinner, I’ll show you upstairs. There’s a room across the hall from ours that you can stay in,” she says. She doesn’t tell him that she changed the linens just recently in hopes that he’d decide to come and stay.

“The hole is worse than I thought, at least I think it is,” William says. He pushes his plate away, signaling that he’s done eating. “It might take time to fix it.”

“You might be right,” Mulder replies. There’s an unasked question in William’s words, the subtle suggestion that he might have to stay more than the previously agreed upon night, but he suspects it’s a good idea to not press the issue too much too soon. “Why don’t you show him upstairs, Scully? I’ll clean up here.”

“Sure,” Scully replies, carefully standing up from the table. She places a hand against the swell of her abdomen, still not entirely used to the idea that her center of gravity has temporarily shifted. Stopping in the doorway of the kitchen, she points a finger at Mulder before gesturing to the box of donuts on the table. “But Mulder? If that chocolate glazed is gone when I get back, you’ll be the one sleeping in the barn tonight,” she says. Her heart warms as she hears William laugh at that, and watches as he moves to put his plate in the sink. She knows that while things won’t always be easy, they’re making progress, no matter how slow. William is sleeping under the same roof as she and Mulder for the first time in years, and for now, that is enough.

[alittlemissfit]

Their Struggle

My angsty attempt to wrestle with the last words in the damn train wreck we were given. Post-ep, MSIV.  @today-in-fic

He feels it in the hug they share on the dock. She starts trembling in his arms and when he pulls back, he sees her face has gone disturbingly pale. She’s having trouble catching her breath and his eyes fall to her stomach. She’s pregnant and not breathing and their son was just shot in cold blood by a nicotine addicted bastard, and his blood runs cold but he forces it to stop.

He can’t go cold, he can’t go numb. She’s already done that enough for the both of them and by the look on her face it’s clearly taken it’s toll.

“Scully, c’mon. Breathe. Breathe, honey. I got ya,” he soothes, rubbing her back before pulling back slightly. Her eyes are still too wide, her panting too pronounced. If he doesn’t keep her steady she’ll faint and the last thing he can handle is explaining the horrific components of this night to EMT’s and nurses. He guides her away. Impersonates a pillar of strength when all he wants is to crumble to dust and be scattered in the sea to join his flesh and blood. His hand moves from the small of her back to her belly just briefly enough to counteract his will to jump off the dock, right as sirens start wailing and the squad cars pull up. They sit huddled in blankets in the back of the ambulance. Watch as the scene is surveyed and body bags are zipped up. Once the divers are sent towards the dock though Mulder swears, throws the blanket off his shoulders. Shoving past the EMT’s and the cop taking their statements he walks back towards the warehouse, chokes back a sob and punches through the first wall his fist finds. Approaching footsteps don’t deter him but a familiar grip on his bicep does. He turns slightly, winded. Sees her standing before him draped in bleached grey wool. Her eyes are wide and watery and the tears he’d blinked back start flowing full force. He’s full on weeping and she crouches beside him on the ground, strokes his hair. All the while she answers the cop’s questions in such a clinical, removed fashion it sends a chill down his spine. When she’s done giving their statements she helps him into a standing position. He’s hesitant, he makes a move to head back to the dock but she stops him. They’ll be notified. He’s in shock. He needs sleep. Too drained to argue with her they head to where the car is parked. The walk is silent save some crickets and Scully's keeping a brisk pace, remaining at least two steps ahead of him the entire time.

He pulls the key fob from his back pocket, unlocks the car. Before he can take another step she lets herself in the driver’s side door. “Scully..” “Get in the car, Mulder,” she rasps, reaching a hand out to take the keys from him. He gets in the passenger seat, buckles up and she speeds towards the highway. He holds his tongue when she rolls through a stop sign, instead opting to recline the seat back and stare up through the moonroof at the stars. His eyes get heavy and it doesn’t register that they’re home until she taps his shoulder. They trudge up the porch steps and she lets them in with her key. He promptly kicks off his shoes, sinks onto the couch while she gingerly slides off her coat. He sees her hand trembling as she hangs it on the coat rack and before he knows it, the quaking spreads to her entire body. She wraps her arms around herself and Mulder hops to his feet, moves to stand behind her. “Shhh, shh.” Her breathing is rapid again and he resists the urge to pull her to his chest, hold her as close as possible. His hands go to her shoulders but she steps away, quickly perches on the nearby ottoman. “Scully..” “I just need to sit. Just need to sit down. I…I..” She’s still fighting to take a full fucking breath and he kneels down in front of her. Tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re still shaking, Scully.” “It’s fine. I…it’ll pass.” “But you-“ “Mulder, I'm fine!” Shaking his head he reaches for the afghan draped over the back of the easy chair. He moves to drape it over her but she recoils. “I’m not cold, damn it!" Scoffing he shoves the blanket into her lap, stands and turns on his heel. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The words leave his mouth before he even thinks them. Before he considers the implications and how they’ll land.

Balled up cloth is lobbed hard at the back of his head and he lets out a slow breath, pivots to face her

“Say that to my face.”

“Scully,” he pleads. Voice gruff he swallows back a lump in his throat, bows his head while she marches up to him. “Look at me and say that!" His eyes are fixed on the carpet, his feet that stagger, shuffle backward when she shoves him hard in the chest. “Look at me!"

Her voice is scratchy and shrill. It hurts his ears, hurts him to hear her. It all just fucking hurts. But she’s the only one not in the morgue tonight capable of understanding and feeling that hurt. At least he’s praying to her God that she can.

“If my being cold is my stating the facts, seeing the truth in front of me for the absolute hell that it is…” “Scully…” “The same truth that we risked our careers for, that we sacrificed for, lost loved ones for. That we became partners for...”

Her voice breaks as he meets her eyes. “This is part of our truth now, Mulder.” “I understand, Scully,” he says gruffly. “And I’m sorry. Please, you...you don’t have to-" "William wanted us to let him go. William was not meant to be. William was an experiment. William was an idea born in a laboratory.” She’s speaking raggedly, swiping tears away with her hand before her eyes surrender, squeeze shut. “Scully…" "I carried him. I bore him, but I….I was never a mother to him.” Her head bowed, shaking, Mulder moves in closer. Pulls her as tight as he can to his chest. “He wasn’t meant to be, he was an experiment. He was an idea. He..he wanted us to let him go. He wanted us to let him go,”

She repeats herself. Makes the words her mantra. Her face is pressed into his chest as her tears soak his shirt.

“I need to let go, Mulder. I don’t have a choice. I…I, damn it! I’ve never had a choice!”

Moving out of his hold she grabs a glass paperweight off of the desk.

“I should’ve been the one to shoot Spender,” she spits, throwing the tchotchke against the kitchen counter before reaching for a vase. Smashing the ceramic against the far wall.

“I should’ve made the bastard hurt. I should’ve him suffer. I should’ve stood there to watch him bleed out. I should’ve pushed his corpse off the dock myself.”

“I know,” Mulder says roughly. “Scully, I emptied my clip into him. One third of it for you, one third for William, one third for me. But if you’d been standing there, if...if I knew.”

“I should’ve known. I...I had every test run when I’d found out. But paternity..”

“You wanted to believe.”

Taking her by the shoulders Mulder gently turns her towards him.

“I did believe! I believed when I put him in your arms that night,” she chokes out, breaking free of his hold for the mantle this time.

She pushes off a row of books and their bookends, whips a Buddha statue into the corner and a candle into the railing before scrambling back for the last object. She has her hand around it and aims to throw until her thumb grazes the filled in crack in the small glass dome.

Breath hitching, she staggers back to sit back down on the couch. Turning the snow globe over in her palm she shakes it gently, watches the flakes and glitter fall on the windmill.

All Mulder can do is shake his head, look down at her pained.

“Scully…”

“He told me when he handed this back to me not to give up on the bigger picture. I…I didn’t know what that meant. I still don’t.”

“I think it means,” he says solemnly, sitting beside her as she curls into his side. “That when you’re ready, to try and see beyond the facts, Scully.”

“But they're right there, Mulder. They’re right there. All staring us in the face."

“And doing nothing but causing pain and fear and grief. I know. All that darkness is always going to be part of our truth, but the only truth that matters to me right now, in this moment, lies in that bigger picture. I know it’s not as cut and dry and logical as you’d like but it's simple, Scully. It’s clear.”

“Tell me what you see,” she begs.

“As long as you don’t accuse me of running a seance. I know your stance on those,” Mulder says, earning a flicker of a soft smile.

“What I see is you and I together. We’re safe, we're temporarily out of work, but have all the more time to put finishing touches on the nursery. We have a girl. We used to have a boy. He was taken from us, taken from us way too soon. But he knew how much we loved him. He told us so.”

“But I questioned it. I asked him how he knew. What kind of mother asks her son that?”

“The kind of mother that’s forced to. The kind that doesn’t have a choice.”

She softly whimpers then and he pulls her onto his lap, strokes her hair.

“You have a choice now though, you understand? If…if you can’t handle this, if it’s too much…forget what I said about the nursery, what I said on the dock. There’s more to me than fatherhood, Scully. There’s you. There’s your health, your happiness, your plans for the rest of your life. If those include a baby, or if they don’t…I understand. I just pray they’ll include me.”

“You didn’t need to light the candle next to mine to ensure that,” she says softly, nuzzling her cheek into his chest.

"I need you, Fox.”

Brushing his lips on the top of her head he swallows hard, holds her tighter.

“I need you too.”

“I do want this for us. I want to believe it’ll happen. But I’m afraid. I’m 54. I can’t let go of another child. But what...what if it happens? What if I can’t stop it?”

“I don’t know, Scully. I...I wish I could guarantee things. I wish it was twenty years ago. I know you said prayers aren’t wishes, but I’ll light a few candles. I’ll light a hundred if I know it’ll do any good.”

“There’s no way of knowing, Mulder. But it couldn’t hurt.”

Slowly she climbs off his lap, ducks into the bathroom as he gets to his feet. Picks the votive off the floor along with the fortunately unbroken Buddha. Going over to the fireplace he throws a log bag in, lights it before scraping up as many tea lights and cupcake candles as he can find.

When she exits the bathroom the lights are off as flames dance and flicker, casting a glow on Mulder’s face as he lies back against the arm of the couch.

“It’s not a hundred, but the fires gotta be at least thirty or forty, right?”

“That seems like a fair estimate, yeah,” she says, wiping her eyes with her sleeve before reaching for the snow globe. She gives it a shake as he shifts over, makes room for her to lie beside him.

“You’re not shaking anymore.”

“Bigger picture,” she murmurs, bringing his hand to her belly after setting the snow globe on his chest. 

“I’m thinking about the bigger picture.”

[adamarinayu]

🎼 donald

So because I’d been at work all day, I hadn’t actually listened to any music when you made this request. As such I decided to listen to music while I napped, and when I woke up whatever song was playing I decided would be the one I wrote this for.

And oh. Oh man. I couldn’t choose just one verse so I did the thing I typically do not do; it’s a proper “song fic,” and I’m gonna divide scenes up between lines/stanzas/sections/whatever of the song. (The chorus will only be used once) I’m so sorry if it seems like this got off track but this is what I came up with.

Wanna make something clear right now: Although I, obviously, do not agree with Vic Mignogna’s views, I don’t deny that he’s a good singer and VA. Just emphasizing that I don’t agree with him and me listening to some of his songs does not mean I do.

How can I repay you, brother mine? How can I expect you to forgive? Clinging to the past, I shed our blood, and shattered your chance to live.

She refused to give it up. Adventure was her lifeblood- even the three children she had given life to weren’t enough to keep her away.

“I’m an adventurer, Donald!” she had said when he begged her not to go with Scrooge. “Just because I’m a mother now doesn’t make that any less true.”

“At least wait until they’re older,” he had pleaded, but she still went. Within forty-eight hours, Della was gone for good and Donald became the sole provider for three little ducklings.

He blamed Scrooge. He blamed Della. He blamed himself. He stepped up, sacrificing his own dreams of sailing the seven seas and exploring the world on his boat in order to raise his nephews.

Scrooge didn’t call. Neither did Donald.

Though I knew the laws, I paid no heed. How can I return your wasted breath? What I did not know has cost you dear, for there is no cure for death.

Sometimes Donald wondered, if he had just gone on that last adventure with them- just asked Grandma, or Fethry, or even Gladstone, to watch the kids for a few days- if Della would have come home with them. Maybe Donald wouldn’t have returned, instead- but then the boys would have their mother, at least.

There was nothing he could do about it now. Only regret. Regret what could have, should have been, and do his best to raise her children in her stead.

“What was mom like?” they would ask as they grew up, and he wouldn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t even sure he knew, anymore.

She loved you. But not enough to stay. She didn’t mean to leave. But it was still her choice to go. She loved her family more than anything. Yet she still left her month-old ducklings home with her brother to go traipsing halfway across the world.

What could he possibly tell them? What could he say that wouldn’t make it sound like he blamed her? So all he said was, “She’s gone. She loved you very much.” He didn’t tell them anything more than that.

He couldn’t bring her back, after all.

And how can I make amends for all that I took from you? I led you with hopeless dreams, my brother, I was a fool.

“Together when we hatched, together when we die.”

That had been their motto- they were two, a duo, never one without the other. Partners, partners in crime, peas in a pod, a package deal.

Born together, die together. Twins, together from start to end. That was why they became adventurers with their uncle in the first place- she his pilot, he his sailor. They would always be together, even while the dreams of their future began to diverge.

He wanted to go on a solo trip- not forever. Not for good. Just one solo trip, sailing the ocean and seeing the world through his own eyes, rather than his uncle or sister’s. Similarly, Della wanted to fly solo- just once. A stint around the world, touring and seeing the world the way she alone could.

They promised that when they finally made those solo trips, when it was over they’d meet up at Ithaquack- he in his boat and she in her plane. They’d be in contact the entire time, maybe even end up in the same place at the same time, and they talked about it often- so often that Scrooge started to get annoyed by their lack of action.

They had decided, we’ll do it for sure this year.

Then she got pregnant and they never had the chance. She was gone, more than one promise broken, and he was left to pick up the pieces.

Don’t cry for the past now, brother mine. Neither you nor I are free from blame. Nothing can erase the things we did, for the path we took was the same.

He spent night after night out on the deck of his boat, staring up at the moon and begging for a miracle. He just wanted her back- was it really so much to ask?

If he could go back in time, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Donald imagined stopping her- changing the flow of time, preventing his present no matter how much he loved those three ducklings. Maybe if she knew the fate awaiting her, she’d choose not to go…

But Donald knew he was wrong. Della would never give up an adventure, not the way Donald would. She loved her family, but the call of adventure was so much stronger for her than it was for Donald. He couldn’t understand her.

She became a mother by happenstance. He became their father by necessity. She was gone. He was there.

That’s all there was to it.

Beautiful mother, soft and sweet, once you were gone we were not complete. Back through the years we reached for you, alas ‘twas not meant to be.

The children stopped asking about her when they were seven. Whether they realized he wouldn’t- couldn’t- tell them more or they just decided not to ask anymore, Donald wasn’t sure.

They were smart children- too smart. Somehow they had figured out that when Donald said gone, he really meant dead. They didn’t tell him this, though. He overheard them one night when they were nine. He had stopped by their room, just to check on them as they went to bed, and overheard Huey leading his brothers in their bedtime prayer. It was the standard prayer- watch over us while we sleep so we are safe through the night, take care of our loved ones, such things as that.

But then…

“And please let Mom know we love her and hope that she’s happy up in Heaven.”

His blood ran cold and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes immediately began to burn and he backed away from the door. How had they known? He never said anything, and a quick internet search had proven Scrooge had all but erased Della’s existence from the public eye.

How could they have pieced it together? And how had they accepted it so easily- she was their mother. Donald was still torn up about it- yet the way Huey had said it, it sounded like it was just a fact of life.

That was when it hit Donald- for the triplets, it was a fact of life.

They never knew Della, after all.

My dreams made me blind and mute. I long to return to that time. I followed without a word, my brother the fault is mine.

It wasn’t until years later, when the boys were almost teenagers, that Donald came to the realization that Scrooge blamed himself just as much as Donald did, despite denying any blame whatsoever.

“I asked her tae come,” Scrooge confessed when they were trapped, alone, in a cavern. Donald couldn’t see his face, but his voice was no more than a whisper. “She came with me because I asked her tae.”

“I know,” Donald told him simply, staring towards what he knew was a wall. “She told me.”

“I think she wanted tae go home. She didn’t say anything- just kept up with the adventure… but I think she was worried about ye with the kids.” It was so full of guilt that Donald almost felt bad for his uncle. “I pretended not tae notice. Maybe… she’d still be here if I had put adventure aside for once.”

“She loved adventure,” Donald said, almost as if on autopilot. “She didn’t say anything. You had no way of knowing for sure.”

“I should have asked.”

“What-if doesn’t change what happened, Uncle Scrooge. She made a choice, we all have to live with it.”

His chest was hurting and his eyes were burning as he said it, but they both knew he was right. Della made her choice, and while that didn’t absolve Donald or Scrooge of any guilt…

It certainly reminded Donald exactly who his sister was; a strong, independent, adventurous and loving person.

He missed her so much.

So where do we go from here? And how to forget and forgive? What’s gone is forever lost. Now all we can do is live.

Years passed in the blink of an eye, and Donald turned around one day just to realize his (Della’s) little boys were all grown up.

They were roughhousing together with Webby, each of them wearing dark, but light-weighted, clothing as they prepared for their highschool graduation.

Donald was so proud of all of them, and silently wished that Della could be here to witness this moment.

They had found out the truth years ago, and after some… drama surrounding it, they had accepted it (again) and moved forward in their lives. Huey was now off to university to study geology, aiming for a PHD even though he intended to make his home inside the higher ranks of the Junior Woodchucks leadership. Dewey was off to flight school, just like his mother twenty years before him, and intended to return to adventuring once he was finished. Louie was off to a prestigious arts academy, having received a full scholarship when the headmaster attended his school’s art show and saw the family portrait that Louie had spent nearly a month painting on a large canvas. Webby was following her grandmother’s footsteps, already well on her way to climbing through the ranks of SHUSH, and she wasn’t even eighteen yet.

“Ye know,” Scrooge started as he stood next to Donald, leaning on his cane (the years were starting to catch up to him, Donald suspected), “it’s never too late tae live your dream, lad.”

Donald didn’t look at his uncle, instead watching his kids celebrate together. Launchpad would be driving them all to the highschool soon, for the graduation ceremony, and Donald already knew he was going to cry when they walked across that stage.

“I already did,” he said, smiling. Yes, he realized, somewhere along the way his dream had changed- those children were his, there was no point in denying it. All he wanted was to see them blossom and live happy lives. Right then, he could see they were as happy as they could be.

“… But I wouldn’t mind sailing around the world, still.”

Scrooge just laughed, patting his nephew on the back.

Some things never changed.

[atamascolily]

I won't have anything complete to post on A03 for a while, but I still felt like posting something, so here's a scene from my JAT fix-it fic I've been working on for a while. 

For background, in this early scene, Luke is talking with his new mentor figure, who definitely doesn't match his idea of what a mentor should look like.

(Oh, and all the Yoda flashbacks are from "Training Montage," LOL.)

"You don't feel the Force, then?" he asked.

"Not the way you do, but I feel it."

He must have let some of his skepticism show on his face, because she jammed her fist into her chair as if frustrated with his obtuseness, and her voice grew fierce.

"You think the Jedi have a monopoly on the Force? That they are the only beings in the galaxy who have anything to do with an energy field that binds the whole universe together? You think that because I can't lift rocks with my mind, my experiences have no value?"

"No," he said, taken aback by the sudden vehemence. "I'm sorry."

"And well you should be," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Your powers are considerable, Skywalker - they're a talent and a gift and skill that you've sacrificed much to learn, and you have a right to be proud of them - but they don't make you better than anyone else."

"I know that."

"Do you? Do you really? So why are you so quick to dismiss my experiences because they don't accord with your preconceived notions about how the Force works?"

She picked up her teacup, and took a sip before continuing. "I've spent more than half my life in this practice. It may not look like much, but I know who I am, and I know where I come from. I listen and I hear. It's not a lot, compared to what you can do, but it's enough for me. In a way, it's much easier for me than it is for you precisely because I <i>don't</i> have powers like yours."

Luke felt his skin prickle. How did she know? He'd come to that same conclusion in the aftermath of the Mindor debacle two years earlier - that his Jedi abilities opened him to all kinds of pain in addition to the powers, pain that ordinary people would never have to face. "What do you mean?" he said, careful to keep his voice steady.

"They're so flashy. They're useful in the right place, but they can easily be a distraction from what really matters. I don't have to worry about that. All I have to do is sit still and be present with what is, as it is, right here in this moment. The old Jedi got so caught up in their visions of the future they forgot to pay attention to the present. That was their downfall."

A long pause stretched out between them. She took another sip of tea.

"I know who I am," she said at last. "Do you?"

He thought about Yoda, of what his old master always said back on Dagobah when Luke questioned his decisions. "You will be ready when you know who you are," had been a constant refrain. Luke had thought he'd known what that meant--right up until the point where Darth Vader had revealed the truth of his ancestry, blindsiding him. Since then, Luke had faced so many of his demons, survived so many perils -- but he'd never reclaimed that easy, confident self-assurance that had shattered in that Cloud City ventilation shaft.

"More than I did," he said at last.

To his surprise, she nodded. "It takes a lifetime," she agreed. "And it's never over."

She met his gaze, and they stared at each other for several moments before she seemed to come to a decision. "This is a test for both of us," she said, and gestured to his empty tea cup on the table. "Persuade me to pour the tea for you."  

"What?" This wasn't the direction he'd thought she was going with this.

"You heard me. Weren't the old Jedi masters of persuasion-- diplomats, negotiators, the pride of the old Republic? Show me what you can do."

Luke remembered old Ben Kenobi, back on Tatooine, waving a hand to confuse a pair of Imperial stormtroopers at a checkpoint outside Mos Eisley. That had been his introduction to Jedi persuasion, although it was something he'd had to practice on his own; Yoda had never seemed interested in it.

"When the Force is flowing through you, recognize it others will, even if they do not understand why. They honor and respect suggestions you give, even if it is contrary to their nature. Only if they are aware enough of who they truly are - strong-willed and stubborn - will they fight," Yoda had said when Luke had asked about it.

"So if people know who they really are - or believe they know who they are - they won't respond to it?"

"Correct!" Yoda waved his stick in the air to emphasize the point. "This is why the Jedi must be calm, at peace. Free of anger and hatred. Only then can they be sure that their suggestions are truly good, and not for their own personal benefit. Abusing your skills in this way is a mark of the Dark Side."

In the end, Luke hadn't found it to be too difficult to persuade others using the Force. He'd used it successfully on a number of missions, including convincing Jabba's majordomo to give him a dawn audience with the crime lord. Jabba, he recalled, had not been happy about that. Sadly, the "old Jedi mind trick" didn't seem on Hutts, or else Jabba might still be alive today...

But this was the first time anyone had ever asked him to do it to them.

It was a test, she said. A test of what, exactly?

Well, he was going to find out.

"All right," he said, and reached out for the Force.

She met his gaze calmly, evenly, her teacup still cradled in her hands. There was no tension in her face or shoulders - she seemed utterly at ease, utterly relaxed. That in itself was unusual. Most people struggled when they thought Luke was manipulating them, with or without the Force. But she sat there, calmly, patiently, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was going to do to convince her to pour the tea for him.

She wasn't doing anything, yet he couldn't seem to get a grip on her. There was no place to hold on. She wasn't moving, yet every time he tried to reach for her, he slipped away.

On Dagobah, Yoda had occasionally felt the need to exert such a strong presence that Luke was rendered immobile, as if he was on a planet with such dense gravity that no motion was possible. Working with her now was like that, except that she wasn't doing anything to stop him. Her mind was a clear pool of water before him, yet the only thing he could see in it was his own reflection.

She was simply there, solid and unyielding like a rock, a rock that he could never lift with his usual methods.

He could force her. He was strong enough, there was no question about that, but he could see no way to do it that didn't break her mind in the process. And the fact that he was even considering the possibility meant that something was wrong. There was no dire need here, no innocent lives on the line. It was not the Jedi way.

"Not wrong of Obi-wan to use the Force to save others from harm," Yoda had said to him back on Dagobah, when he'd asked if Ben's persuasion of the stormtroopers had been wrong. "But wrong to manipulate the will of others without greatest need. If you are truly in the right, you will rarely need to use it. Better to let others come to their own conclusions, choose their own actions, even if you disagree with them."

What had she said? "This is a test, for both of us."

And, "Persuade me to pour the tea for you."

Well, there it was. There was only one thing left to try. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, withdrawing from the Force as he did so.

Luke thought about his first meeting with Yoda - how he'd been so busy looking for a 'great warrior' that he'd missed the real master in front of him. How his impatience had overrun both his common sense and his courtesy, and he failed his new teacher's very first test.

He wasn't going to fail this one.

Show me what you can do.

"Would you pour the tea for me, please?" he said quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, and for one long moment, he thought he'd failed after all. Then her smile lit up her face like a comet in the desert night, and he knew he'd done the right thing.

"Of course," she said, and set down her own cup to pick up the kettle and refill his. "Well done."

[avengerofyourheart]

Faithfully (Bucky Rockstar AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky, OC Ava Barnes, Steve, Clint, Tony, Wanda.

Summary: Being on the road with your rockstar husband had it’s challenges. What if you found out he was unfaithful? (Avengers AU)

Warnings: babies, pregnancy, possible cheating, tiny bit of language, sex mentions, drinking, nudity, bit of angst, mostly fluff. 

Word Count: 3k (including lyrics)

Song Inspiration: Faithfully by Journey

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: Oof. This idea struck me like lightning. I’ve been working on another fic but felt a little stuck. This one flowed out of me in the space of a few hours. I freaking love Journey and this story! I’ve sacrificed quite a bit of sleep to finish, so I hope it was worth it!! Please let me know your thoughts! Love you guys!! :)

Masterlist

_______________________________________________________

Brushing your fingertip over perfect round cheeks while marveling at gorgeous long lashes and her tiny pout, you fell in love all over again. This little person had your heart. Well. A good portion of it. Speaking of your heart…

You heard rustling in the next “room” followed by the partition sliding aside. Bucky stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing a hand over his face. His chin-length hair stuck out in ten different directions and he was clad in only a pair of boxers.

“Morning, handsome,” you greeted him with an amused smile.

He let out a groan, “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“And…where are we?”

You chuckled, “Somewhere in the midwest, I think. St. Louis, maybe?”

Slumping in a chair across from you, he exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry. I know I was gonna take her this morning but we had some press to do after the show and then drinks with some writer for a magazine. I guess I passed out pretty hard.”

You shrugged, “It’s okay. She’s been a perfect angel and even let me shower this morning.”

He grinned at the bundle of joy in your arms, leaning forward to brush a knuckle over her delicate skin. “That’s my girl, huh, princess? Are you daddy’s little girl?”

Your daughter cooed, grasping her father’s finger in a tiny fist. There was no denying it. She had you both wrapped around her perfect finger.  

Bucky pressed a kiss to your lips and muttered a ‘good morning’ to you before gathering the little one in his muscular arms. She always looked extra tiny next to him. You stretched and took in the sight of your husband babbling in baby talk to your little Ava. Everyone else thought he was a hardcore tough guy, but you knew he was really just a big ol’ softie. All the rest was for show.

“So how many did you see last night?” you quirked an eyebrow in question.

“Hm?” he replied, feigning ignorance.

You gave in The Look. He knew what you meant.

“I, uh…the lights were bright and from the stage, I couldn’t…there weren’t any…” he huffed out a sigh in surrender. “Three.”

You scoffed, “You saw three breasts last night?”

“Three…pairs,” he clarified bashfully. “But trust me, they’ve got nothing on you, babe.”

You shook your head in disbelief, but had to smile. You knew what to expect at this point, having been married to your rock star husband for two years and dated for six before that. You and Bucky went to high school together and started dating when his band was still in their garage phase. Girls often tried to gain his attention during shows by flashing him. A ridiculous notion which he always brushed off, but it still bothered you a little.

“Oh, I know,” you agreed with him, glancing down at your prominent chest. Making the decision to nurse your child meant having your bra size increase threefold. It was ridiculous and painful at times, but you enjoyed having that connection with her. “Speaking of breasts…”

You unbuttoned your shirt and unhooked your nursing bra, motioning for Bucky to bring your daughter forward. Finding a comfortable position, she latched on and you used an app on your phone to note which side you were feeding her on and how long. Bucky kept his gaze on your exposed chest, clearing his throat.

“Down boy,” you teased him with a grin. “Not yet. Why don’t you have a shower? Maybe if this little one will sleep after I’m done, we could have some alone time…”

Bucky perked up at that, leaning down to capture your lips first and then press them to his child’s head, “Did you hear that Ava? Daddy might get some action! If you sleep for an hour, I’ll buy you a pony.”

You laughed, swatting his arm, then watched him retreat to shower. Currently, you were sitting on the tour bus that you, Bucky, and Ava had to yourselves. It was pretty spacious for an RV and had all the bells and whistles, but living on the road still had its challenges. Constantly on the move and in a different city, you struggled to see something on wheels as home but whenever you weighed the pros and cons, being with Bucky always won out.

You had stayed home for a few weeks after giving birth and Bucky was with you as much as possible but eventually he had to go back on the road. A few weeks apart, you both decided you couldn’t stand it anymore. Bucky bought the biggest, nicest RV he could find and begged you to bring Ava on tour with you. He was a busy man, though. His band, Howling Buchanan, exploded onto the music scene last year and their album went platinum. Around that same time, you found out you were pregnant adding to a whirlwind year of excitement and change.

Having a child was one of the best things you’ve ever done, but it did trigger some changes in your relationship with Bucky. Obviously your time and energy was mostly focused on the baby and there was a waiting time before you could become intimate again. There were other things you both did to keep the fire burning until then, though. Luckily Ava just turned 6 weeks and the doctor gave the okay for sex. You were a bit nervous, considering the changes your body had gone through, but you felt ready. Bucky obviously was, too.

Setting down Ava on her bed in the RV’s living room area, she thankfully stayed asleep. You pushed aside the partition and stepped into the bedroom to see Bucky wearing only a towel while combing through his damp hair. A familiar warmth spread in your belly, the feeling kept dormant for too long now awakening. You crept up behind him, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and caressing the taut muscles of his six pack abs. He turned around to face you, capturing your lips with his in a passionate embrace.

His nimble fingers rid you of your button down blouse and unattractive but supportive nursing bra. He marveled at the sight of you, “You are gorgeous. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you spoke breathlessly, ridding him of his towel. He undressed you completely and lowered you to the bed. Bucky paid special attention to every inch of you with is mouth and fingers, being extra gentle with your sizable but sore bosoms. He tried to take his time, but you were both impatient after so long without, soon finding a rhythm in each other and simultaneously reaching your highs before crashing down together.

Bucky pressed a tender kiss to your lips, brushing a sweaty lock of hair off your forehead. He pulled you into his side, grazing his fingertips over your bare skin. Barely catching your breath, you heard the tiny wails of your daughter thought the thin walls. You groaned, reaching for clothing when Bucky stopped you with a kiss.

“I’ll get her. You rest,” he said, climbing out of bed and slipping on shorts.

Squinting as he opened and then closed the partition door, you lay in the dark for a while. Looking back on this first time again with Bucky, you knew it somehow felt…different. Not bad by any means, but not quite as before. You kind of expected that, but a flicker of doubt settled in your mind. Trying to brush it off, you told yourself it would take time, then letting sleep claim you.

______

“Doll,” you heard a far away voice. “Doll, I’m sorry, but I have to leave for rehearsal. Ava needs you.”

You sat up in bed, seeing through bleary eyes that Bucky held your daughter in his arms, now dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. You stood and stretched, pulling on clothes and then taking the baby from him.

“Break a leg, handsome. I’ll see you before your show,” you assured him.

“Okay. I love you.”

He kissed you and then Ava before leaving, leather jacket in hand.

______

Bucky stepped off the stage and walked through the maze of hallways under the venue before finding his dressing room. Other than the bus, it was nice to have a place to go to just for a little while. He wasn’t a rockstar with a list of crazy demands like some, but he did insist on having a couch in his dressing room. Since Ava was born, neither of you had gotten a full night’s sleep, which was to be expected, but he did try to sneak in a nap before shows. The rehearsal and sound check had gone well, so he felt good about the show tonight.

Kicking the door shut, he stripped off his leather jacket and boots before collapsing on the couch.

He woke to a woman’s voice. “Hey, baby,” he heard her coo. Small hands brushed across his chest and down toward his belt, starting to unbuckle it.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, then opening his eyes in shock.

Before him, a strange woman knelt by the couch he lie on, half naked. He pushed her hands away and climbed over the side of the couch to get away.

“How did you get in here?” he asked in panic, throwing a blanket to the scantily clad woman.

“A friend. I’m a huge fan, Bucky. I’ve wanted you for so long…” she continued to advance as he backed away.

“Yeah, well, I’m happily married and not at all interested, so get out,” he spoke sternly, gathering her pile of clothes and shoving them at her chest.

She pouted at that, “But…but all your songs, you talk about the women you’ve been with and…”

“No,” he stopped her. “One woman. All my songs are about one woman: my wife. Now get out of here before I press charges,” he yanked the door open and pushed her out in her state of undress, nearly colliding with you just outside the door.

“Y/N…” Bucky froze, a look of surprised upon his handsome face.

Your eyes were wide in shock and hurt, seeing a half naked woman leave his dressing room in a hurry. His belt was unbuckled and clothes looked rumpled.

“I knew things felt different this morning. I should have known…” Tears flooding your eyes, you whirled around and ran down the hallway, dodging people.

“Y/N, stop! It wasn’t…she just…” Bucky finally reacted and tried to follow but was stopped by his manager, Tony, with a hand on his chest.

“Whoa, there, sparky, where do you think you’re going? You’ve got a show in 5 minutes.”

He threw the man’s hand off, “Screw the show, I have to get to Y/N.”

“Screw the…listen, Buckaroo, we’ve got a full house out there. The opening act was terrible and they came to see you, can’t you hear the chanting? If we lose the crowd, then it’ll get ugly. I need you to stay and do your job. Can you do that?”

Huffing in frustration, Bucky ran fingers through his hair. He had to pray that you would be waiting on the bus afterwards so he could explain. “Fine. But I need to speak with the band first.”

“Done.”

“Clint!” Bucky yelled at a sandy-haired man across the hall. “You’re supposed to be in charge of security, what the hell happened? How did she get in here?”

Clint shook his head, “I don’t know, man. My guys have a strict list. It must have been someone inside who let her in.”

“You find out who it is and I want their ass fired,” Bucky roared.

_________

Scrambling onto the bus in a crying haze, you ran into Wanda, the part-time nanny you and Bucky had hired so you could be there for his shows and not subject an infant to rock music. Wanda stayed with Ava for a few hours and kept you updated on how she was through text, letting you know when she needed a feeding.

Attempting to calm yourself, you took a few deep breaths. “Is Ava asleep?”

“Y/N, are you okay? The baby’s fine, sleeping like an angel.”

“Good. Can you call me a cab?”

“Sure. Why? Where are you going?” the woman questioned, eyeing your frazzled state.

“The airport.”

Luckily, most of your bags were already packed since you were supposed to have the privilege of staying in a hotel in the next city. Three shows in a row meant clean sheets and a huge bathtub, both things you had been looking forward to. You threw the rest of your things in two bags and packed Ava’s diaper bag before stepping off the bus and into a cab.

Four hours later, you sat at the gate waiting to board your flight home. You needed family support right now. Ava was sleeping after your last feeding and you had way too much time to think. How could this happen? Was this the first or the 50th girl? You felt so stupid. He was tempted all the time and you always felt pride that he stayed faithful to you even after all these years. Or so you thought. You’d been ignoring your phone since you left, unwilling to hear his excuses. Being an eye witness was enough for you.

You must have dozed off for a minute because you awoke to a  buzz in your pocket. Rolling your eyes, you glanced at the screen to see a text from Natasha, one of the background singers.

You need to see this, with a YouTube link attached.

Careful not to wake Ava, you slipped in one earbud and pressed play. You could tell it was the venue you had just left and Bucky came into focus. Must be near the end of the show because he always lost his shirt midway through, his sweaty, sculpted chest on display along with the full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. You stifled a sob, but kept watching.

“Thanks for being a great crowd. I’m gonna do something a little different tonight. We don’t do a lot of covers, but this one’s important to me. This is for the loves of my life, Y/N and Ava. I’m still yours,” he spoke into the microphone, still catching his breath from the last song.

A spotlight shone on Steve, Bucky’s lead guitarist and best friend, but this time he had a keyboard in front of him. You didn’t even know he could play. There wasn’t much call for piano playing in a rock band. The tune started slow as the crowd quieted, your heart racing. Bucky stood front and center as he began to sing. 

Highway run Into the midnight sun Wheels go round and round You’re on my mind. Restless hearts Sleep alone tonight Sending all my love on the wire

They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family Right down the line it’s been you and me And lovin’ a music man Ain’t always what it’s supposed to be Oh, girl, you stand by me I’m forever yours Faithfully

A smile broke through your sobs, hearing those words tumble from your husband’s mouth. This tender side of Bucky was the man you knew and the fact that he was showing that to the world, your heart melted. Whatever happened tonight, you knew you had to at least hear him out. Ava began to fuss then. As you pulled her into your lap, you placed the other earbud near her tiny ear and she quieted. Bucky’s voice had become her lullaby from birth.

Through space and time Always another show Wondering where I am Lost without you

And being apart ain’t easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you Oh, girl, you stand by me I’m forever yours Faithfully

As the song finished, you set your phone aside and snuggled your little girl. Debating whether to get on the plane or not, you then heard a voice.

“Nothing happened.”

Looking up, you saw Bucky wearing sweats and a hoodie with his hair under a baseball cap. This was his incognito look to hide from fans.

In shock, you uttered, “How did you…”

“I left as soon as I could. Didn’t even do an encore. Tony’s pissed…” he chuckled thickly. “I saw your stuff gone and called Wanda. She told me where you’d gone and I figured you’d head home so I bought a ticket.”

Bucky knelt down before you, gathering your free hand in his.

“Y/N, listen to me, please. That girl snuck into my dressing room and I threw her out. I swear to you that nothing happened. I am completely yours. I’ve always been faithful. Please believe me,” he pleaded with you, his eyes filled with tears threatening to spill.

With a teary smile, you nodded, “I do. I believe you. I shouldn’t have run, I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

He grasped your face in his hands and kissed you, wet smiles on both of your faces.

“I love you with all my heart, Y/N. You and Ava…you’re my whole world. I will never jeopardize that. If you want to go home, then let’s go home. Maybe I could shift show dates around….”

You interrupted him, “No. As long as I’m with you, I am home.” Pressing your hand against his face, he smiled with shining eyes.

“You’re my home, too. Let’s get out of here,” he stood, gathering all 3 bags and the empty car seat in his arms. You carried Ava, who slept once again.

It wasn’t an easy life, but it was worth it. This transient life wouldn’t be forever. Bucky had a few more months of touring, then you’d have some normalcy at home. You’d just take things one step and one change at time. The song he sang was true, you’d always stand by him. And he stood by you. Faithfully.

__________________________________________________________

Whew! That was fun. At least for me to write. If you enjoyed it, please let me know!! I’m working on quite a few other projects so I hope you don’t mind me sneaking in the spur-of-the-moment fic. I just had to get it out. Thank you all so much for your comments and asks! I appreciate you taking the time to read my fics! 

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[louisemwrites]

With SWAB coming to an end, how does it feel getting there and how the next story in the Bully series will be better?

Gosh, it still feels astonishing how I made it this far and produced such stories. And I’ll be really glad when SWAB is over because writing it was extremely hard. 

My challenge with writing The School Bully was because the one-shot that I based it on was supposed to run for two years of their high school life. I kept thinking about making it reach that timeline. And also, for the life of me, I couldn’t keep it a dark story. I love humor and I couldn’t help but inject it continuously in the story.

For Sleeping with a Bully, my first thought was I want to create a sequel that would show the behind the scenes of the guys’ “bullying” activities, shown through the love story of Terry and John. But I grew to find it difficult because some people wanted me to focus on their love story while others still want to know the backstories. Juggling both sometimes made me drop the story for a few weeks because I couldn’t get past a line or thought and I couldn’t make a chapter satisfying. I’ve changed a lot of drafts and scenes and sacrificed some precious scenes just to get the flow going. Ugh, just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

Now, the next story, Rohan’s story will be infinitely better. I have nothing to base it on and there will be new locations (which I can’t reveal yet), new people, and a new atmosphere. This will still a dark story with a lot of humor. I’ve finished the character mapping and outlined the whole story (which I haven’t done in the previous stories) so I wouldn’t keep writing on the fly. I’m super excited to begin.

 I know I’m not the best online fic writer out there. And I know I may have dissatisfied some people with the way I write my stories. But I aimed to be a good writer. 

And I finally think I am. (*^▽^*)