#that joy is worth the occasional spook for now

[opportunity-strikes]

me encountering a post with a picture of a big high res spider in it: i must not fear. fear is the mind killer. fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. i will face my fear. i will permit it to pass over me and through me. and when it has gone past i will turn the inner eye to see its path. where the fear has gone there will be nothing. only i will remain

[pansyslut]

you are my yellow

draco x reader

read part two here

summary : draco suffers with mental health and you do everything in your power to make sure he knows that he is safe and loved. there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for one another. angst and lots of fluff !!

flashback in italics

warnings : mentions of depression, mentions of not eating

draco got like this often. it could last a day or weeks or months. it was a total toss up. some times were worse than others. sometimes his emotions were all over the place and he would go from happy to sad to angry in a span of seconds. sometimes he would stop eating. sometimes to the unseen eye it would go completely unnoticed. sometimes he would rock back and fourth in your arms while he struggles to even get a single breath out. sometimes he couldn’t even get himself out of bed. this was one of those times.

it’s obvious draco has had a troubled life. trauma can really mess with a person. you had never blamed him. you took it upon yourself to try your hardest to make him see the true joys of life. to make him see the little “yellows” you had called it- that really make life worth living.

“y/n it hurts. it hurts so much. i don’t see how i can do this.” he had cried out to you. you simply pet his hair and held him in your arms. “i’m going to tell you a story from when i was a young girl. whenever i had a bad day, i would name three yellows. three things i liked. three things that made everything worth it. three things i could always turn back to to make me feel better. your yellows can be anything. as small or big they may seem to be.” he hummed back in response so you took this as a que to keep going.

“for example, my yellows would be you of course” as you stroked him and pressed a soft kiss on the crown of his head, “you, cookies, aaandd...” he looked up at you as you thought on. “our future.” he had finished. smiling, you nodded “our future.”

many times after his episodes he would go on rants about how you’re too good for him. how you deserve better than to have to put up with his so called nonsense but you have none of that. simply just telling him you’re in for the long haul and would always be there for him no matter what.

you came home after a long shift at the hospital to find draco curled up on the couch, in the same position you had left him in this morning. the soup you had made him left untouched, cold, and still sitting on the table next to him. walking over to him you announced yourself, afraid to spook the boy.

“dray... baby, are you awake?” you spoke softly

he peered open an eye and tried to give you a small smile but failed. he always did that. always tried to downplay and seem okay. even after you told him time and time again that “it’s okay to not be okay. we all have our rough patches.”

you decide to go to the kitchen and heat him up some warm tea. sighing, you come back to him and sit the mug down.

“draco, please eat. i can warm up some soup? or we have leftovers? at least drink this tea. it always makes me feel better.” he just shoved his head further into the cushion.

realizing that he won’t eat just yet, you go to your room and grab him a fresh set of clothes and sit back down next to him. “here baby, let me help you.” you say and he complies. you lift his upper body up and take off his shirt as he rests against your chest. rubbing his back and leaving kisses on his shoulder you start telling him about your day and about a young patient you had and how everything turned out alright and how seeing those moments made you happy.

you take off his pants and put his clean set of clothes on gently and set him back down. you lay next to him and he just lays there silently, holding you with an occasional hum so you know he’s listening to you.

following your almost daily ritual, you go on about your yellows in hopes to cheer him up. “my yellows for today-this is quite easy. my patients, warm cups of tea, and being able to come home to you.” you feel his smile in the crook of your neck.

“you are my yellow, y/n.” he says whispering and lifts his head so you are making eye contact. “you are the biggest and brightest yellow of my life. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. but you make everything worth it. you’ve made me realize all of the yellows in my life. even the little things i can now appreciate. thank you, baby.”

you can’t help but to crush your lips on his. does he even realize how much of a catch he is? although he isn’t usually good at opening up, he would say little things like that every now and then and you knew he meant it. you knew how much you meant to him.

you sit up and detach yourself from him. “lasagna?” you say i’m hopes for him to eat. “lasagna.” he says nodding.

you go into the kitchen and scurry around trying to find all of the ingredients as he watches you from afar. a few minutes later you feel a hand sliding onto your waist. “here love, let me help. you’ve had a long shift, go take a shower and rest.” he says in your ear.

you turn and step on your tippy toes to smash another kiss on his lips. he starts pressing little kisses all over your face. your eyes, your nose, your forehead, on your temple. and finally, on your neck as he wraps his strong arms around you. “thank you for not giving up on me. i promise i am trying.”

you repreat your mantra to him. “tomorrow’s another day. a fresh start. i’m so proud of you.”

part two

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

.-

Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

.-

~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Companions React to Sole Getting Pregnant/Getting Them Pregnant

Cait:

"What the hell did we do?"

To say she is at very least disgruntled would be a understatement. In reality, even if she wasn't clean before, she sure would get that way as quickly as she could manage. Terrible nightmares of her awful childhood would terrorize the woman to point of her breaking down a lot. However she knows that she will be the furthest thing from what her mum and da were and within time, she'll begin to warm up to the idea of having a baby. Subconsciously she sees it as a chance to right was has been wronged with her family. The only downside she begins to see is that she would be not at all fit to smash heads in.

Curie:

"Im so excited!"

She wasn't quite sure that such a thing was possible but she'd be a liar if she said she wasn't thrilled to see how it would progress. Admittedly the gravity of the situation wouldn't be felt until she began to swell, then she'd have to take a moment to process the magnitude. Luckily she is probably the most equipped to care for an infant, only second to codsworth.

Danse:

"Seriously? This...this is wow."

If it was pre blind betrayal he'd practically spin you around before rushing you straight to Captain Cade. It wasn't such a hefty duty like it was in other divisions of the BoS, but procreation was still highly encouraged. It was so much more than that to Danse though, he really loves you and the thought of having a little mini mix of you and him running around made him feel joy he thought was impossible to feel.

However if it's post blind betrayal the ex-paladin's amber eyes would be as big as saucers. He didn't think he would be able to impregnate you considering he didn't really think he was "human" enough. Of course it shocked the hell out of him, his anxiety would worsen to the point of his hands shaking. Not for any other reason other than he was terrified that the baby wouldn't turn out okay, being a mix like that? It was a lot to wrap his mind around. Regardless of his feelings, they eventually settle down and he can't help but pull you into perhaps a too tight hug. So long as the baby and you are okay in the end he's still happy.

Deacon:

"Hey that's not funny, you can't pull a me on me."

He honestly thought you were dead ass lying to him for the majority of the time, occasionally playing along when you gave him a particularly cold glare. Therefore whenever you actually started showing, his world came crashing down and pure horror flooded his veins. When you asked what was wrong and he revealed his beliefs he wasn't really surprised when you smacked him. Boy was he going to make it up to you though.

Gage:

"I beg your pardon?"

It was right about then that gage wished he had drank or maybe accidentally got second hand jet fumes, anything to excuse him hallucinating. No way. He's a bit more responsible than you'd give him credit for though, because once the shock settled he took you into his lap and looked you in the eyes before surprising even you as he devised some elaborate plan that would allow you to remain in power while keeping the baby a secret. Power armor was about to be your best friend. He'd personally murder everyone if they dare try to hurt his baby.

Hancock:

"You are just full of surprises aren't you?"

Much like a post blind betrayal Danse, he didn't think he'd be able to "supply" because of what he is. However unlike the synth he wouldn't have an absolute internal melt down. Instead he would actually be pretty damn content, suggesting making an "improved" goodneighbor for the little one. It probably wouldn't be much of a change but it surely would beat living in a settlement with limited power and settlers that may have a vendetta against his kind.

Macready:

"Again? I'm just kidding, I've got you. Luckily I'm a seasoned veteran."

He may be a little spooked but he won't show it. If anything he mainly fears breaking the news to a newly adjusted duncan. Aside that he is actually pretty damn excited. This was just the ribbon tying your little family together and he was living for it.

Maxson:

"...*cue the drink glass shattering*...Really? Well...um, woah."

The young elder would definitely be pleased with the news. Surprised, scared as hell, but definitely happy. After skirting the shattered glass he'd haul you up into his arms, embracing you and grinning like an idiot. Certainly a much better look on the usually gloomy looking man. He wasn't oblivious to the responsibility that now rests on both of your shoulders, and he may or may not become the slightest bit paranoid and make you take a leave from combat until further notice, but he was ready to step up to the challenge with you by his side. Plus he'd be super proud, honored to have you.

Old Longfellow:

"How the fuck..?"

Whenever you broke the news to him he was in disbelief. He was far too old, or so he thought at least. The undeniable evidence was enough to make him a believer though. Once it was proven to him, he practically fell to his knees. The very first time you've seen tears come to his eyes was that night. For once Longfellow believed that there was some kind of higher being that for once wasn't screwing him over, instead giving him back what was so wrongfully stolen. He'd be a changed man from there on, but in the best of ways.

Piper:

"Oh shit."

Her first instinct was of course to scream into a pillow. Afterwards when she regained her composure, she told you in quite possibly the most elaborate, stalling way she could manage. Once the news was out, she'd have a hard time deciding wether or not to skip town with her sister and you. After all she didn't quite think it was as safe in diamond city as others did, and having a baby was the final straw.

Preston:

"General, I mean, (y/n)..we're..we're going to be a family?"

He was so happy when you told him. His beautiful chocolate eyes widening before squinting from the absolute force of his ecstatic smile. He wasted no time from there to grab you in a hug, only to drop down to his knees and put his head against your soon to swell mid section. It was a dream come true to him, he knew it would be scary, but it would all be worth it.

X6-88:

"Interesting."

At first he would seem unfazed, his usual stone exterior showing. However within seconds he broke down, taking off his shades before grabbing you, putting his head in your shoulder and apologizing, rejoicing and flipping out all in one huge burst of emotion. Much like danse and Hancock, he didn't think it was possible.

[yszarin]

seen people on twitter talking about what got them through 2020, but twitter scary so I’m just gonna ramble about podcasts here. I’ve loved audio fiction since I was little, when my brother used to bring me big finish doctor who to listen to when I was sick, and they’ve really been great for me this year in terms of... want story but too tired to keep eyes open? podcast. need to do a mundane task but can’t stay on it? podcast. need something on before you sleep because if you leave your brain to its own devices it’ll eat itself? podcast. looking for queer rep? podcast. below the cut I’ve stuck 10 of my favourites of the shows I started listening to this year, and I promise they’re not all from Definitely Human.

Down - fiction, horror - a state of the art submarine with a less than state of the art crew descends into a newly-discovered Antarctic trench, “The Bottomless Pit” for the purposes of exploration and science! This goes about as well as you would expect. Episodes are super short and it’s entirely possible to listen to the whole thing in less than a day, although unfortunately it’s currently unfinished due to covid, so I guess it’s more that in less than a day you, too, could join me in unintentional hiatus hell. It is worth it.    

Enthusigasm - nonfiction, talk - Rusty Quill patreon exclusive show in which Helen Gould talks to people about things they enjoy. It just has the loveliest energy, and is exactly what I’ve needed this year. They’ve done episodes on subjects including baking, the horror genre and trash tv, and every one of them has been a joy, even when it’s about stuff I’m not into personally. How RQ manages to consistently produce The Best Content I don’t know, but by god do they do it.

Everything is Alive - interview - Gemma Amor recommended this and she’s usually right about such things. It’s a series of interviews with inanimate objects, all of which are animate now and have things to say. I’m particularly fond of the gay subway seats and was emotionally distraught by the cuddly toy. Very good to listen to to fall asleep.

Marscorp - fiction, sci-fi comedy - Station Supervisor E. L. Hob is awoken from suspended animation on Mars and must do her best to restore the colony’s original purpose of terraforming the planet. If you teased Jonny Sims for naming his main character after himself and also playing him please get ready to forgive him for everything, as you meet Tom Dalling, David Knight, and Dave Price, played by Tom Dalling, David Knight, and David Price, and written by Tom Dalling, David Knight, and David Price. I’m furious.  

Pax Fortuna! - actual play, adventure - a rotating group of characters leaves a horrified and occasionally maimed trail of NPCs behind them as they adventure in and around the prosperous island city of Fortuna. The shifting cast works really well, allowing for some PCs who are just objectively terribly people, while keeping the whole thing feeling really fun. Particular favourite PCs are Selwyn Bloodstorm, half-orc in search of gold accidentally ending up with friends, Alfonso Boyo, a necromancer but only in the most bureaucratic and horrifying way possible, and Almira Q Appleby, gnome inventor presenting such items as The Potato Peeler (may contain combat setting) to an unsuspecting public. The series comprises six interconnected smaller stories, each with multiple episodes, all of which are around 25-30 minutes long, which has been a particular joy for me, as someone who has difficulty with episode lengths of over an hour and is so often “I love AP podcasts. love to actually listen to one someday”. Pax Fortuna! is the caramelised nut bowl of actual plays, in that I found it very difficult to stop consuming it, now it’s all gone, and I’m sad. There are only two fics on AO3. Please listen to Pax Fortuna!.    

Shadows at the Door - anthology, horror - A collection of quiet horror stories, mixing older tales, both classic and less well-known, and modern ones. The soundtrack is by Nico, one of the editors on TMA and Good Egg, and it turns out, also Skilled Egg at soundtracks. Each story is followed-up by a discussion of its themes, and some tangents. Also very nice to fall asleep to, lots of suggestions of new things to look for, and the stories themselves are well-dramatised.  

The Monster Hunters - fiction, comedy - It took me a bit of time to settle into this - I have a tendency to bounce off comedy, apparently - but once I had I was very settled. Roy Steel and Lorrimer Chesterfield are there with fists and brains respectively to hunt monsters and be anything from vaguely to pointedly sexist because it’s the 60s/70s (it is intentional and ludicrous). If you’re familiar with John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme, you can listen out for Simon Kane as Sir Maxwell House. Some nice spooks, especially in the Christmas specials.

The Amelia Project - fiction, comedy - Need to disappear? The Amelia Project will help you fake your death and reappear in a new life. Each episode takes the form of an interview with a new client, in which they tell their story, and the circumstances of their death and next life will be decided. The creators had a stall at PodUK and gave me some Malteasers which it took me approximately 10 months to eat because I didn’t feel like I’d listened to enough of their show to deserve them. Fun fact! There are plenty of chocolate foodstuffs that will take this length of time in their stride and still be as new when you eat them, but Malteasers are not one of them. Luckily finishing off S2 of The Amelia Project has been its own reward, and I still have plenty to go!   

The Infinite Bad - actual play, horror - a slowly-forming found family leaves a traumatised and usually dead trail of NPCs behind them despite their best efforts, as they are embroiled in a globe-spanning investigation of horror and mystery. Uses a modified version of the d20 modern system, set in the inter-war period, and, it should be noted, contains depictions of period-typical racism. Other CWs (this list is not exhaustive) include child death, pet death, gore, disease, misc death (so much misc death), so please be careful if you choose to listen. Also contains stairs, the inherent malevolence of citrus products, and things which are viscous.

These Flimsy Rituals - actual play, fantasy - I’m not very far into this one, due to episode lengths, but when I have the spell slots to do so I always enjoy listening to it. I’m in the first bit, which follows a group of people fleeing a living storm. They have some really lovely lyrical bits at the starts of the episodes that I could listen to for hours, I’ve found those of the characters that I’ve met very engaging, and I’m interested to see how it unfolds.

[baconsoupforthesoul]

The Ink Demonth - Day 16 - Vision

You Got Vision

A/N: I know ever since Mod Dead and I started the Borderlands AU with inkspottie, it’s been an absolute blast to work on! I know I’m planning on  doing a lot for this AU during the second half of the Ink Demonth, as this event has given me the motivation to get off my butt and write some drabbles for it. So, without further ado, here’s a little peak at Henry’s past with Joey, I hope you all enjoy~

The sun beat down heavily on Henry as he moved his pencil across the page. He stuck out his tongue as he concentrated, hunching over his sketchbook. As focused as the boy was though, he glanced up occasionally as people meandered by, eyes darting back and forth.

As much as Henry wished he could just hone in on his sketchbook, it paid to be observant, especially in a place like this. Nowhere on Pandora was entirely safe, and he knew if he wanted to see tomorrow then he had better keep an ear out for trouble.

Luckily, nobody seemed interested in the young boy sitting on the ground with his back against a rundown shack, just doodling away. Henry looked around again and heaved a sigh. Joey had promised to meet him here ages ago. He was glad he brought his sketchbook or he’d be bored out of his mind right now.

With Joey nowhere in sight, Henry turned back to his drawing. While it wasn’t a particularly useful skill here on Pandora, Henry had a love for art that simply couldn’t be extinguished. Despite so many people telling him to give it up, that no matter how good his art was, it wouldn’t do him any good on the dog eat dog planet of Pandora. They were right of course, but Henry found he just couldn’t put aside one of the few things that brought him genuine joy on this barbarous wasteland of a planet. At least he had found one person who appreciated his art here. His best friend J-

“What are you drawing?”

Henry let out a startled noise, practically jumping out of his skin when he realized that someone had managed to sneak up on him. So much for being observant.

“Joey!” Henry yelped, glaring up at his friend who was bent over with laughter. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Ahahaha, you should see the look on your face!” Joey laughed as Henry huffed and crossed his arms.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he fumed, turning away from Joey.

“Ah, come on, don’t be like that,” Joey complained, leaning over Henry. “Lighten up, Henry. And hey! I still want to see what you’re working on. Let me see!”

Henry glanced up at Joey, tempted to not let his friend see his drawing after he spooked him. But when it came to Joey, Henry had a hard time saying no.

“Fine,” Henry sighed, passing Joey the sketchbook. “Take a look.”

“Oh cool!” Joey exclaimed as he plopped down next to Henry. “This is that little devil guy of yours, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Bendy,” Henry told him, his irritation from before melting away. “Here, you wanna see something cool?”

“Of course!” Joey looked over at him with an excited glimmer in his eyes. Henry took the sketchbook from Joey, held it so he could see, and began flipping through the pages. As the pages turned, the little drawings of Bendy he had done appeared to move, waving back at the two of them.

“Whoa!” Joey gasped, watching the little flip-book animation till it got to the last page. “Let me try!” Joey snatched the sketchbook back and flipped through the pages himself.

“What do you think?” Henry couldn’t help but ask. Even though Joey already looked ecstatic, he always felt a little self-conscious about his art. After having so many people tell him to give it up, those words tended to stick with you.

“What do I think?” Joey gave him an incredulous look. “What do I think? I think it’s amazing! This is incredible, Henry!”

“Really?” Henry rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, it’s a pretty simple animation, but I’m glad you think it’s cool.”

“A ‘simple animation’? Come on, Henry,” Joey handed the sketchbook back to him as he stood up. “You can’t keep talking yourself down like this. Who else on Pandora is doing stuff like this?” Joey motioned to the sketchbook. “That’s right, nobody. Just you. All these other bums and bandits can’t see the big picture like you and I can.” Joey went on, pacing back and forth in front of Henry as he talked.

“I wouldn’t call this the ‘big picture’, Joey,” Henry commented. “It’s just some drawings. Not a very useful thing here on Pandora.”

“No, no no!” Joey asserted, waving off Henry’s comment. “I mean the big picture. All anyone ever cares about here is survival. But you, Henry. You have vision. You see beyond the world as it is but as it should be.” “I’m doing that… with a little cartoon devil?” Henry tilted his head, confused as to where Joey was going with this.

“Yes!” Joey exclaimed. “Cause yeah, you don’t need Bendy to ‘survive’,” Joey explained as he did some mocking air quotes in the air. “But you and I, we don’t just want to survive. We want to live.”

“Listen to me Henry,” Joey suddenly stopped his pacing. Looking Henry right in the eye. “There are… hundreds and hundreds of worlds out there. What if… what if we found a way off of Pandora… went to one of those other planets… found a place that appreciated your talents and our vision? We could start something, Henry! Something big! Something amazing! We could go somewhere where all of our dreams could come true!”

“Joey… that’s crazy,” Henry frowned, looking doubtful. “There’s no way off of Pandora… unless you somehow stumble across a boatload of cash to hire a shuttle off this rock. We’re stuck here, Joey.”

“Hmmm,” Joey rubbed his chin in thought, pacing back and forth again. Henry’s eyes drifted back to his sketchbook. What a wonderful dream that would be. Leaving this wasteland behind, going somewhere where the grass was greener. Somewhere that actually had grass.

“What if,” Joey stopped again, looking over at Henry. “What if… we found the Vault.”

“The what?” Henry’s head shot up, staring up at Joey with disbelief.

“Yes!” Joey insisted, latching onto the idea. “You’ve heard of the Vault, right? The legendary vault that supposed to hold untold riches? That they say was left behind by an ancient alien race?” “Yeah, I know what it is,” Henry huffed. “But Joey… the Vault? It’s supposed to be almost impossible to find, and searching for it is extremely dangerous. Not to mention we would be competing with dozens of other vault hunters. And some people say it doesn’t even exist…”

“Psssh, those people are just doubters,” Joey scoffed. “And come on, Henry! Aren’t your dreams important to you? Wouldn’t the risk be worth it if you could start up your own animation studio? Or, well, our animation studio. We could run it together!”

“I mean… yeah, that would be great,” Henry grudgingly agreed. “But… we’re no vault hunters, Joey. We’d need to be able to fight and shoot better than any bandit on Pandora if we’re going to make it to the Vault in one piece.”

“We’ll train up!” Joey insisted. “I’m not saying we head out there right now. Heh, if we did that we’d be the youngest vault hunters in history.” Joey chuckled to himself.

“I don’t know…” Henry rubbed his arm. This whole thing sounded… insane. Them? Vault hunters? They were just kids. Even if they trained, even if by the time they reached adulthood and were as ready as they would ever be, what if someone else found the Vault first? What if they didn’t, but it was all a fruitless quest, where they either died or spent the rest of their lives searching, but never finding the fabled Vault? There was just so much uncertainty.

“Come on, Henry,” Joey implored. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I? I thought you said you had my back? You wouldn’t let me go off to do this alone, would you?”

“N-no!” Henry sputtered. “I don’t want to leave you hanging! It’s just that… it’s just…” Henry trailed off, his eyes drifting downward. “Henry,” Joey reached out a hand, trying his best to put on an encouraging smile. “Aren’t you tired of just surviving? Don’t you want to live?”

Henry stared at his hand for a moment. He glanced down at his sketchbook again, imagining having his own studio. A place where he could draw all day long, do what he wanted to do. Not have to worry about being robbed, murdered, or starving to death. Somewhere where he could be himself. Somewhere he could be free.

“Alright,” Henry looked back up at Joey, returning his smile. “Let’s do this.”

He grasped Joey’s hand, ready to take on anything the future may hold.

[antman-56]

The Long Night Pt. 22

BEEP BEEP BEEP

That sound was starting to get annoying but the only good thing about it was it telling the whole world that Taiyang was still alive. Raven was seating next to him, reading aloud and drinking tea.

Raven (chuckling) : I’m pretty sure this part would have made you laugh. It’s about a bard that can’t keep it in his pants and Geralt saves him by telling the lord that the bard was kicked in the balls by an ox.

Tai remained motionless. He had been for almost a month. Their were times he made a sound of discomfort or joy and one time he opened his eyes, blinked and then passed out again. 

Nurse : Um Miss Branwen, visiting hours end in 10 minutes. But if you like we can let you stay for half an hour more.

Raven : The 10 is fine, thank you.

Raven went back to reading. As the nurse left she heard her say that the kid was lucky to have such a caring girlfriend. 

If only they knew the truth.

Raven got up from her seat and gave Tai a kiss on his forehead.

Raven (whispering) : Wake up soon. I love you.

Raven left the medical wing and was now on her way to the dorm. She was thinking about the homework she still had to do and determining if it was worth it.

She was outside the medical wings doors when she texted Summer :

*Raven :Hey heading home

*Summer : K and could u go to the store and pick up milk

*Summer : ill pay u back

*Raven :Fine 

After a couple of minutes of walking she noticed she was being followed by a group of men, maybe 4 or 5. They were good if it took her this long, she blamed the teachers for the homework. She had no weapons on her and they were behind the cafeteria far away from the residential dorms were located. She began to walk faster and staying in the light. She was beginning to panic, if they were TRBO, JACB, BLAD, or all of them then she was screwed. 

She started looking around to find a pole, a rock, anything to use as a weapon. Then she saw the convenience store was just up ahead and ran for it.

When she was at the door she turned around out of breath and ready to scream. She didn’t see any of them. She went inside the store and took out her scroll.

*Raven : Hey can u send qrow over with Omen

*Summer : Y

*Raven : Some guys r following me and right now in store

*Summer : Stay put well be their fast

Raven stayed in the store and began browsing and occasionally turning towards the window to see if they were still their. And was scared when she saw a silhouette of a man. 

***Next Day***

Raven and Summer were walking towards their class while Qrow stayed in. His class wasn’t for another 2 hours.

Summer : Do you have any idea who it could have been?

Raven : Maybe TRBO, JACB, BLAD or a mix of them? I don’t know! I just ran.

Raven hated to admit it but she felt weak right then and there. If she had Omen with her she would have ran at them without hesitation or remorse. 

Summer saw the look on Raven’s face. Frustrated, angry, ashamed, and worse of all afraid.

Summer (stops and puts her hands on Raven’s shoulders) : Hey, anyone in your situation would have ran. Their is no reason to feel ashamed about it.

Raven : Summer, I was weak.

Summer : Were all weak. When we are around the people we care about, we are at our most strongest. That’s why were Huntresses.

Raven stayed silent. The last time she was with Tai he was holding his head and screaming. They were weak, SHE was weak even around the man she loved. And for the other reason, well Summer would change her mind if she knew.

Raven (taking hands off her shoulders) : Anyway, changing subject. Anything new with Qrow?

Summer : Well I asked him to smell my new conditioner and for his opinion.

Raven : Aside from that being a wired way to flirt, were you in a towel and fresh out the shower or clothed and dry when you went to him?

Summer (slight blush) : Clothed.

Raven : Well did you get close close or close?

Summer (blushing and quickly) : I got close enough to hear his heartbeat explode.

As the girls kept chatting about Operation : Dumbass they were being observed from the rooftops.

Freya (sitting at the edge) : Why are we doing this again?

An Mai (holding binoculars) : James told us to follow her. He believes their is a mole in our group.

Freya :  Hey I’ve kept my mouth shut. I owe Willow everything I have. And Summer is probably the nicest person we have ever met from Beacon. 

An Mai : I agree, but if we do have a mole we have to take every precaution otherwise Tesla wins.

Freya : She let me braid her hair. That’s a sacred trust. And are you sure no one can see us?

An Mai semblance is blend. She can camouflage herself and her immediate area if she is calm. 

An Mai : Yes, i’m sure. I mean I was able to get past Casey Lee Williams backstage security.

Freya : Best! Day! Ever! But what dose Jimmy think she’ll do?

An Mai : Don’t know, that’s why we need to watch her and her team.

Freya (pouting) : Doesn’t mean we have to like it.

An Mai : Agreed.

***BLAD Dorm***

Clothes were being thrown out of a closet and a tail was popping out of it. 

Alvin : No, not this one. No, that needs to be washed. No for obvious reasons. Guys, I need help!

Damien (laughing at the antics) : Glad your admitting it.

Alvin got out of the closet and glared at Damien.

Ben (annoyed) : Get your tail out of my face!

Lenny : Guys how does this make me look? Flashy and bold or dashing and daring?

Ben : Don’t care. 

Alvin : Guys!!

Everyone turned to him.

Alvin (exhausted) : I want to ask out that girl.

Lenny : I would go with her friend. 

Lenny put his hands hovering over his chest. Trying to imitate Raven’s breasts.

Damien : She’s taken by the blonde guy.

Alvin : Plus she’s mean. The small girl,  She’s nice.

Ben : She trapped you in a mine and blew it up!

Alvin :Still her voice!! It was angelic~

Lenny :He is right. Beauties come in all sizes, big or small. I’ll help you. 

Lenny rushed over to him and took out his measuring tape.

Lenny (Edna Mode impersonation)  : First off darling you lack the pazazz in your look. Your plain and boring and the tail, was so last year.

He playfully pulled it and Alvin went stiff.

Alvin : Hands off the tail!

Lenny : My bad! But in all seriousness you need -

Damien : Muscle! (pushes Lenny aside and makes a pose) That’s what all chicks want. Come with me to the gym and get on my program and I promise you after 3 weeks every girl will want you.

Ben : What he needs is confidence. Be funny and stuff around her. Chicks love the romantic crap movies show. 

Lenny : What no he needs to be unique not some muscle brain jackass or some beta male nonsense.

Damien : Muscled jackass!?

Ben : At least the girls I come home with don’t regret it the morning after!

Lenny : You want to fucking GO!!

Alvin : Can I p-

BL_D : NO!!!

Alvin walked to the window and watched the campus ignoring the fight right behind him and daydreaming about a possible future with a beautiful girl with silver eyes.

Imagining a nice house on a hill, a litter of children with silver eyes and with different faunus features from fluffy tails and ears to looking almost normal. Them going to a local community center to sing as a family, taking on huntsmen missions as a couple and maybe family. He just stared at the window with a smile.

Damien was holding Lenny up in the air and was about to choke slam him. He had Ben in one arm wrapped around his neck to hold him in place. 

RING RING RING

Alvin snapped out of his dream and turned to the source.

Ben : Let me go.

Damien dropped Lenny on the floor and let go of Ben.

Ben walked to the scroll and picked it up.

Ben : Miller speaking, Turbo whats the problem? 

Lenny and Damien were looking at Ben and hearing him say “Okay” or “I got it”. He hung up the phone and used his semblance.

Ben (interanlly) : We got a two problems.

The rest of team BLAD ran to get notes books and pencils. 

((/// * is writing and   I   for Ben is using his semblance))

*Lenny : What?

Ben (  I  ) : We lost our only sponsor.

That spooked the team.

Damien (yelled)  : WHAT!!

Ben : Quiet!

*Lenny : HOW?

*Damien : Butch was our one and only sponsor. What do you mean he’s gone.

Ben (  I  ) : Something happened and now he lost control of his territory.

*Alvin : Alright, whats the other problem?

Ben (exhaled,   I   ) : The KTs are gone. All of them were found dead in an alley and the survivors were just found near the border. 

Ben looked away from the group, especially Lenny, not able to meet their gaze. 

Lenny (  I  ) : How?!

Ben (  I  ) : Crucified and burned. It had the True Sons of Icarus name all over it. 

*Alvin : So, the gangs dead.

*Lenny : No! WE are alive and we’ll get our revenge!

He said the last part with a sinister tone. 

*Damien : Well lets go pay the Sons a visit.

Ben (  I  ) : Not yet. They have about 60 guys maybe more.

*Lenny : Then what?!

Ben (  I  ) : They’ re at war with The West Triads, The Wolf Pack, Samedi’s Prophets and The Lost Kingz. Their all fighting over Butch’s territory and JACB is gonna help us take them out if we help secure Butch’s territory after he kicks the bucket.

*Damien : So, we kill whoever wins and if the Sons, win its two birds with one stone. 

Ben (  I  ) : And Tesla said he would be our sponsor if we do this.

*Damien : How?

Ben (  I  ) : Well two teams are graduating and one spot is open for us.

*Alvin : I don’t know about this, what happens if a White Fang show up again? 

*Lenny : They won’t. Police Chief Mann made it almost impossible for them to protest legally and if they do. Cops are allowed to use force.

Ben : So, its decided. Get some rest and Alvin go up to her and ask her out. Maybe she likes you too.

Alvin nodded and went outside to test his luck. Tonight was the night.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

the fountain chapter six

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

s6 fic: post milagro, tithonus and detour casefile, immortal scully, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

warning for kidnapping and some violence

chapter six

may, 1999

He blinked in surprise when Samuel Barclay said that the Fountain didn't exist. He'd been expecting this a little, from someone, but it was a bit of a surprise coming from these people, for some reason. He didn't know why, but it was. “What, you don't believe?” he asked, shrugging it off.

“I don't believe. My brother has the good sense not to believe,” Samuel said, turning half-towards the river. He seemed almost bored. “As for my father, he gives it the benefit of the doubt.”

Peter shrugged, running a hand over his silvery head. “I suppose I have something of a romantic in me.”

“So you've never come across anything that looks a little suspicious?” Mulder asked. “Anything to make you believe?”

Andrew laughed, as if Mulder was an amusing child. “I've come across several tourists looking for exactly what you were,” he said. “And I've all told them the same thing: you're probably looking for St. Augustine.”

Mulder laughed too, a little irritably, said, “Well, I suppose if you can't help me, I should probably be on my way.” He bent over and hoisted the heavy backpack off of the ground. His shoulders groaned in protest, but he ignored them.

“Well, good luck with your fruitless pursuit, Mr. Mueller,” Andrew said, eyes towards the river like his brother.

“It's Mulder, actually,” Mulder said shortly.

“Good luck, Mr. Mulder,” Peter said, deadly serious. “Sometimes you find things where you least expect them.”

He reached out to shake Mulder's hand, and Mulder accepted, watching the man carefully. He couldn't read Peter’s expression. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave.

Something else occurred to him after he took a few steps. Barclay. Virginia Barclay, who had no records.

There had to be more than one set of Barclays in the Tallahassee area, but it was worth a try. He turned around and said, “Hey, do you guys have a relative named Virginia? Virginia Barclay?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise, like he couldn't believe Mulder was asking. Samuel snorted, turning back to the river. “I'm afraid not,” Peter said. “Do you know a Virginia Barclay?”

Mulder shrugged. Reading over her file didn't seem like a synonym for knowing her. “Once,” he said. He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans and added, “Good talking to you gentlemen.” And then he turned and left.

---

He walked as the sun sunk low in the sky, as blue-black touched the edges of the horizon. The ache in his back from the weight started to become routine. The boredom almost became a bit routine. He considered turning back around and going the way he came, but the truth was that he had no idea where he'd come from. What was it Michele had used to mark their path through the forest last time? Pebbles or something. Like Hansel and Gretel. He should've remembered that before coming in here. Or maybe he should've waited and talked to Scully, explained what was going on after she'd cooled down a bit and waited to see if she wanted to come with him. Definitely shouldn't have tramped into the woods by himself. It wasn't dark, not yet, but as the day gave way to dusk, the jumpiness came back. He couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't fall asleep. If he did and the mothmen came, he really would be helpless. He tonelessly whistled Joy to the World to break the silence.

It happened all of a sudden: he was walking, and then he was falling. The ground gave way beneath him and he plunged into darkness. He let out a pained grunt as he picked himself up off the dirt. What was it Scully had said a couple of years ago? Soft dirt, kind of? It was not soft at all. He groaned, picking himself up off the ground and shifting on the hard dirt. The backpack scraped against his spine. He sat back on his haunches and looked around. He was in some dirt cavern, dark and dank. It seemed to be a tunnel, an underground tunnel.

He'd found it. The caverns he and Scully had fallen into. Maybe it wasn't the same one, but a similar one. And definitely worth checking out, seeing as how he'd fallen at least seven feet and, looking above him, he could see no easy way out.

Smiling a little to himself, Mulder stood on stiff legs and unzipped his backpack, took out a flashlight and one of his water bottles and chugged half of it before tucking it back inside. The least he could do was keep going. He turned on the flashlight and started walking.

There were bones in the tunnel. He wasn't surprised, considering what he'd seen of the mothmen a couple of years ago, but it still came as a bit of a fear-inducer. He was relieved to notice that none of the remains looked very recent, but it still spooked him. If the mothmen were still there…

He fumbled anxiously for his gun and held it in his free hand as he walked through the tunnel. Not for the first time, he wished Scully was there.

After at least another hour of walking in the dark, occasionally under holes to the above that were way too high to reach, Mulder got to the end of the tunnel. It was styled like some sort of rotunda, with other tunnels spiraling out like a pinwheel. And at the center was a tree.

Somewhere between a sapling and a full-grown, it was set up in the middle of the rotunda, directly underneath a circle that let in sunlight. It was about as high as Mulder, a thick and round trunk. It looked young, near new, but he noticed a carving that looked older in the bark. At least as old as the Ad Noctum post they'd found in the tunnels two years ago.

Mulder drew closer, shedding the backpack on the ground, and the words became more visible to him: Fuente de la juventud. His high school Spanish was a tad rusty, but he guessed that meant Fountain of Youth. He reached out and touched the carvings: they were deep, engraved into the wood. Definitely old.

I always thought if it was real that it wouldn't be made of water, Peter Barclay had said of the Fountain.

Was this is? Had he known? Was this sad little tree what Mulder had been looking for all this time? He traced the letters absently with one finger, looking up and down the tree. It was possible, he thought. This could be the key to Scully never being alone. All he'd need to do was show her where it was, and she could do whatever she wanted.

But what if it didn't work? What if he was wrong? If he was going to offer Scully a solution, then he had to be certain it was one, and it seemed that the only way to do that was to test it.

The deciding factor was what Andrew had said about the Fountain being temporary. If he tried something from this tree, and if it worked, he wouldn't be trapped in immortality forever if Scully didn't want him to be. But he might as well make sure it worked. He could just slice his hand open or something and see if it healed. If it didn't, Scully never had to know his intentions. If it did, well.

Mulder debated for several minutes how, exactly, the Fountain-tree-whatever worked. He considered boring a hole in the tree and drinking the sap, but that seemed too complicated and he didn't have anything to do that with, anyway. He considered the bark for a moment before finally giving up and grabbing a handful of leaves from the trees. He inserted a couple in his mouth and chewed, wincing at the bitter taste. It tasted horrible. “One must really want immortality to eat this shit on a regular basis,” he cracked, in an attempt to lighten his own mood. It didn't work. It was a heavy thing, what he was doing. If this worked, for some indeterminate amount of time, he wouldn't be able to age or die.

And if it didn't? His hand was really gonna fucking hurt.

Mulder chewed every one of the leaves, only retching a couple of times. He hoped to God they weren't poisonous. It would be ironic if he was poisoned by the Fountain of Youth. His joints groaned in relief as he sat down beside his backpack, leaning against the dirt wall behind him. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and drank the last of a water bottle to rid his mouth of the bitter taste. He leaned his head back, wiped sweat out of his eyes, and rummaged for the pocket knife in his pack. And then his phone rang.

His phone, shoved somewhere deep inside his backpack. “I didn't even know I had a signal,” he said out loud, blinking in surprise. He abandoned the pocket knife pursuit and searched for his phone, whipped it out and managed to press Answer just before it went to voicemail. “Mulder,” he said, shoving the phone into the sweaty space between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Mulder, it's me,” Scully said. She sounded tired and pissy. “I got your note.”

The note. He'd almost forgotten the note. His mouth still bitter from the leaves, he swallowed, said, “Yeah, Scully, I…”

“Obviously there's a lot for us to discuss, but I wanted to call and ask where it is you went.” The tension was audible in her voice, tight and sharp. “I know I kicked you out, and I'm sorry for that, but Mulder, I need to know that you did not run off to that forest and out yourself in danger…”

He caught a glimpse of the Fountain-tree out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help grinning. He'd found it, he'd actually found it. He didn't know if she'd be happy about it, but he wanted to tell Scully that he found it. “I actually did, Scully, uh,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “I found it. I found the fucking Fountain of Youth. I'm looking at it right now.”

Silence on the other end. “Scully?” Mulder finally ventured gingerly. He probably should have lead with an apology.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she said in a weary exhale. “You went into those woods alone? After we almost died last time? What the hell?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “Scully, I've been careful,” he sighed. “I haven't even seen those things…”

“Why did you ditch me?” she demanded. “Why the hell did you ditch me? Why would you come to Florida and pretend to help me for a stupid case like this?”

“Scully, I didn't ditch you. You kicked me out,” he said, a little irritated now.

“Yes, because I was angry, and I didn't really think you'd leave, and if you did, I thought you'd go home. I didn't think you'd run off to chase the very thing we'd just fought about!”

“You don't understand,” he tried, “if you'd just let me explain…”

“How selfish can you be, Mulder, that you absolutely ignore everything I said this morning? Ignore the important case in favor of this, this stupid, nonexistent legend? Why does it matter so much, Mulder? What do you care?” He grimaced, closing his eyes; he didn't make any effort to answer, his hands leaving sweaty prints on the back of his phone. He didn't know what to say. She just kept going, plowing through him like a freight train. “What the hell is so important about tracking down something that had supposedly been around for thousands of years, if it even exists? Why do you have to look right this very second? Why can't it wait?"

“It's because of you,” he said softly, on an impulse. He hadn't planned on doing this, not like this, but he needed her to know. To understand. “I'm doing this for you. So you won't have to be alone.”

There was a silence on the other end, one that indicated Scully's surprise. For a minute, he thought maybe she was furious, raging at his presumption. He was about to apologize when she said, “Oh,” in a voice that was soft and almost near tearful. “Oh, Mulder,” she said.

He softened a little, ready to explain further, to apologize as many times as he needed to, when he heard a thunk on the other end, and then a clattering sound.  “Scully?” he called, a little nervous. “Scully, are you there? What happened?” Nothing on the end but a faint moaning sound. What may have been scratching. “Scully!” he shouted, truly frightened now, stumbling to his feet.

He heard Scully's voice, wobbly and faint through the speakers. “Mulder,” she rasped weakly. And then another smacking sound. She went quiet.

“Scully?” He clutched the phone hard in his hand, some part of him chanting frantically, Not again, not again, not again. It hadn't even been that long since fucking Padgett. “Scully!” he shouted. Why the hell did he leave her? He never should've left her side, never should've yelled at her, should've apologized right away… “Scully, are there? Can you hear me? Scully, answer me, please…”

The phone clattered as someone picked it up. “Scully?” he asked, eagerly. Please please please be okay.

“I'm afraid not,” said a strange woman's voice on the other end.

Fury boiled up inside of him. “What did you do to her?” he snarled, pressing a hand hard against the dirt wall so he wouldn't punch something. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing much yet,” the woman said pleasantly, like they were just making conversation. “Is this Mulder? Special Agent Fox Mulder? Agent Scully's partner?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, hitting the wall with his hand. Chunks of dirt fell to the floor. “Leave her alone! Let her go right now, or so help me God..."

“I don't think I can,” said the woman. “Very sorry about that. I've been watching the both of you, and I've noted how close you two are. Very close. It's almost intriguing.”

Fury bubbled up inside him, and he was about to say more, hiss furious things into the phone, bargain for her life, but something happened before he could. Someone grabbed him from behind, an arm around his neck, and a sweet-smelling cloth came down over his nose and mouth. He struggled, grabbed for the arm that had him in a chokehold, gasped for air, but a sense of drowsiness came over him like a descending fog. He had no idea who was attacking him, or why. He hadn't even heard them coming. How could he not have heard them coming?

He thrashed, but he was growing weaker. The phone dropped from his hand. The arms released him, and he fell facedown into the dirt. Scully, he thought, but he couldn't speak. His lips were stuck together. He tried to reach for the phone, but he couldn't move. His eyelids drooped.

Just before he drifted off, he heard a familiar voice: “Well, then. This is an interesting turn of events.” It was the voice of Peter Barclay.

---

october, 1999

Scully's palms pressed hard into the bark. It bit into her hands, but she ignored the sting, zeroing in on the man. He locked the door behind him, shrugging under his jacket and walking towards the house. She fumbled for her gun, curling her hand around the butt of it as she watched him, fury building. She had found the man who tried to kill her, who had taken Mulder. He could have Mulder inside. She held her breath, watching the man carefully. Considering him. She could go up and arrest him now, but that didn't seem to be a wise idea. What if he had more weapons on him? What if there was someone inside the house with Mulder, who would kill him as soon as she had the man in her custody? She couldn't risk it.

The man went slowly up the front walk, unlock and open the door and enter the house. Scully let out a breath of relief. She clenched her teeth and pulled her gun out of her holster.

She followed the line of trees around the house in an attempt to stay out of sight. When she reached the side of the house, she ran towards the most windowless spot in a crouch. When the flat of her palm hit the bricks, she crouched, pressing her shoulder against the wall. Keep breathing, she instructed. The adrenaline was so high that it pounded in her ears, and she couldn't tell if it was excitement or fear. Likely both. She could find Mulder in there, but she was terrified of what she'd find. Maybe she'd get the chance to see him again, or maybe she'd find out that he'd been dead for months, ever since that night in the woods. Or worse, maybe worse: that he'd started out alive, had survived that night in the woods and had died sometime in the six month period where she hadn't found him. Maybe she couldn't save him anymore because she hadn't looked hard enough before. Or maybe she'd been wrong all along, maybe he hadn't survived and she was an idiot for doubting what she'd seen, for believing in something as trivial as immortality and the Fountain of Youth.

Scully's breaths were coming more rapidly now; she wiped her forehead, pulled her hair back away from her face. You don't know what you're going to find in there, she told herself. But this was the closest she'd ever been. She had to go inside and find out.

She reached into her pocket where she had slipped the photo, touched its glossy front. Took a deep slow breath and rounded the side of the house.

She found a back door and tried it gingerly. It swung open, creaking a little, and she grabbed it to stop it before it could creak too much. She stepped inside, winced as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She curled her hands around the butt of her gun, holding it out in front of her. She started through the house.

It was nearly empty, she was surprised to find. Outside of a dusty, ripped, old fashioned couch, she found no furniture in the house, no pictures. There was a layer of dust over everything: thin, not a layer that indicated that it'd been left standing untouched for years, but she estimated that no one had been to the house in a couple of months, at least. No signs of life. No Mulder.

She cleared the first floor, gun held out in front of her. No sign of the man, either. She nudged the closets open with one finger and found them empty, too. No cupboards. The basement had a lock on it; she'd have the man unlock it when she found him. She turned away and headed for the stairs.

She had crept over halfway up without attracting attention when a step creaked horribly under her foot. Scully stepped off immediately, but to her horror, she heard footsteps in the hall upstairs. She acted on instinct, holding her gun up with both hands and clumping the rest of the way up the stairs. As soon as she rounded the bannister, she saw the man, and roared, “FBI, keep your hands where I can see them!”

The man raised his hands, an amused grin on his face, and if Scully hadn't already known that it was the man who tried to kill them, this confirmed it. The smugness. “I remember you,” he said. “The feisty FBI agent.”

Blood roared in her ears, and it took every ounce of her strength not to shoot him where he stood. “Shut the hell up,” she snapped, holding the gun on him with one hand while she reached for her handcuffs with the other. She pointed the barrel of the gun directly at his head as she rounded him, until she was behind him. Dutifully enough, the man didn't move. She kept the gun up as she grabbed one of his hands, pinning it behind his back. This is how it feels, you fucking bastard, she thought furiously, and was sliding her gun back into her holster so she could handcuff him when he threw his head backwards, directly into her nose. She swore, pain shooting through her face, and yanked his arm further up behind him. The man yelped in pain and tried to yank away, and he might’ve succeeded if she hadn't had such a hard grip on his wrist. She shoved him forward, spinning him around and pushing him so the bannister hit him in the ribs. He came terribly close to tumbling over. She wouldn't have minded one bit, except for the fact that he wouldn't be able to lead her to Mulder.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she said, pulling the man's other hand behind his back and securing them with the handcuffs. She sniffed back the blood dripping from her nose, but it still sounded like she was speaking through tissues, her words muffled. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Agent Scully?” the man asked, the same amusement in his voice.

She wiped the blood off of her face and yanked him away from the railing. “You deserve worse than that,” she hissed through clenched teeth. "But you will be going to prison. I'll make sure of that."

She could've questioned him right there, but she wanted to look him in the face. She pulled her gun out of her holster before dragging him towards one of the rooms by his elbow. She thought of the way he had dragged her around, like this, and she wanted to throw up. The man was still talking, saying things she wasn't listening to. She shoved him into the first room she saw and threw him down on a chair that was still left in there. Dust flew up from the cushion when he landed. She wiped the blood off her face again. “Looks like I gave you a little nosebleed, Agent,” the man said, in an almost polite way that reminded her of the fucking smoker and made her skin crawl.

She did the one thing she always wanted to do to the smoker and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “Where's Mulder?” she hissed.

To her ever-growing fury, the man just smiled. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he said.

She cocked the gun and pressed it harder into his head. “I am not playing games with you,” she snapped. "You need to tell me, right now. Where the hell is Mulder?”

“Was Mulder your friend? The one whose throat I slit?” the man replied pleasantly. “My goodness, that was months ago.”

She hit him across the face with the heel of her hand. If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them why she did it, because she was the one who had asked for life for a serial killer who was going to bathe her and kill her, and she knew it was wrong to do this, to let personal grudges get in the way and harm a criminal she had in her custody, but the anger boiling inside her was too much. This man had stabbed her and laughed at her in the same breath; she'd felt the physical pain of what he'd done to her for months after. He still haunted her fucking dreams. This man had killed Mulder or taken Mulder, and she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what had happened to Mulder. She'd waited months without knowing, had nightmare after nightmare, people giving her pitying looks and his mother planning his funeral, and she'd watched this man order her partner's throat slit. He could very well be dead, and it would be this man's fault. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her nose stinging like crazy. She blinked hard and spoke. “I'm not going to ask again,” she said evenly. She pressed the gun into the side of his face. “Where is he? Where is my partner? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I hardly know what to tell you, my dear,” the man said innocently. “You were there the night it happened. You know what we did to him; you watched it happen.”

She was close to hitting him again, but she forced herself to remain calm. She took a deep breath and said, “I was there. I survived. But when I woke up, he was gone. What did you do to him? Where did you take him?”

The man shrugged. “I'm sorry, Agent, but I'm afraid your partner is dead.”

Scully's breath caught unevenly in her throat. It was what she had feared all along, Mulder being dead, but something in her just wouldn't accept it. I would know, she told herself, that old cliché, as tears pricked her eyes. I would've known. He was her partner. She'd saved his life a million times. She'd helped him play dead once. She might have been in love with him. She would've known. She would have. Wouldn't she?

She felt like she was going to vomit.

The weight of the ocean roaring in her ears, she barely heard what the man said next. “We buried him in the woods that night, after he passed.” He cocked his head at her, disbelief. “You didn't know your partner was dead?”

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 22 Unbearable

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 21 : The White Lady Jamie and Laoghaire separately remember the trial at Craignsmuir

He sighed and closed his eyes. “She was afraid of me,” he said softly, a minute later. “I tried to be gentle wi’ her—God, I tried again and again, everything I knew to please a woman. But it was no use.” His head turned restlessly, making a hollow in the feather pillow. “Maybe it was Hugh, or maybe Simon. I kent them both, and they were good men, but there’s no telling what goes on in a marriage bed. Maybe it was bearing the children; not all women can stand it. But something hurt her, sometime, and I couldna heal it for all my trying. She shrank away when I touched her, and I could see the sickness and the fear in her eyes.” There were lines of sorrow around his own closed eyes, and I reached impulsively for his hand. He squeezed it gently and opened his eyes. “That’s why I left, finally,” he said softly. “I couldna bear it anymore” (Voyager 460.)

     Jamie knew, even before he saw it fall. 

     He had taken his shotgun out early, thinking to give Laoghaire a gift of a pheasant, several grouse, or a few rabbits.  The meat of farm animals was fine, but there was something special about the flesh of wild creatures.  They tasted of the Highlands, the past, freedom.  And knowing that Laoghaire especially gained joy from working in the kitchen, it was an effort, on his part, to be satisfied with what was.

     He’d taken along their mutt Cùram.  The hairy beast wasn’t much to look at, but he was good at flushing fowl from dense undergrowth.  In flight, birds were more predictable, Jamie considered.  You could see the direction they were going and anticipate their path.  A bird worth eating wasn’t any good at quickly changing direction.  He smiled, imagining a fat duck trying to rapidly change courses mid-air.

     Cùram had leapt ahead excitedly at one point, and seeing the glimmer of water behind bulrushes, Jamie was certain the dog was going to flush out some ducks or geese.  He readied the rifle, making sure it was cocked, his hand on the trigger.  He pulled it to his shoulder, ready to sight.

     Some ducks or geese?  That was an understatement.  Once Jamie whistled and Cùram spooked the birds the sky was filled with them, a fat-bodied cloud of well-fed fowl, plump white underbellies visible, flanked by white, gray, or brown flapping wings. 

     He sighted, followed, shot, then shot again.  Two bodies, or was it three? froze in mid-air, hesitated, crumpled, and fell to the ground.

     And Jamie’s heart sank. No.

     He whistled for Cùram to heel. He didn’t want the wee beastie worrying their dinner.

     Jamie tromped through the sedge, his boots making sucking sounds as he pulled them out of the spots of soggy marsh.  Please, no, he thought as he approached the place he’d seen them fall.

     He reached two white geese first.  Blood stained their fine white feathers, and they were intertwined, having been shot by the same bullet, the first pressed toward the second by the force of the shot, and then their bodies brought close by their swirling dance to the ground.

     Jamie left them, and took several steps more.

     At first, she simply looked like she was sleeping.  Her orange beak was hidden, tucked under her wing, the frilled white tips of her feathers creating the illusion of dark brown and white stripes.  Claire had told him about zebras.  He wondered whether their stripes looked like this.  Peeking out from under her body were the pink tips of her webbed feet. 

     Graylag geese did not have long, slender necks.  They were heavy and thick, compact-bodied, fat and meaty.  Jamie sat on a rock a distance from the still form.  He sighed, reloaded his gun, and waited. 

     When he heard the sound, his chest ached.  A plaintive, honking cry announced that he was coming, returning for his mate, missing her presence in the skies—she was not with him where she was supposed to be.  The gander circled repeatedly before he found her, crumpled in the tall grass.  Jamie had withdrawn a distance away by then, camouflaged by his drab colored jacket and breeks.

     Her mate landed gently, walking up to her, his head lowered.  He made small sounds, not honks exactly, as he circled her, as he nudged her with his beak.  When she didn’t answer, his honks grew louder.  Finally, with no response, he settled his body near her, touching her, leaning over her, comforting her with crooning, crying sounds.

     Jamie blinked repeatedly until he could see clearly through the sight.  When he pulled the trigger, though, he closed his eyes.

      “Two geese?” Laoghaire asked happily as Jamie entered the kitchen, Cùram dancing around his feet.

      “Yes,” he answered, handing two fat white bodies to her with a smile, empty-eyed.

     Laoghaire bustled about, readying the geese to roast for several hours so they would be done for dinner.  Jamie had been right; the kitchen was one place she seemed happy.  Perhaps it brought back good memories of Castle Leoch’s mother hen, her grandmother, Mrs. Fitz.  Perhaps it was the one place she felt confident of her skill.  Jamie smiled, shaking his head in confusion as he watched her.  She was even humming a little tune, not like the bitter creature who could sulk or give him the silent treatment for days on end.

     Now that the sun was higher in the sky, Jamie headed out for the real work of his day, making sure that animals were where they belonged, and that crops were well-watered.  He checked on the bees, stopped by the stable, then gave directions to the workers in the field.  He rested on a rise, gazing out over the land, fields and forests, lakes and marshes, rolling hills topped with trees.  It was lovely at Balriggan, just as it had always been lovely at Lallybroch.

     He was trying to be a man, like his sister had challenged him.  To do what was right, to take care of others.  To stop holding onto the past as if it was something he could bring back.  “This is what there is,” Jenny had said, taking in the Highlands with an expansive gesture of her arm.

     And so, gazing around the dinner table that evening, Jamie worked to enjoy what there was.  Tender roast goose with a delectable mushroom wine sauce.  Potatoes and vegetables grown in their garden.  A flaxen haired young girl, soon to become a woman; a spit-fire, ginger-haired giggly thing; and a woman with a familiar face.  Maybe that was enough.  Maybe I could be satisfied, Jamie thought, satisfied with what there is.

     Something was different when Jamie entered their bedchamber.  Laoghaire was in a white lace-trimmed nightgown.  Her cheeks were blushing pink.  She looked—Jamie finally decided the closest approximation was excited.  When was the last time Laoghaire had looked excited to go to bed?  It stirred him slightly just to consider it.  It had been several weeks at least since the Lallybroch visit.  Laoghaire had been quite chilly since they had last been together, and just the thought of the release, of that death-like slumber after satiation, was enough to wake up the necessary equipment.  He hoped he wasn’t misreading her signals.  Attempting to fall asleep with aching balls would accomplish the exact opposite, and he’d worked hard enough that he didn’t want a sleepless night.

     She approached him shyly, with a small corked jar in her hand.  “I wish to try something tonight,” she said.  She was blushing profusely.  “Well, three things.”

      “Yes?” Jamie said, turning away to give her the privacy to speak, and taking off his boots, his belt and breeks.

      “I dinna care for being touched or petted like a cat, but I ken you like it,” she said.  “So I thought, once it was dark, I could touch you….Just your back and your hair!” she quickly clarified at the widening of Jamie’s eyes.

     Jamie was surprised by his body’s response to the promise of touch.  There was more of a surge of blood to his groin when he thought of touch than release.

      “And then,” she handed him the bottle.  “When it’s time, will you put this on yourself?  I think it will help me.  It’s oil.”

     Jamie nodded, and set the jar on the table on his side of the bed with a quick glance at her.  Her face was scarlet, her pupils wide. The thought of sharing her next request was obviously troubling her the most. 

      “Shall I blow out the candles so you can ask more easily?” Jamie asked.  Laoghaire was breathing rapidly, and nodded. 

     Jamie quickly traveled the room, snuffing candles until the light was all gone.

      “I’m sitting here on your side of the bed,” she said.  “Take off your shirt and come sit in front of me.”

     Jamie was grateful that the lights were off before he reached her, and that she wasn’t rubbing his front. He felt her knee, then turned and sat between her legs, feeling the warmth of her body and arms right behind him. And then she began to stroke him.  It was blissful and grounding, being touched.  She ran her fingers through his hair, combing out the curls, spreading it out so the tips of his hair tickled his shoulders.  Then she began stroking his back.  Though there were areas that were so badly damaged he could not feel touch there, his back was still sensitive, and the touch sent shivers down his spine and up to his scalp. 

     He groaned slightly, and Laoghaire froze.  “No, no, it’s good,” he said.  “Very nice.  Thank you, lass.”

     His cock wasn’t the only thing swelling, feeling stimulated, aroused, and awake.  It felt like his very heart was expanding.  Jamie realized that this—being touched—was what he had missed more than anything, for years. 

     With a small smile Jamie thought, Blessings on Jenny if she talked to Laoghaire about the marriage bed. 

     It was Janet who occasionally called him “Kitty” when they were growing up, because of the way he would cuddle up to Ellen or Brian, snuggling into their sides, begging to be petted as they read to him.  Jenny would say that if she rubbed Jamie’s arm while he slept, he would smile, sigh, and continue to slumber.  That was why she and Ian had named Kitty Katherine—because when the wee lass was growing inside Jenny, she wouldn’t flee from being touched.  If you pressed where her little foot was, she would stretch and press back.  If her back was facing Jenny’s navel, she would lie still as long as Jenny was rubbing her belly.  If Jenny stopped, Kitty would pepper her insides with kicks until Jenny started stroking her stomach again.  And when she was born, Kitty didn’t want to be put down for the first six months of her life.  Jenny finally had to rig a fabric sling around her shoulder and torso to put Kitty in, just so she could get anything done.

     Finally the stroking stopped.  Jamie sighed with pleasure.  “Thanks, lass,” he said.  “Would you like anything?” he asked.  In the darkness, at least, she didn’t appear to be afraid to talk.  “And you never told me number three.”

      “Kiss me, gently,” Laoghaire said.  He turned to her then, not daring to put his hands on her, except for one hand on her cheek to guide him to her lips.

     She pressed him lightly away after a short time.  “The third thing may help it to hurt me less as well,” she said.  “I wish to have you enter from behind me.”

      “Aye?” said Jamie.  “I can do that.”  Again he was grateful the lights were off, to hide the look of surprise on his face.

     He stood up, reached od his way over to the dresser and located the jar.  He could hear Laoghaire getting off the bed, lifting up her nightgown.

      “I’m right here,” she said quietly.  She reached out for him, and they touched hands briefly.

     Jamie’s heart was pounding in anticipation.  He uncorked the bottle, poured some oil in his palm, spread it on himself and reached for her, then eased himself in. Christ, that was good.  He missed this touching, too.  No other sensation felt so all-enveloping, engaging his whole body and mind, making him feel whole and present and alive and sane.  If they could find a way to make this work, maybe this would be enough.

     She gasped a little, but it wasn’t a groan or whimper of pain.

      “Can I hold your hips?” Jamie asked.

      “Yes,” she said willingly. Not wincing, not gritting her teeth, not crying out.

     He had placed his hands on her warm, round hips and started moving in her when the smell hit him.  Lavender.

☆☆☆☆☆

     She had blocked out the memory of her wedding night with Hugh.  After the devastation of losing Jamie, after the humiliation of finding out John Robert was married, she had been grateful for Hugh.  Reliable, faithful Hugh.  He’d begun taking care of himself better in the past months, keeping his hair neatly in a plait.  Working regularly in the out of doors had improved his color and slimmed his body.  If she didn’t focus on his pock marks, she could almost consider him handsome.

     When she finally came to him and told him that she had reconsidered his proposal, Hugh’s response wasn’t what Laoghaire expected; he was less eager than she thought he’d be.  But still, he went ahead with it.  Asked her da for her hand in marriage.  Arranged with Father Bain to have the banns read three weeks in a row. 

     It was during those three weeks that Laoghaire, going to the privy one day, determined that despite all the evidence to the contrary she wasn’t going to have a bairn.  She didn’t have to marry.  But Jamie was gone, and she didn’t want to be alone.

     Their wedding was simple, in the kirk, with family and friends there.  Mrs. Fitz had made the moistest cake Laoghaire thought she’d ever eaten, and they had all danced into the evening.

     Finally, Hugh took her by the hand and led her home.

     When they entered the house, Hugh turned and locked the door.  She turned her face up to him to be kissed. John Robert had always been so gentle, and she had truly enjoyed herself when he took her to bed.  She was grateful to have Hugh to marry, and had begun to anticipate intimacy with her sweet husband.

     Instead, Hugh grabbed her face roughly and pressed his lips against hers.  Then he pushed her face away and walked across the room, his back to her.

      “Hugh,” she said.  “What’s wrong?”

      “You don’t think I know?” he asked bitterly.

      “Know what, Hugh?” she asked.

      “That ye aren’t a maid?” he said scornfully, turning back to her.  At the shock on her face, he said, “Aye.  They saw ye in the alcove wi’ Jamie Fraser.  They saw ye coming away from the river where he was.  And they said ye were naked under yer cloak.”

     It was no use arguing the finer points of the story, Laoghaire realized.  Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

      “And I heard ye’d been seen meeting with John Robert MacLeod at the tavern, and at least once at the castle.  John Robert MacLeod?  He’s married, d’ye ken?”  Hugh’s face was full of disgust.  “Ye already gave yer maidenheid to one of them, didn’t ye?”

      “Hugh,” she said, reaching her hands out to him plaintively.  “You’re the good one.  Yer a hard worker, and ye love me, and I’m happy to be yer wife.  Neither of them are anything to me anymore!”

     Hugh started crying.  “How could ye, Laoghaire?  How could ye give it away, but not to me that’s loved ye forever?”  He turned his tear-streaked face to her, and suddenly the sadness took on toxicity.  He strode over to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled Laoghaire over to the table in the kitchen.  Pushing her torso onto the table, he scrabbled at her skirts, pulling them up and keeping her trapped where she was with his hips, then tearing at the button-front of his breeks.

      “Well, Laoghaire,” Hugh said, hard and merciless.  “If ye act like a whore, I can give it to ye like a whore.”

     He had raped her. 

     And until he was recruited to fight at Culloden, Hugh never once made love to Laoghaire.  He was kind in public, a hard worker, kept food on the table, kept Laoghaire clothed and fed.  But any time he got the urge to be with her, his terrible jealousy and rage would flare up, and he would leave Laoghaire defiled, bruised, and devastated.

☆☆☆☆☆

     After he smelled lavender, the first thing Jamie noticed was the pain in his hand.  It felt like it was on fire, like a burning torch on the end of his arm.

     Suddenly the remembered caresses still warm on Jamie’s back weren’t sweet caresses from his wife.  Instead, those were Jack Randall’s hands tracing his scars.  He could almost feel ghost hands, ghost lips on him now.  “Oh, Jamie, lad, you are so beautiful.  You are my masterpiece.”

     And what was he holding?  Doing?  What was in front of him?  Someone’s back, and ass, and slick oil, and the smell of lavender.  And thrusting, thrusting.

     It’s not real, it’s not real, Jamie told himself.  It’s Laoghaire.  We’re married.

     He was horrified, and aroused, ashamed, and angry.  For the next minute he lost himself, and then he heard something.  A woman’s voice crying out.  Claire? Was it Claire?!!

     They were beating her.  They had stripped the clothes off her back, and they were whipping his wife.  His wife.  Claire!! 

     And who was that, standing in the crowd?  With a self-satisfied smirk on her face?  As the madmen whipped marks on his precious Claire’s back?

     Laoghaire.  She had left the ill wish under their bed.  She had come to him, meaning to seduce him.  And with him gone, she would stand by and watch his wife be beaten.  Cruelly, with a smile on her face.

     He had rushed to Claire, rescued her, spirited her away, and taken her to Lallybroch.

     But the screaming was still going on.  Claire? 

     No. It was Laoghaire.  Laoghaire was crying out, screaming, “No, Hugh! Stop!  Stop!”

     Jamie pulled himself from her body, and put his hands to his face—but the cloying, pungent smell was even stronger than before.  He flung open the bedroom door and let the faint light and fresh air of the hall in.

     He fell to his knees and vomited, repeatedly.  When he collapsed to the floor, he could see back into the bedroom.  Laoghaire was huddled against the bed, her arms clasped about her knees, shaking and sobbing.

     It was over, and they both knew it.

     The next day, Jamie packed his things. 

     As Jamie rode away from Balriggan, all his worldly goods in the pack behind him, his face was set resolutely. He didn’t have it in him to do this again. No loneliness, no desire, no hunger for human companionship, (and no ache in his balls, he told himself grimly), was worth this terrible pain in his heart. 

     Perhaps it was wrong, but he’d minimized his departure for the girls.  He was going to Edinburgh to find a business for Fergus to run, he’d told them.  He would be sending money and letters.  He would see them at Lallybroch for Hogmanay, though of course, he hoped to be home sooner.  He’d hugged them, holding each of them close for a moment, his cheek resting on their hair as he memorized their scents.

     Marsali would be fine, Jamie thought.  He worried for Joanie.  His little kindred redhead, who was always being mistaken as his blood daughter in town, she with her quirky ways and kind heart; he would truly miss her.

     After embracing the girls, he had turned to Laoghaire.  For the girls’ sake, for Laoghaire’s sake, and maybe for his own sake, he brought her towards him in an embrace.  He gave her a sisterly kiss on the forehead, like he always kissed Jenny.  Fini, he thought.  The end.  Painful as it had been, when he looked back on his life, he didn’t imagine his time with Laoghaire would occupy many of his thoughts.  Grimly he realized that he still had an eternity of time stretching out in front of him.  Time unending, without Claire.

     Now he sighed wearily, his horse plodding along the path that wended its way through the marshes.  In the distance, Jamie could see the sun glimmering on a pond surrounded by bullrushes.  What he could not see was the mound of freshly dug dirt beneath the willow tree, close to the edge of the water.

     He had lain them in a grave together, arranging them close, their bodies touching, the male’s wing reaching over, sheltering the female, their necks intertwined, orange bills close enough to whisper to each other.  He had been near blind as he filled in the dirt over them, imagining that their spirits would be thankful, imagining their final calls to each other as they flew in tandem through the heavens. 

     I’m here.  I willna leave ye.  It wouldna be living wi’ out ye.

Fini

It’s been months, but I’ve begun again, hoping for a lighter tone now that Jamie isn’t constantly reminded of the contrast between Laoghaire and Claire...

The Madame (Second Wife, Book Two!)

[janeykath318]

Meet Your Daughter: A Pirk Fic

@mrseclipse9856

“I see congratulations are in order, Kirk,” Admiral Richard Barnett told the young woman in civies with a baby strapped to her chest. After resigning from the fleet seven months ago, Jen Kirk had come back to San Francisco to see her mother get her captain’s stripes, undeterred by having a two week old newborn in tow. Her abrupt departure from Starfleet just after the Nero tragedy and graduation had been the topic of much speculation, but Jen had hidden away from the world in her old hometown of Riverside, Iowa until her daughter’s birth. She had braced herself for a barrage of questions and eyebrow raising silent judgment from the brass, knowing most of them already had a pretty low opinion of her. The worst part, however, was facing baby Emma’s father, who just so happened to be one of said Admirals now and had no idea he had offspring.  

“Thank You, Admiral,” she said graciously. “I thought this might help explain why I chose to leave the Fleet.”

“Very good reason,” he smiled back at her. “You doing okay?”

“We have our ups and downs,” she admitted, looking down at Emma’s little head, “but we’re getting along okay. She’s a pretty content baby. Adjusting to the weird sleep schedule has been the challenge for me.”

“Ah, yes, I remember those days,” he replied fondly. “She’s a real cutie, though.”

“I think so too,” Jen agreed.

Nearby, she could see Admiral Pike engaged in tense conversation with her mother. The man had barely acknowledged her presence and when he’d seen what she was wearing, well, he hadn’t so much as looked at her. It was deeply Disappointing, but not surprising, given how things had ended between them. Nevertheless, she’d have to find a way to talk to him.

Politely taking her leave from Barnett, she approached Winona and Chris, steeling her courage to face the man who’d broken her heart.

“Excuse me, Admiral,” she announced in her most polite, formal tone, cringing at how stiff she sounded. Pike looked like he wanted to flee, but Winona’s stern gaze held him firmly in place and he finally nodded, not really looking her in the eyes.

“Of course. Here, or in private?” he asked.

“Private.” Jen admitted.

“Very well. We’ll go to my office. Captain?” he asked Winona, indicating she could come too if she wished.

“Nope. This is between the two of you,” Winona declined. “I’ll wait out here. Try to act like adults,” she implored them and they both flushed. Chris still looked spooked at being near her, but slowly made for the door.

“After you,” he said, waving her to go first. He’d always been the gentleman like that, Jen recalled with a pang of nostalgia for the good old times before he’d let the fear of what the brass would do ruin everything. He’d used to treat her like a queen when they were alone.

Now, they were just two awkward exes and she was about to unleash the proverbial elephant in the room.

Once in his office, they faced each other with a silence so thick, Jen felt like the gravity had been turned up. Unable to stand it long, she took a deep breath and spilled her secret.

“Chris-- I mean, Admiral,” she began, bouncing on her heels a bit to settle down Emma, who stirred restlessly.

“I hate to spring this on you like this, but I tried repeatedly for months to contact you and was ignored so I decided now was as good a time to spring this on you as any: Meet your daughter, Emma Renee Pike.”

She let these words sink in as the Admiral turned a sickly shade of whitish green and gripped the edge of his desk for balance.

“You’re kidding me.” he said faintly. Jen shook her head. There was no other possible man it could have been.

“How?.......” He looked like he was going to pass out. Jen felt slightly sorry, but it was his own fault he’d ignored her calls and changed his number.

“Oh, you know how, Christopher,” she said with an evil grin. “I could give you the exact details of the exact night she was conceived if you wish. I figured it out when I was trying to keep myself from puking my guts up early in the pregnancy.”

The greenish white shade swiftly changed to a dark red as he flushed at the suggestive tone and use of his full name. She knew how it riled him up being called Christopher and she’d once taken full advantage of said knowledge. Even now, it was still useful.

Chris sat down hard, swallowing and staring at the baby as if he was just now seeing her.

“Daughter.” he said faintly. “So this is why you disappeared after you resigned.”

“Yes,” Jen admitted. “I decided I couldn’t end it--end HER, but with all the publicity and still hurting from the breakup, I went home to Iowa.”

“Makes sense. When was she born?”

“Two and a half weeks ago. Bones was there and helped me through it, best friend that he is.”

“So that’s where he went all in a hurry,” Chris mused. “About bit my head off when I asked where he was going. Now I know why.”

“Yep. Bones doesn’t like you very much at the moment,” Jen informed him.

“That’s putting it mildly,” her ex admitted with a rueful expression. “Glares daggers at me whenever I run into him. If looks could kill, I would be murdered many times over. Did the labor go okay?”

“I was told It was typical for a first time birth,” she sighed. “But for a few hours, it was indescribably awful. I probably cursed you in twenty different languages. When they mention a ring of fire, they aren’t kidding!! But she was more than worth it, the sweet little darling.”

She dropped a kiss on the baby’s head. Emma had fallen back asleep and was the epitome of newborn angelicness.

Chris cleared his throat and looked awkward again.

“You were pregnant when we were fighting Nero then.” he stated. “When did you find out? Before or after I ended our…...thing.”

That irked her. How dare he call it a thing?

“A relationship. We had a relationship, Chris,” she corrected him coolly. “As for when I knew, I found out after I collapsed on the bridge on the return to earth while you were still in surgery. When I woke up in sickbay, Bones yelled at me, fixed me up, and then told me I was pregnant. He offered to murder you in cold blood. Be glad he takes his oath as seriously as he does.”

“I am,” the repentant looking admiral admitted.

“I should have just told you once you were awake and cognizant, but I couldn’t deal with facing you then. If you thought us being together was too risky, what would you have said about me carrying your unborn baby? By that time, I decided I was going to go through with it and didn’t want you to talk me out of it.”

“Jen, I’m very, very sorry you had to go through that alone,” he apologized.

“Don’t be,” she said firmly before he could continue. “She’s a precious baby and the light of my life. All I need from you is to know whether you want to be involved in her life or if you’d rather treat her like a dirty little secret, in which case we’ll get out of your hair and never trouble you again. I’m not here to blackmail you or beg for money. Much as I hate the way you dumped me, you do deserve to get the chance to know your kid.”

She could see him wince as her pointed words hit home. The ball was in his court now. Gently adjusting the sling so Emma’s head was visible, she turned so Chris could get a better look. The look on his face went from weary regretfulness, to interest, to fascination, to awe in a matter of seconds as he looked his fill of the adorable infant.

“Wow!” he breathed, getting back up and moving around his desk. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen one that small. She’s beautiful, Jen. Takes after you.”

“I think she has your stubborn chin and scowl, though,” Jen commented, trying to ignore the pang of bittersweet joy at his subtle compliment. She was relieved to see he was beginning to relax a little.

Cautiously, Chris took a few steps closer and Jamie’s heart lurched again as the smell of his cologne brought back more memories. She’d loved his scent and used to nuzzle against his jaw on purpose to smell it. Chris would usually kiss her head and pull her close with a light chuckle.

“I, uh, hope you don’t mind I gave her your last name,” She said, scrambling to think of something to break the awkwardness.

“Of course not,” he said softly, still gazing at Emma. “It’s amazing she survived all the stuff you went through during the Nero crisis. That’s one tough little girl.”

“Her dad survived Romulan torture and her mother survived ice monsters, and Vulcan beat downs, so I’d say she comes of strong stock,” Jen agreed proudly. “Speaking of which, I’m glad to see you walking so well,” she continued, genuinely glad to see the progress he’d made. When she’d left, Bones hadn’t been able to say whether he’d ever walk again. Now, he was getting around pretty well, with only the occasional use of his cane for support.

“That’s the result of six months of pain, sweat, and a general desire to spite the entire universe,” Chris admitted ruefully, glancing down at his legs. “My therapists were saints to put up with me for so long.”

“Now that sounds more like the Pike I know,” Jen grinned. “Bones said you’d surpassed his wildest expectations.”

“He hasn’t said a thing like that to my face,” Chris snorted. “Just gives me a hard time. He may have saved my life, but he definitely wasn’t happy about it.”

“What can I say? Bones is loyal to a fault. The one person I can always count on,” Jen added, perhaps a tad passive-aggressively. “It might be awhile before he forgives you.”

Chris wiped his hand over his forehead in a troubled manner and sighed.

“Jen, I admit I made a terrible mistake by underestimating how much you’d be hurt by ending our relationship, but I don’t know what I could have done that wouldn’t have threatened everything you worked so hard for.”

“You didn’t KNOW that, you just assumed it,” Jen retorted. “You didn’t even give me an option of riding it out with you. Whatever it was, we could have faced it together. You know they would never have had any evidence that our relationship influenced my grades or was coerced and technically, Bones got my on that ship against your knowledge when I was supposed to be grounded. Sure, we would have probably taken some crap, but they wouldn’t have enough to kick either of us out. It’s all a moot point now, since I ended up leaving anyway. Your doing the “right thing” had the exact result you were trying to avoid. We thought we were careful. I still don’t know how my birth control failed, but it did and here we are.”

“If I’d had had the self-control to wait until after graduation, to act on my feelings, we wouldn’t have ended up in this mess.”

“Maybe, Maybe not,”Jen shrugged. “But the question remains, will you accept Emma as your daughter or try to pretend she doesn’t exist?”

Chris paced back to his chair and sat down, leg starting to stiffen up from standing too long. He was very taken with Emma, but clueless about fatherhood. And how could he be involved without embroiling all of them in a scandal? Jen didn’t need that stress on top of caring for a newborn.

It came down to a simple choice: take responsibility and be a good father, risking censure and scandal, or protect his career by turning away and permanently breaking all ties with both Jen and Emma?

The stifled part of him that was still very much in love with Jen violently objected to this as well as the newly awakened part that had a definite interest in helping parent this tiny little one, who was now blinking awake and revealing big, beautiful blue eyes.

“Oh, my.” he whispered, eyes suddenly welling up. “Jen, I have no idea how this will work, and I have no clue how to be a…..dad, but I would like to be in her life, and maybe in yours again, if you’ll let me.”

Jen wasn’t sure about that last part, but for Emma’s sake she was glad he’d offered. She allowed a relieved smile to curve up her lips.

“Thats…..wonderful, Chris, and way more than I expected when I came out here.” That stung him, but he knew he deserved it and bowed his head in acknowledgement. He used to be the one she confided in, looked up to. He’d been both dazzled by her and very proud of her as she’d headed for the career he knew she was capable of. Now, he’d only just met their child two weeks after her birth.

“Tell me what I can do, Jen.” He implored, meeting her eyes full on and getting lost in their blueness for a moment.

“You can start by communicating. Maybe give me your new number? Come to Iowa for occasional visit. Tell the Brass the truth when they ask why you’re always going to Iowa. Maybe ask Phil for tips: he’s got experience in the parenting department.”

Chris smiled. That he did. Phil had a grown son from his late wife Alicia and very lively twin red-headed daughters from Cait. He’d heard plenty of crazy tales of mischief, cuteness and woe from his best friend. Phil had stuck by him after Nero and made him get the right help as he worked through the trauma and difficult physical therapy. He’d also disapproved of Chris’s treatment of Jen, but didn’t say much about it, preferring to let McCoy do that part.

“Certainly. Is yours still the same?” he asked, pulling out his device and looking at the contact list.

“Yeah,” Jen confirmed, getting out her own and carefully punching in the code he gave her. “There we go! The first step.” She slipped it back into her belt just as Emma started to fuss.

“Uh-oh, sounds like someone’s ready to eat again,” Jen crooned. “You’ve been such a good girl for mama! Time for a well-deserved meal.” Reaching around her back, she untied the ends of the long piece of fabric that held the baby to her chest, then sat down in the chair across from the desk and eased Emma out of it onto her lap, pulling her out of the wrap and grinning down at her.

“Hi, honey, you getting hungry?”

Emma confirmed this with a little wailing sound that melted Chris’s heart. Heaven help him, he was falling for her already. He got up from his chair and engaged the privacy glass.

“You go right ahead and feed her here, if you want to. I’ll clear out and try to pacify her grandma by informing her of our agreement. I forgot how intimidating that woman was until I caused you grief.”

Jen smirked. “Maybe don’t do it in the future, huh? Just a thought. The whole “mama bear” saying exists for a good reason. We protect our offspring fiercely.”

He smiled at her and Jen’s own heart melted a little. She’d never been able to totally resist his smile, even now when she wasn’t sure if she would be able to forgive him for a while.

At least, he’d accepted Emma and not forced a paternity test. That would have been the ultimate sign of distrust and made her even more wary of him.

“Thanks, Chris,” she told him. “We’ll plan on talking more before I go back, right?”

“For sure.” he confirmed, and slipped out the door, leaving Jen alone to feed the baby.

Wide-eyed, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath as he slowly processed what had just happened. Jen had popped back into his life. He was a dad. She didn’t punch him in the face. She was going to let him co-parent their daughter. Their daughter was beautiful and tiny and precious. He was suddenly terrified.

“Hey, breathe Chris,” a voice said beside him. Winona and Phil stood there, looking both worried and amused at the same time.

“I was an absolute IDIOT.” He declared, once he’d calmed himself down. “Utter, utter fool. She’s gorgeous, Winona. I think I already love her.”

Winona’s expression softened. “I’m glad you’ve seen the error of your ways and yes, Miss Emma Renee Pike is the most beautiful baby in the galaxy. Did you and Jen reach a truce?”

“I think so,” he said, still a little dazed. “I’m gonna need help, though. Phil, I have no clue. How do you be a dad?”

“Trial and Error and a lot of love and patience,” Phil answered. “I think you’ll do fine. Congratulations, by the way. What a way to find out, huh?”

“Like I said, I was an idiot. Thought she’d be better off without me in the long run.”

“And maybe she will,” Winona put in. “But that’s a later discussion. I’m thankful you two are talking again. She missed you terribly.”

“And I missed her,” Chris said honestly. “I’m going to start by working on winning her trust back so we can be civil and cooperative parents at least. Anything else…….well, it’s much too soon to say.”

He tactfully left out the part where he was still hopelessly in love with her and wanted to win back her heart as well as her trust. No more cowardice for him. Chris Pike was on a mission.