#I would run miles upon miles for you my little radio man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bujorulgalben · 1 year

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a river and no sea

a playlist for slavko vukašinović and anica mihăescu. for the slow burn and smoulder of hearts. for those as thick as thieves who one day, unintendedly, stole those same hearts. for the spirited peony, the hardy lily of the valley, the stalwart oak, the heavenly chorus. an undying faith in each other.

cover pictures used: ‘sigillum’ by roberto ferri iron gate - danube river (serbia-romania border)

meant to be played in the set other. track-list and some favourite lyrics below the cut:

one. laughter lines - bastille

you took me to your favourite place on earth / to see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth. / our fingers traced in circles round its history, / we brushed our hands right back in time through centuries. / as you held me down, you said:

"i'll see you in the future when we're older / and we are full of stories to be told. / cross my heart and hope to die, / i'll see you with your laughter lines."

two. lightning fields - the killers (ft. kd lang)

late at night, i lay in bed and / think about things left unsaid and / all the things that i'd do different / if i just had the chance

don't beat yourself up / you laid good ground / look at 'em walk from scratch to sundown / you put the work in and then some / where is all this coming from? / there's no end to love / there's no end to truth / there's no end to me / there's no end to you

i just wanted to run my fastest and / stand beside you in the lightning field of love / press your face to mine / name and raise again / take the car out for a drive

(take me with you to the other side)

three. twilight omens - franz ferdinand

i wrote your name upon the / back of my hand / slept upon it / then i woke up / with it backwards on my face / reading forwards from my mirror / to my heart twilight omens in my life / then i hear your name / hear the radio sing your name / should i give you a call? / what should i say? / maybe you still feel the same?

four. lay my head down - band of skulls

was i asleep? did you save me from disaster? / wake up and tell me i'm just imagining / thought i would brave it 'cause i don't wanna live in doubt dreamt of escape but i'm nowhere near the feeling / fell from a high but i never hit the ground / can't hold the weight of your words, heavy on my mind so i'm gonna lay my head down on your shoulder and run / keep it away from my soul, i'm not holding it all / i'm gonna lay my head down on your shoulder and run / all that we know will get old and with you i'll unfold

i'm gonna lay my head down

five. opera house - cigarettes after sex

if i abandoned love i'd be a man without dreams / i'd rather be out there staring death right between its eyes now

and i can still hear the sound of you crying through the night / there in the opera house with no one else for miles

i was meant to love you and always keep you in my life / i was meant to love you / i knew i loved you at first sight

six. stolen dance - milky chance

i want you by my side / so that i never feel alone again / they've always been so kind / but now they've brought you away from here / i hope they didn't get your mind / your heart is too strong anyway / we need to fetch back the time / they have stolen from us

and i want you / we can bring it on the floor / you've never danced like this before / we don't talk about it / dancing on, do the boogie all night long / stoned in paradise / shouldn't talk about it

seven. come a little closer - cage the elephant

heartbreaks, the heavy world's upon your shoulders / will we burn on or just smolder? / somehow, i know i'll find you there / ooh, you wanna see if you can change it / change it / still, i know i'll see you there

come a little closer, then you'll see (come on, come on, come on) / things aren't always what they seem to be / do you understand the things that you've been seeing? (come on, come on, come on) / do you understand the things that you've been dreaming? / come a little closer, then you'll see

eight. 100 years - florence & the machine

i believe in you / and in our hearts we know the truth / and i believe in love / and the darker it gets, the more i do / try and fill us with your hate and we will shine a light / and the days will become endless / and never, and never turn to night / and never, and never turn to night then it's just too much / i cannot get you close enough / a hundred arms, a hundred years / you can always find me here / and, lord, don't let me break this / let me hold it lightly / give me arms to pray with / instead of ones that hold too tightly

nine. as it was - hozier

and tell me if somehow some of it remained / how long you would wait for me? / how long I've been away? / the shape that I'm in now is shaping the doorway / make your good love known to me / just tell me about your day

just as it was, baby / before the otherness came / and i knew its name / the drugs, the dark, the light, the shame

eyes at the heights of my baby / and this hope at the fight of my baby / and the lights were as bright as my baby / but your love was unmoved

ten. when the world breaks your heart - goo goo dolls

i held your face in my hands / so i could feel you smile / every time that i kiss you / you put your lips on my scars / made a tattoo of stars / felt the rush of blood and i knew

i never answer to / anybody who / tries to tear us down again so take the angry words / the things that make you hurt / kiss them goodbye, forever tonight

when the world breaks your heart / i can put it back together / i write your name across the sky / so i'm always with you / now it's you and me / like the stars we burn forever / so listen when i say to you / i'll be there, you're not alone / you're not alone

when the sun fades into shadows / when you call and no one's there / and the light goes out inside you / don't you know that i'll be there

eleven. francis forever - mitski

i don't know what to do without you / i don't know where to put my hands / i've been trying to lay my head down / but i'm writing this at 3 a.m i don't need the world to see / that i've been the best i can be, but / i don't think i could stand to be / where you don't see me

twelve. wolves without teeth - of monsters and men

open my chest and colour my spine / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all / swallow my breath / and take what is mine / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all

i'll be the blood / if you'll be the bones / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all / so lift up my body / and lose all control / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all

you hover like a hummingbird / haunt me in my sleep you'll sailing from another world / sinking in my sea, oh / you're feeding on my energy / i'm letting go of it / she wants it

thirteen. chasing cars - snow patrol

i don't quite know / how to say / how i feel

those three words / are said too much / they're not enough

if i lay here / if i just lay here / would you lie with me and just forget the world?

forget what we're told / before we get too old / show me a garden that's bursting into life

let's waste time / chasing cars / around our heads

i need your grace / to remind me / to find my own

fourteen. lovers rock - tv girl

are you sick of me? / would you like to be? / i'm trying to tell you something / something that i already said

you like a pretty boy / with a pretty voice / who is trying to sell you something / something that you already have

but if you're too drunk to drive / and the music is right / she might let you stay / but just for the night / and if she grabs for your hand / and drags you along / she might want a kiss / before the end of this song

fifteen. wine in the afternoon - franz ferdinand

so summer stains / a sky with inky swirls / that bring the thunder low / but i don't mind / i'm doing things and doing them with you

and if you're smart you'll put that book back down / you'll drag me to the floor / drag me down for more

sixteen. running towards a place - the killers

can you see the world / in a grain of sand? / can you find heaven in a wildflower / hold it in the palm of your hand? / the moment we met / burst like a star / onto the canvas of the skyline / purple and gold / we're in this together / i ain't never letting go

because we're running towards a place / where we'll walk as one / and the sadness of this life / will be overcome / if i lay with you in love / will you meet me there? / and shake the lightning from the locks / of your unbound hair

seventeen. be - hozier

when the man who gives the order is born next time 'round on the boats and back / when the body is starving at the border / or on tv given people the sack / love, when the sea rises to meet us / oh, when there's nothing left for you and i to do / oh, when there is nobody upstairs to receive us / when i have no kind words left, love, for you

be, be, be, be, be / be as you've always been / be, be, be, be, be / be as you've always been / (lover be good to me)

be love in its disrepute / scorches a hillside and salts every root / and watches the slowing and starving of troops / and lover be good to me / be there and your stairs you stack / or be like the rose you hold in your hand / i will grow bold in a barren and desolate land / and lover be good to me

eighteen. i found - amber run

i'll use you as a warning sign / that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind / and i'll use you as a focal point / so i don't lose sight of what i want / and i've moved further than i thought i could / but i missed you more than i thought i would / and i'll use you as a warning sign / that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be / right in front of me / talk some sense to me

nineteen. nightmares - band of skulls

if you can reason, if you can stay / to put all your faith in the palm of my hand / i will protect you, i will defend / it'll never get you ever again

‘cause when you're afraid of everything / everything is a start for nightmares / nightmares, nightmares, nightmares / oh, oh, oh, oh

if i die tomorrow, would you be upset? / or would you be the one coming to get me? / falling by the wind side of the never changing world / so tell me it's alright

maybe i'm just dreaming / maybe i was wrong / maybe i was right / 'cause i can't imagine distances in our faiths / is there any kind?

twenty. paper boats - darren korb, ashley barrett

seconds march into the past / the moments pass / and just like that, they're gone

the river always finds the sea / so helplessly / like you find me

we are paper boats floating on a stream / and it would seem / we'll never be apart

i will always find you / like it's written in the stars / you can run but you can't hide, try

#i started this back in...febraury? and finally sat down yesterday to fine tune it #the playlist name is yoinked from one diplomatic conference where they waxed poetic about their stable bonds which is. just great man.#here's some easy listening/folksy indie rock love songs for you!#the painting crop working so well with that photo of the iron gate is also sooooo 🥺🥺🥺#acesta nu este un aer pentru respirare // este un aer care se cântă ✧ slavoljub

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wistfulcynic · 3 years

Text

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment.

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge.

Or, at least, he was.

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends.

Huge thanks to @shireness-says for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite for Just Being Her.

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this

on AO3

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan):

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school.

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity.

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century.

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school.

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it.

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there.

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue.

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone.

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire.

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn.

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed.

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest.

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest.

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver.

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.”

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath.

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.”

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor.

“And the skirt.”

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles.

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.”

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder.

“Shake your head.”

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face.

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.”

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.”

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much.

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin.

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?”

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him.

“Gold is dead.”

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself.

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way.

“He is?” she gasped.

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.”

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.”

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.”

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?”

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.”

“Will you go back to England?”

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.”

“Argentina?”

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.”

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements.

“You must be hungry,” she said.

“I could eat.”

“Stew?”

“Perfect.”

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove.

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—”

“Emma.”

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.”

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last.

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed.

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled.

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly.

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.”

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.”

“Because you love her.”

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.”

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated.

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…”

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.”

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.”

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying.

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.”

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.”

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.”

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion.

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate.

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?”

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?”

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.”

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.”

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance.

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts.

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement.

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend.

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness.

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires.

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan.

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved.

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling.

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired.

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.”

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?”

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.”

“That’s good news indeed.”

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.”

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.”

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.”

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?”

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.”

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right?

And thus the inspiration for this story.

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @killianjones-twopointoh @mariakov81 @stahlop @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @snowbellewells

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #cshistfic #captain swan #western au #historical fic #historical romance #Emma is a teacher #killian is an outlaw #many many historical details #like so many #i make no apologies for this #it's more of a warning #the outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)#profdanglaisstuff

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nightingaelic · 3 years

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could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

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atths--twice · 2 years

Text

Home for Christmas

After moving into their new home, and Christmas nearly upon them, Scully wants to spend the holiday with her mother.

Early December 2004

Two months had passed since they bought their little home in the middle of nowhere. Two months of cleaning, repairing, clearing, and planning what to add and how to get it to the house while also keeping Mulder unseen.

Scully had gone on her own to buy many items, choosing furniture in rich dark colors, something she felt Mulder would like and be comfortable living in every day.

She was happy with the choices she had made, happier still that he liked them, his smile as he sat on the couch or at the table, all the thanks she needed.

The room with a small fireplace had been designated a library and the shelves were filled with books she bought from second hand shops. At night, the firelight glowing around them, he read aloud as they cuddled together in the overstuffed chair she had purchased, his voice soothing her to sleep as his fingers trailed through her hair.

They were happy and at peace, though still apprehensive and careful, always watching over their shoulder.

Although they were closer than they had been in two years, she had yet to see her mother. Wanting to be sure they were safe, before she put her mother in any undue harm, only phone calls had been made, from phone booths away from the house.

But as the first snow fell, and Christmas lights began to be seen on homes and businesses, Scully was overcome with an ache to see her mother. To hug her and see for herself that she truly was fine.

Coming back one early December afternoon from a grocery run, the thought of seeing her weighing on her mind, she walked around the house to the backyard shed which Mulder was currently clearing out. He had music playing and was singing along as he took out rusty shovels and rakes, hoses, and beat up and stained cardboard boxes full of old yellowed papers left by the previous owners.

“But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more,” he sang, spinning around as he threw a shovel to the side. Seeing her standing in front of him, he smiled and came closer, pulling her to him. “Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.”

“You’re in a good mood,” she said with a smile.

“Ta da da ta!” he shouted, spinning them around and she laughed. “Ta da da ta! Ta da da dan te la dan te la dan te le la da da!”

“Are you sure those are the right words?” she asked with a laugh as he dipped her and kissed her neck.

“I don’t know. Does anyone truly know those words?” he asked, bringing her up and dancing slower, both of them breathing hard, white mist puffing out around them.

“You getting a lot done out here?”

“Hmm… it’s getting there, but I don’t feel the need to rush. I would walk 500 miles… how was the store? Busy?”

“Not quite yet, but it will be soon.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, spinning her and pulling her back. “Need help bringing the groceries in?”

“That would be nice.”

“Good, it’s cold out here and I really don’t want to do this anyway.” She laughed as they broke apart and he turned off the portable radio, moved things back enough to close the door, shrugging as she raised her eyebrows. “I’ll get it done later.”

“Sure you will,” she said with a laugh as they walked towards the car.

“Nothing but time, Scully,” he reminded her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Each grabbing a few bags, they walked into the house and put the groceries away, not saying much.

“I would… hmm miles and I… hmm hmm 500 more,” he half sang, half hummed and she smiled, watching him dancing as he put the food into the cupboards.

“I like seeing you this way,” she said and he looked at her with a smile.

“Which way?”

“Happy, animated,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I like my Mulder this way.”

“Your Mulder, eh?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in the back belt loops of her jeans.

“Yes, my Mulder,” she said, her fingernails scratching gently at the base of his neck. He hummed and closed his eyes with a small smile.

“Why does that make me super aroused to hear you say that?”

“Because it should,” she whispered, standing on tiptoes to kiss him, her tongue tracing his bottom lip.

The groceries forgotten, he lifted her, her legs encircling his waist, carrying her to the couch.

His head on her naked chest, both of them attempting to catch their breath, her body thrumming with pleasure, she broached the thought she’d had all day.

“It’s nearly Christmas,” she whispered and he hummed softly, his fingertips feathering the side of her hip. “I want to celebrate it with my mom.” His fingers paused and she waited.

“Not exactly the pillow talk I had imagined,” he said and she laughed softly.

“You’re not exactly lying on pillows,” she replied and he kissed the top of her breast.

“Disagree vehemently,” he said and she laughed again, running her fingers through his hair. He kissed her breast again, his nose brushing between them with a hum.

“I don’t mean that I would leave you here,” she said, arching into him, unable to stop herself despite the heavy feeling of her sated body.

“You want her to come here?” he asked, raising his head to look at her and she nodded, stroking his face with one hand.

“What do you think?”

He took a breath and let it out, smiling as he moved his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

“I’ll have to get that shed clean after all,” he said and she smiled with tears in her eyes, as he kissed her palm again.

_________________

Christmas Eve

Simple decorations were put up, a small artificial tree with white lights was plugged in and placed on a side table with very small gold and silver bulbs added to it.

A white tablecloth decorated with holly, red candles in glass candlestick holders, and white plates were set on the table, ready for their meal.

Scully sighed as she stirred the potatoes being kept on a low heat and looked at the clock, anxiously awaiting her mother’s arrival. The ham smelled heavenly and her mouth watered as she opened the stove for a peek.

“Stop or it won’t cook,” Mulder said and she turned to look at him as he smiled.

“I’m so nervous,” she admitted and he nodded, walking to her and hugging her. “It’s been over two years since I’ve seen her. What if…?”

“Honey, don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. It’s your mom,” he said quietly and she nodded against his chest.

“I know,” she breathed, holding him tight, hoping to absorb some of his calm. “I just…”

“It’s going to be fine.” He kissed the top of her head and she closed her eyes briefly as she sighed.

“I love you, you know,” she whispered and he chuckled softly.

“I do,” he answered, rubbing her back in small comforting circles. “And I love you too.”

Light flashed through the windows and they heard the crunch of tires in the snow. Pulling back, she let out a deep breath, looking at the door and then at him.

“Do I look alright?” she whispered and then shook her head. “That was a dumb question. God, Mulder, I’m so nervous.”

“Come on,” he whispered back, taking her hand and kissing it, before turning toward the door. Her heart ached and her eyes burned with tears as they walked across the room and he opened the door.

Her mother was standing at her car door, looking at the house before her eyes landed on Scully. Covering her mouth, tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. Scully let go of Mulder’s hand and hurried carefully down the stairs, threw her arms around her mother, both of them crying.

When they pulled back, her mother reached out to touch her hair, exclaiming over the length of it, and they both laughed with a sob, hugging again.

“I missed you so much,” her mother whispered and Scully nodded.

“Me too.”

“Oh, Dana,” she whispered, hugging her tightly. Scully breathed in her familiar scent and every ounce of nervousness disappeared.

Pulling apart, they laughed again, her mother cupping her face and shaking her head. Scully closed her eyes as her mother kissed her forehead, smiling as they pulled back, gripping her mother’s upper arms gently.

“Fox,” her mother said, laughing and crying simultaneously as she looked up at him.

“Hello, Mrs. Scully,” he said, coming to stand beside Scully and smiling at her happily.

“It is so good to see you,” she said, hugging him as he hugged her back, his eyes closed as Scully watched them, tears on her cheeks. Her mother shook her head as she pulled back, smiling through her own tears.

“I’m so happy you’re both okay,” she said, taking each of their hands and squeezing. “I prayed for you every day, for your safety and return, and my prayers have been answered.” She smiled at them and Scully nodded, wiping at her eyes.

Snow began to fall, which startled them all and they laughed, walking inside where it was much warmer.

They gave her a tour of the house, which she exclaimed over, stating how much she liked it. Her overnight bag was set down in the second upstairs bedroom. The twin bed, recently purchased for her to stay over, along with a side table and lamp were the only items currently in the room.

Downstairs, they talked and laughed as the food was set on the table and they sat down to eat, her mother praying for the meal and thanking God for their safe return.

Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand and she raised her head to look at him with wet eyes and a happy smile.

Peacefulness washed over her for the first time in two years, Christmas not feeling like a day of grief and sadness.

Her heart still ached for William, worrying about him, and thinking of him every day. But for the moment, with her mother beside her as she laughed heartily at one of Mulder’s silly jokes, her hand held to her chest, Scully felt at peace.

#25 Days of Ficmas #The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Unremarkable House #New Life #New Home #Conversations #Christmas Eve #Reunited #First Christmas In A New Home #Happy #Content #Christmas Dinner #Laughing and Talking

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wangxianficrecs · 3 years

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Follower Recs

Stories I haven’t read yet, but clearly need to put on my ever-expanding List.

~*~

Welcome back queen [Thank you, it’s so lovely to be back!] if ur still doing follower recs I gotta recommend I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett it’s soooooooo good

[This one was actually recced to me by two different people, the other of whom said, “ Maybe I'm crying a little so I feel like a should recommend ‘I would wait for a thousand years’ by bleuett on ao3.”]... it’s def. on my List!

I would wait for a thousand years

by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian)

Summary: During the worst of winter, a traveler comes to stay at Lan Wangji's inn. He wears a red ribbon in his hair.

“Do you see the rabbit?” Wei Ying asks and points at the moon. “That’s the moon rabbit, he helps make Chang’e more immortality elixir. He keeps Chang’e company.”

“I do not wish the rabbit for company,” Lan Wangji says tightly. “You are the one I want by my side.”

“And I’m here, Lan Zhan. If you go to the moon, I’ll follow you, I’ll always be here now.”

~*~

I just read a great fic by aisthuu "every love story is a ghost story", didn't see it in your recs so wanted to recommend it! LWJ is a guqin composer and teacher, buys a cheap guqin off eBay which ends up being attached to WWX's spirit from canon era. It's bittersweet, LWJ deals with Lan's homophobia (implicit in a Lan way) and his feelings towards the ghost. This is author's only ao3 fic and honestly I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I'm happy I did and hope you will enjoy it too! [I’ve recently read this one, and loved it!]

every love story is a ghost story

by aisthuu (M, 59k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Summary: The man is in Lan Zhan’s bed. Did they—he begins to wonder, eyes trailing to where the man’s body lies under the blanket. Had Lan Zhan—?

Then the sleep-fog clears and Lan Zhan realizes that the young man isn’t quite opaque around the edges.

“You’re a spirit.”

The spirit narrows its eyes. “I’m so much more than that.”

(Lan Zhan buys a guqin off eBay for a suspiciously low price, only to find that it’s haunted. And now there’s a ghost in his bed.)

~*~

Ok so I absolutely have to rec "see you yesterday" by glyphic. It's a wip, but it's currently at 101k so there's a whole lot there, and it's terrible and wonderful and beautiful all at once. The way the backstory of canon events is adapted to the modern-with-cultivation setting is brilliant, and then there's the amnesia, and then there's the time loop. This fic lives permanently rent-free in my brain.

see you yesterday

by glyphic (M, 101k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:

Wei Ying 21:09 hey lan zhan what’s the weirdest way youve died

Lan Zhan 21:11 Falling encyclopedias.

Wei Ying 21:12 omg no way that’s so rude turning books against you???

Lan Zhan 21:13 A betrayal I will never forget.

On Halloween night, an exiled demonic cultivator and a Lan disciple get stuck in a time-loop, find each other, and try to figure it all out.

~*~

If you are looking for recs for yourself I absolutely love (the complete!) story Just as the Snow Melts by draechali on AO3. It's a canon divergence where everyone lives, even WWX! ~ @airmidcelt

Just as the Snow Melts

by draechaeli (T, 67k, wangxian)

Summary: Like a snowy mountain top in spring the residents of the Burial Mounds trickled down the mountain and joined the flow of society.

“I went to the Burial Mounds,” Lan WangJi said.

“Ah, yeah… I’m sorry Lan Zhan,” replied Wei WuXian, “I hadn’t thought anyone would come to visit. I am still not sure how it happened; I brought A-Yuan to Yiling to play by the river and then ended up somehow teaching a bunch of children swimming and writing along with him.”

~*~

Hello! It's come to my attention that you have not as yet read Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation! Please do! It's the only thing that gave me joy during 2020 😆 like proper belly laughs and disney villain style cackling. It is a wip, and it is long but so so worth it!! The author has reworked the entire canon through these message crystals and still conveys complex characters despite the tricky format. It's just so good!! Highly highly recommend it! ❤ ~ @theladypeartree [Oh! I’ve been subscribed to this one, and know that @swaglexander-the-great is a reliable provider of Hilarity, so I’m excited for it to be finished!]

Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation

by Hades_the_Blingking (T, 49k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: The Untamed universe is exactly the same, except everybody has magical crystals that have a suspiciously familiar messaging system. The story is pretty much the same as the show, except everyone lives!! (so minor changes).

or in which Wei WuXian tries his darndest to date Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng possibly has a aneurysm, Jin ZiXuan is still the most awkward human alive, and Xue Yang makes me write some VERY cursed things. Written in chatfic format! :3

~*~

Chomrafy on AO3 deserves love and encouragement; she’s written a body of compact, poetic, and eloquent shortfics each of which can stand alone, but that comprise an intricately cross-referential and mostly internally-consistent universe. They’re grouped as chapters in works according to theme; for example, “in cupped hands” focuses upon Jin Ling and his second-generation baggage; “Departure in Autumn” portrays the last years of WWX’s first life. Follow the tag “Chomrafy’s MDZS shortfics.” [I don’t see this tag?]

in cupped hands

by chomrafy (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary: Of secrets, of futures, of love. A Jin Ling-centric collection of 200-word fics.

Ch.1: Jin Ling repays a debt (JL, JC, & WWX). Ch.2: Jin Ling and a ghost in the mirror. (JL & JYL) Ch.3: A matter of friends (JL & the other kids) Ch.4: In this house we don't keep dogs (JC & WWX) Ch.5: In the end, he remains silent (JL & uncles) Ch.6: A first night hunt, of sorts (JL & the other kids) Ch.7: Jin Ling, forgiving, forgetting (JL & LXC & JGY) Ch.8: Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling argue (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.9: Jin Ling and his father (JL & JC) Ch.10: Jin Ling speaks up (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.11: Jin Ling and a piece of home (JL, JC, & WWX)

Departure in Autumn

by chomrafy (not rated, 6k)

Summary: Four perspectives. A steady march to the end.

Ch.1: Because if anything happens to them, Wen Qing would never be able to heal with these hands again. Ch.2: As long as this is still home, Jiang Yanli will wait as long as she needs to. Ch.3: Five times Jiang Cheng reaches for Wei Wuxian, one time he turns away. Ch.4: Whether the road is broad or narrow, bright or dark, they would have to keep walking. Wei Wuxian digs Wen Qing's grave.

~*~

Hello, hope all is going well. I don't have an ask, by I do have a recommendation. I read this fic a while ago and found it again. I just wanted to recommend this for everyone. Let me know what you think please. Thank you. [Oh! This one’s in my To Read list, but I’d forgotten about it. Mmmm, fox!wwx and dragon!lwj.]

Ten miles of Lotus Flowers

by Yukirin_Snow

M, 274k, wangxian

Summary: He was a mischievous fox spirit, wreaking havoc where he went, about to depart on a journey that would span centuries.

He was a heavenly prince, a proud dragon destined to ascend the throne to become emperor.

Neither expected their paths to collide over the span of three lives.

~*~

I forgot if it was your blog 😥 that recommended “Bestseller” (when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528316/chapters/51318766)

But OMG IT WAS HILARIOUS!!! I LOVED IT!! And if it wasn’t your blog, I’m so sorry for how weird this sounds 😭😭😭😭 I just loved this fic so much that I have to tell it to someone 😢 [It’s on my List, but I haven’t read it yet!]

Bestseller

by pupeez4eva

M, 8k, wangxian

Summary: He had written the book to prove a point. It was never supposed to be a big thing, and he certainly never intended for everyone — Jiang Cheng, Zewu-Jun, the Juniors, literally everyone— to be reading about his sex life.

Oh God, he definitely needed to make sure Lan Zhan didn’t find out about this.

(Or, when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit).

~*~

I’d like to rec On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake! by @blackwiresgrowonherhead

It’s one of my absolute favorites and I laughed out loud so many times when reading it

on your marks, get set, bake!

by BlackWiresOnHerHead

G, 41k, wei wuxian & juniors

Summary: Jin Ling resumes thumping on the door to room 721, and the small collection of freshmen starts chanting “Senior Wei! Senior Wei! Senior Wei!” with increasing volume until finally Wei Wuxian opens the door.

“Yes?” he says with his widest, most innocent eyes.

“Senior Wei!” demands Lan Jingyi, shoving himself to the front of the group. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a contestant on this year’s season of The Great Gusu Bake Off?!?”

Several months ago, college student Wei Wuxian secretly competed in the most popular reality show in the country. The show starts airing in the fall. The freshmen in his dorm collectively lose their minds.

~*~

If you're in the mood for v. short ridiculous fun fic, may I suggest My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio by x_los It's 2k modern cultivators AU, featuring WWX calling LWJ's sword Bitchin' [omg I’m laughing so hard] and I think it's more fun going in blind?

My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio

by x_los

T, 2k, wangxian

Summary: Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

#follower rec #wangxian fic rec #I HAVEN'T READ THESE YET #wangxian #mdzs

143 notes · View notes

100yearoldcomics · 2 years

Text

March 12, 1922 Krazy Kat by George Herriman [Washington Times edition]

[ID: Ignatz leans back on a log and watches the night sky as various astronomical occurrences, including a meteor, a lightning bolt, a sunrise and the planet Saturn. /end] Caption: "Ignatz Mouse" contemplates a bit upon the energies of nature, and decides that while doing it's own stuff, it might also be doing a bit of his. What unseen power is that which hurls a million mile "comet" crashing through a million million leagues of sky? What giant's imperceptible potency lifts the sun from its depth at morn, hangs it to the zenith at noon, and drops it at eve into the abyss of night? What invisible force that sends the lightning's fire thundering from heaven to earth? What hidden energy is it that keeps the stellar, lunar, solar & planetary traffic regulated & in motion on the Empyrean lane? Ignatz: Dawgunnit!! It's that same "power," unseen though it be, that the "man" people use to shoot their aeroplanes, boats, trains and everything all over. And send a message from pole to pole, or the sound of a whisper from one world's end to another. So why can I not use that power to send a brick at that "Kat"?

[ID: Ignatz stands and hits his open palm with his fist. /end] Ignatz: And what "man" has done, "mouse" will also do. From now on, nature's forces work for me. Beginning now, I'm a resting rodent.

[ID: Ignatz stands on a crate and peers through a thick telescope out his window. He sees Krazy, sat in a rocking chair and reading the paper. /end] Caption: "Ignatz Mouse" looks through his radio photoscope, and has a clear vision of what's on the other end of the line. Ignatz: Good. He's home.

[ID: Ignatz presses a buzzer on the wall and a brick bounces in from the other room. /end] Caption: He presses a button, and in hops his favorite brick.

[ID: Ignatz uses some technological doodad to zap the brick with electricity. /end] Caption: Which he charges with the latest model of Electro-Energizer.

[ID: Ignatz affixes a boxy device to his head that sends telepathic messages to the brick. /end] Caption: And with an Ideamotor, imbues it with a thought. Needless to say, an evil one. Ideamotor: GO GET KRAZY KAT

[ID: The brick flies out the window, leaving a lightning bolt trailing behind it. /end] Ignatz: Go forth, brick, and do your duty.

[ID: The brick flies past a tree and an empty bench underneath it. /end]

[ID: Officer Pupp takes off his cap and scratches his head. /end] Pupp: Dawgunnit, that mouse has been beaning that "Kat" lately, and I haven't been able to catch him at it. It's got me worried.

[ID: The brick flies past, catching Officer Pupp's cap and taking it with it. /end]

[ID: Pupp runs after the brick in hot pursuit. /end]

[ID: Pupp follows the brick to its destination - the open window of Krazy Kat's adobe abode. /end] Krazy: Oy, if only would come a message from "Ignatz."

[ID: The brick hits its mark - Krazy's head - with a PAPP. Officer Pupp watches helplessly from the window. /end] Krazy: Ah, l'il ainjil, he has not failed me.

[ID: The brick flies off in the opposite direction. Krazy bids it farewell, Pupp is startled. /end] Krazy: Return to he who sent you; and give him my best wish & regard.

[ID: Officer Pupp runs across the desert in hot pursuit of the brick which still carries his hat. /end]

[ID: The brick lands on Ignatz's doorstep with Pupp's police cap. Ignatz notices this in shock. /end] Ignatz: Oh-ho, "Officer Pupp's" hat, something tells me he's on my trail.

[ID: Ignatz pours a bottle of elixir on his head. /end] Ignatz: I'll pour some of "Prof. Yipp's" "Obliterato" on myself, which will make me invisible - and fool that foolish kop.

[ID: Officer Pupp stands around in Ignatz's front room, unaware of the unseen laughter coming from beside him. /end] Pupp: Little does that vagabone know that I am here. I'll grab him as soon as he shows his ugly nose in this room.

Caption: Yep, this is how it will be done in 192222... if we hold our job until then.

#newspaper comics #vintage #history #1922 #krazy kat #transcript available #1920s

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gifted-burnout-archive · 3 years

Text

Driving Home For Christmas

Word Count: 3.8K+

Author’s Note: we’re back bitches, and with new stories every day until the 25th!! and we had to start with our favourite star herself, julie molina, because of course! i loved writing this, we love brother alex, we love having last names for the fucking characters!!!

Pairings: julie x reader - brother!alex mercer x reader - willie x alex

Warnings: fluffiness!!

The Mercer children hated spending their Christmas holidays in Aspen. In fact, there wasn’t anything the siblings hated more.

The luxurious ski resort cabin certainly had charms: the hot tub on the porch, the on demand hot chocolate, the fast passes to get on the slopes ahead of the general public, and that was all before you got to the world renowned chef, Portia, that was on-call twenty four hours of the day, seven days a week, able to make whatever their hearts desired. Anyone else might have thought the resort, covered in snow and holiday decorations, like a scene from one of those Hallmark Christmas movies that are always just on in December, was the perfect winter wonderland, and the sort of place anyone would die to spend the end of their year.

But Alex and Y/N Mercer didn’t hate Aspen; they hated their passively-homophobic parents and extended family that always showed up to ruin the festive cheer. Whether it was by berating the heir to the family fortune about his boyfriend back home in California; or their consistent pestering of Alex’s younger sister Y/N about when the girl would find herself a decent, upstanding boyfriend, like she hadn’t spent her entire childhood until the last year stuck in an array of all girls’ boarding schools across the great United States.

With the pros of the cabin weighed out by the con of their family, it came to be that on Christmas Eve the brother and sister sat amongst the slow-moving traffic on some interstate between the Colorado ski lodge and home, in sunny California, already ten hours into their drive.

“I still can’t believe… Dad is going to kill us, you know?” Alex said, swaying along to the song playing softly from the beaten up car’s stereo, his knees pulls up to his chest thanks to the bags that sat in the footwell. The car was overflowing, a mixture of luggage and gifts for those waiting on the other side of the sunshine state’s border.

Whatever snow adorned the old red car roof had been melted away the closer they got to the coast, the driver more and more grateful with every slow passing mile that she had saved up to buy her own mode of transportation. She hadn’t followed in her older brother’s footsteps of taking dad up on the offer of a car: the high-tech monstrosity Alex drove around Los Angeles was the sort of car that would be shut down remotely if stolen: Y/N’s car could barely get a radio signal.

“Dad will kill me; he needs you to complete some masterplan. Wanna theorise about what private institution he’ll send me to next?” Y/N asked with a smile to her older brother, the pair sharing a laugh in the glow of red brake lights.

Their relationship had always been easy: Alex was his little sister’s best friend, and he hers. Whether that was because money led to lonely children, or because they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company beyond their sibling obligations, the pair didn’t bother to find out. They were close, and that was what mattered to them.

“He’s running out of them now, you know. How many was it before you convinced him Los Felix was the answer to all your problems?” Alex asked with a raised eyebrow and smirk, leaning an elbow on the central divider of the tiny car, avoiding the sharp edge of a ski blade to tease his sister with a knowing look. “Was it seventeen or-”

“Twenty-four… I made a point to average it out to one every four months or so. Keeps mom and dad on their toes, makes the disappointment even more apparent when I show up on the doorstep again.” Y/N cut in, correcting her brother, the blonde boy taking her free hand and squeezing it.

“At least we keep disappointing them together…” He offered as words of solace, their hands breaking apart upon the movement of traffic, red lights dimming as the cars began rolling forward at a steady pace. “Thank you, Smalls… For this whole thing.” The nickname he used so often rang in Y/N’s ears and made her smile.

Her brother meant the words, she knew it: he had pleaded with their parents before they left to stay in California, with Reggie or Julie or Luke, but the mention of his bandmates had ended the conversation and turned it into their dad reprimanding Alex for his ‘fanciful’ mindset. The drummer never stood a chance against the united front that was their parents: they knew he wanted to stay for Willie, of course he did: the two had been planning their Christmas vacation together since Halloween, dates to the ice rink at Santa Monica Mall, to the university for lectures, to the movies to catch old Christmas movies on the silver screen. Half the reason their parents had forced Aspen onto the kids once again was because Alex had found his person, and Willie found Alex, and Mr and Mrs Mercer would do a fair amount to convince the general public, themselves, and Alex that he wasn’t gay.

The other half was because Y/N was pretty sure she had found her person too.

“Don’t sweat it, Alex.” She shrugged, moving up a gear as the traffic finally began to move towards an expected speed for the freeway. “Hearing mom and dad shout at us once they sober up enough to realise we’re gone? Priceless.” She let a regular smirk rest on her lips, indicating to take the upcoming turnoff, hopeful she might hit easy driving instead of the stop and start. The sun was setting before them, the sky painted shades of yellow and orange and pink and purple into the deep blue of the encroaching night, despite the time on her car dashboard only reading 16:42. It would be gone within the next few minutes, and the driver switched on her headlights in response.

“Alexander Washington Mercer! How dare you defy me in such a way: you know better than to follow your little sister so blindly!” Alex yelled into the cramped space, impersonating their father with the gruff voice the man in question used, like he constantly had a cough in his throat he couldn’t dislodge.

“Y/N Y/M/N Mercer! I expected better from a young lady of your fine standing! How are we meant to find you a good husband if you run off with your brother like you haven’t a care in the world?” IT was Y/N’s turn to impersonate a parent: the shrill shriek of their mother, Y/N raising a hand a messing with the locket around her neck the same way their mother fiddled with her pearls when she was distressed. The two shared a look through their chuckles.

“It’s just a phase!” They said in chorus, the line their parents most often used in arguments against either of the pair. The laughter died away with the words, both letting out a soft, melancholic sighs, and falling into a comfortable silence. They were just skirting the outside of Las Vegas, Nevada, with at least another six hours of driving left by the state of the road, Y/N joining the back of another queue of cars all headed somewhere.

“Driving home for Christmas. Oh, I can't wait to see those faces, I'm driving home for Christmas, yea. Well I'm moving down that line. And it's been so long, but I will be there. I sing this song to pass the time away. Driving in my car, driving home for Christmas…” Alex turned the volume dial, letting the song play out, beginning to sway along to the radio once again, humming a harmony line over Chris Rea’s raspy lyrics.

Y/N always like that: that her big brother was so musical. She had spent so long away form him, at every other boarding school in the country, she forgot how talented Alex was sometimes. IT was only getting to see him and his band perform the year before that she really clicked to her brother’s undeniable star power, and that ability was shared amongst his friends. But it wasn’t just his talent that made Y/N happy, but that fact that she never saw her brother happier than when he was performing with his ‘other’ family.

In truth, they were hers too… One of them was why she was racing home so eagerly, why she had masterminded the entire escape for her and Alex. Neither of them would have been able to survive another minute with the monsters they unfortunately call relatives.

By the time they had passed Las Vegas and were closing in on the California border, the dashboard read 19.53. The countless games of ‘eye-spy’ and ‘would you rather’ grew old quickly, replaced for an hour by Alex reading out the pages of the closest book they could scavenge amongst the piles of presents and luggage, one of Y/N’s art textbooks. That then turned onto Alex recovering his drumsticks, tapping and singing along with the radio as Christmas song after Christmas song played.

“Smalls, what if we don’t make it?” Alex posed the question for the first time that night, and Y/N was honestly shocked it took her big brother so long to reach his usual state of worry. “What if we drove all this way and we don’t make it in time?”

“Relax, Alex, honestly… Look, we’ll get there when we get there. No-one even knows we’re coming, it’ll be fun, a surprise!” Y/N suggested, stopping herself for continuing to press down on her car horn, honking in anger at the dude who just cut in front of them. “Fucking asshole.” She muttered, looking back to her brother to be met with a face of surprise.

“How is it that I am always labelled the emotional one?” The question made Y/N smile, reaching over and patting on the blonde locks atop her brother’s head.

“Because rage isn’t emotion, it’s power.” Y/N quoted their dad again, putting on the gruff voice Alex had portrayed hours before, letting her neck roll and crack out air pockets once the words hung in the air. “With your little bandmates, it may not be true, but in this car? It most certainly is.” She reminded turning her eyes back to the road and putting the car back in gear to drive, following the car in front as the traffic began to move again.

“You know, I never thought church would be that fun! Is it always like that, or do they just ram up the wow factor for the holidays?” Reggie asked as he followed close on the footsteps of the Molina family, Luke to his right as he received glances from those surrounding him. “What?! I’m not exactly the person you’d expect to head on over to midnight mass every year, dude.” Reggie defended, Ray unlocking the front door of the house before turning around and placing a hand on the bassist’s shoulder.

“Well, we were glad to have you along with us, Reggie. Glad to have you for the holiday too, both of you, in fact.” Ray opened the statement to Luke, whose eyes darted up and were followed by a bright grin.

“Glad to be here, Mr Molina.” The guitarist responded with a dashing smile before rushing inside, his destination quite certainly the fridge, where Carlos was already searching for snacks before bed.

The Molina family had kept the tradition of midnight mass ever since Julie was little, a chance for some spiritual connection to the holiday season as well as familial. That year, with the Peters and Pattersons off on a Bahama cruise, Ray had welcomed Julie’s best friends and bandmates with open arms. The only thing that would have made it better was the Mercer kids.

It seemed to be why, while the boys all gravitated to chocolate chip cookies and warm milk before bed, Julie had idled over to the window, her eyes drifting out into the front yard, searching for someone who wasn’t going to show up.

“Mija…” Ray said softly, watching his daughter from across the room, a soft smile tracing his lips as she let out a yawn. “Mija, you should be going to sleep. Papá Noel won’t deliver his gifts if you stay awake all night staring out a window.”

“But dad…”

“I know it sucks, honey, but we’ll see them at New Years, right? And tomorrow we’ll have Flynn’s family and tía and Willie all over for food.” Ray reminded, and Julie let out a sigh, finally diverting her eyes from the window and up to her dad, his hand outstretched for her to take. She took it, and Ray lifted his daughter to her feet and into a hug. “I love you sweetie, now go get ready for bed. I have to round up your friends before they eat all the food in the house.”

With that, Julie gave up on the sliver of hop she had held for that night, shuffling up the stairs somewhat defeated. She knew it wouldn’t happen, in the back of her head she knew it wouldn’t happen, but she had really hoped Alex and Y/N would just show up, out of the blue, and surprise them all by spending Christmas back home, with them, with her. Of course, Mr and Mrs Mercer were far from nice people, far from unwealthy people: the idea of their kids spending Christmas at the Molinas was probably something they flat out refused to even think about.

It didn’t take long for Julie to get into her Christmas-themed pyjamas and brush her teeth, tying her hair into braids and tidying them back with a cap for the night: her night time routine was one she knew well, and was efficient in doing. Her makeup washed its way down the bathroom sink, her glasses perched themselves onto the slight dents the pads had carved into the sides of her nose, her blue monster slippers kept her feet warm as she shuffled back to her room and into her bed. She tried to focus on the better parts of the day: of making gingerbread houses and rehearsing Christmas songs with the guys, of putting up the final decorations on the tree in the living room while trying to avoid her father’s cries of anguish over another badly wrapped present from the other room.

But she couldn’t help but think about how much better it would have been had Alex been banging on his drumkit, how much happier he would have felt spending Christmas Eve with Y/N by her side…

The thought had Julie grabbing at her nearest pillow, squeezing it under crossed arms as she scrunched her eyes shut and willed sleep to come. At least if she slept, she wouldn’t be thinking about Alex and Y/N being trapped with their not-so-nice family in some snowed in cabin in some mid-west mountains, not consciously anyway.

tap.

A noise, one Julie excused as a creak of the house floorboards or a falling branch from the tree outside, seemed to echo in her near silent room, save the girl’s breathing.

tap.

This time, Julie’s eyes darted open, though she refused to move. Two was a coincidence, there were plenty of explanations for two almost identical sounding taps spaced apart almost perfectly.

“JULIE!” A loud whisper sounded from outside the girl’s window.

Now, that wasn’t coincidence.

The girl jumped out of bed, rushing over to her window in a blur of sequined candy cane pyjamas, muddling with the latch on her window before opening it up wide to the chill of LA winter air, her eyes darting across the grounds below to find the source of the noise. A part of her wondered if she might be dreaming, if it might have all been the saddest and happy dreams because she’d wake up any moment and the sight would be gone.

But there they stood, Alex and Y/N, in her driveway, the latter’s car parked behind them and looking like it most certainly drove for nineteen hours straight.

“Dad!” Julie called back into the house, the smile on her face brighter than any of the Christmas lights Y/N had seen on their drive through the residential district. “Dad, we have some extra guests.” She finished, her calls waking Carlos, Luke and Reggie in the process of alerting Ray, the windows of the house suddenly lighting up and the household woke for good news.

With a final grin out the window, Julie disappeared from Y/N’s sight, to no doubt meet her and Alex by the front door, and the pit in her stomach Y/N had tried to ignore for the entire car journey from Colorado seemed to only get bigger, louder, more persistent, now they had finally arrived back in California, in LA, at the Molinas. She had initially pinned the feeling to adrenaline from disoberying her parents, from packing up her car and driving almost a full day to arrive three states west of her original destination.

Looking at the house’s front porch, a muddle of Christmas gifts in both her and her brother’s hands, Y/N came to the conclusion that the pit wasn’t because of leaving Aspen: it was because of arriving in LA.

“I’m not going to ask how you made it or why you are here, but we are happy to see you all the same.” Ray’s kindly tone and words brought Y/N from her thoughts, blinking away the haze to find the door now open, Alex, Reggie and Luke in a tight embrace with presents scattered over the driveway, and Ray standing in front of her with Carlos by his side. “I would suggest one of you text your parents’ that you are safe though.” He added with a chuckle, opening his arms for Y/N to rush into, the pair embracing in a tight hug.

“Nice to be home, Mr Molina.” She replied with a smile as the pair broke apart, only for Alex to take the next slot of hugging Julie’s literal, and the four other teens’ figurative, dad.

“I made up the spare room just in case, you know. Julie’s request.” Ray added, gesturing with a thumb back to the front door, forcing Y/N’s eyes to follow.

She was so beautiful, every time Y/N saw Julie Molina her breath escaped her body, her limbs became heavy, her mind fogged: her heart began beating at a pace too fast for her body and her lips lost any real words.

“I thought you’d be in Aspen until the day after Boxing Day.” Julie said with a shy smile, the five guys in the front yard glancing amongst themselves before Carlos cleared his throat.

“I think we should put the presents under the tree!” The ten year old declared, scooping up some of Alex’s dropped gifts and marching inside, prompting Ray and Luke to do the same. Alex rans back to the car, retrieving the last straggler gifts from the car’s back seat while Reggie relieved Y/N of the stacks of presents in her own hands, save one. The two teens shared a smile, Reggie going the extra mile to pass on a wink of good luck to the younger Mercer before the bassist and drummer both disappeared into the house, leaving Julie and Y/N alone.

“I uh, I made a decision… A decision to kidnap my brother and drive a day across country.” Y/N managed to get the words out without too much difficulty, trying to get over the cotton mouth she was experiencing. “Because I didn’t want to spend the holidays without the people I love most.” She added, finally reconnecting her leg movements to her brain and walking across the driveway to meet Julie at the foot of the porch steps.

“Without the people you love most?” Julie questioned, taking a step closer, the girls standing toe to toe, Julie looking up at Y/N with doe eyes that could melt diamonds.

“Without the girl I love most.” Y/N corrected herself, tucking the small gift box she held into her back pocket. The words were seemingly sufficient enough in hello, as Julie launched herself onto her girlfriend, their lips crashing together in sweet harmony for the first time in weeks, thanks to the Mercer parents.

Y/N’s hands cupped Julie’s face as they shared in the sweet, intimate moment, Julie’s hands pulling Y/N closer by her t-shirt. Their lips colliding was the action required to dissipate that pit in Y/N’s stomach completely, her senses in overdrive finally being close to her girlfriend again. The smell of Julie’s perfume, the minty taste of toothpaste still on her lips, her glasses brushing against Y/N’s cheek. For Julie, it was much the same experience: the kiss made her head spin, overcome by the smell of Y/N’s car air freshener and the taste of red vines on her lips.

The pair broke apart after a few moments, their foreheads pressing together as peaceful silence washed over them, the cool breeze counteracted by the red heat that had risen to both girls’ cheeks.

“I wouldn’t want to spend Christmas with anyone else.” Y/N breathed out softly, one hand taking Julie’s in hers, the other retrieving the gift from her back pocket. “Mostly because I missed you like crazy, partly because I wanted to give you this.” She explained, the girl before her grinning and taking the gift box offered with bubbling excitement.

“Can I open it now?” Julie asked, and Y/N glanced at the watch on her wrist.

“I mean, it’s technically Christmas so…” Y/N giggled when Julie let out a shout of joy, pulling off the ribbon holding the box shut and shimmy-ing the lid off, to reveal a small potion-looking bottle amongst tissue paper. Julie lifted it out of the box, a small key glinting in the porch light within the bottled, caught in mid-air by invisible strings withing the decorative gift.

“It’s so beautiful… What is it?” Julie asked, pure curiosity in her words as she looked at the bottle in wonder. In response, Y/N pulled her locket out from beneath her shirt, gesturing to a small keyhole on the front Julie had never noticed adorning one of the girl’s most essential items before.

“That, Miss Molina.” Y/N started, grinning from ear to ear, exuding a shaky confidence that seemed like it might falter at any second. “That is the key to my heart.”

“Y/N…”

“I love you Julie.” They had never said it so directly before, ever. They always skirted round the actual words, always knew what the other meant without need for clarification. But under the porch light of the Molina residence, unaware of Alex, the guys, Ray and Carlos watching from the living room window, after having driven through so much traffic just to try and get to her on time for Christmas, and with Julie standing there in her festive pyjamas and blue fuzzy slippers and looking at her like that, Y/N had never felt more sure of something in her life.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Julie promised, pulling her girlfriend close again, the kiss shared this time chaste, though no less sweet.

“Merry Christmas, Molina.”

“Merry Christmas, Mercer.”

Tags (some people I think might like this festive nonsense): @reggiesleatherjacket @parkeret @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @delicatelukepatterson @lukespatterson @kcd15 @siennanoelle01 @eries45 @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @reggieandthereggies @writerinlearning @mjflower @uhmitstori @walkingonshunshine @kristencoontz @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @ritz-hell-hotel @mishappend @dovegranger @dmcfarland1 @cherrymaybank @oswinsleaf @only-here-for-jatp @jatpfan99 @n0wornever @bookdealer5

Twelve Days Of Christmas: 2/12 will be released in 24 hours! Who will our story focus on? Can you guess? I’ll give you a hint: we’ll be going back to 1990s...

#abby's twelve days of christmas #julie molina x reader #julie x reader #brother!alex x reader #julie and the phantoms #willex #jatp #alex mercer #reggie peters #luke patterson #jatp fanfic #fluff

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write4tomorrow · 4 years

Text

Weakness

Word Count: 3366

Pairing: Sith!Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Master Kenobi fell from the Jedi order many years ago, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t kept close tabs on the jedi order since. As Darth Dominus, he has recently discovered that he is part of a Force Dyad… with a jedi. How will he bring her to his side?

Genre: Angst / Fluff

A/N: This is part two to this one shot I wrote, but can be read as just a one shot. Also, in this universe, Count Dooku has two apprentices.

The only light in the dark conference room came from the blue hologram in Darth Dominus’ palm. He watched as the Jedi knight moved faster than he had seen any Jedi ever move. With two lightsabers, the wielder must be incredibly in tune with their surroundings and the force to fight without also hurting themselves. They had to be really good. The Jedi in Dominus' palm wasn’t just good, she was a master.

Dominus scowled at his own thoughts. This girl was going to stop him from taking the republic for himself. He had seen it time and time again in his dreams and his meditations and the occasional vision. You were going to be his downfall. Your face plagued him like the lingering flavor of honey after a burning cup of coruscanti tea. So why couldn’t he stop staring at the hologram? Why couldn’t he bring himself to confront this inevitable downfall?

Because it wasn’t inevitable. For every vision he saw of you turning against him, he saw another dream of you in beautiful crimson robes with a pair of red sabers to match. For every vision he saw of you standing against him, he saw another of you standing by his side. This was his curse, to be half of a dyad.

He had been able to keep it well hidden. No one knew except you and him but that didn’t mean he liked it. How had he wound up the other half of a Jedi? His one weakness was you and he hated both you and himself for it. So why couldn’t he stop gazing at you on the hologram? Why couldn’t he stop himself from reaching out to you through the force? And why didn’t you ever respond?

“Oh, Kenobi. You really can’t stop yourself, can you?” Darth Maul had crept into the room without Dominus noticing. He knew that using his jedi name would rattle him but Maul was always trying to rattle him. If only Dominus had been more aware of his own surroundings. He cursed Maul’s unnaturally quiet robotic legs and tried to deactivate the hologram. However, Maul used the force to pull the moving image of you out of Dominus’ grip.

“She’s good,” Maul teased, “do you think she moves those hips like that when-”

In a flash Dominus had ignited his lightsaber and sliced the hologram peice in half, narrowly missing Maul’s hand. Unfazed, Darth Maul raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst.

“You’re distracted, and Tyrannus can tell.” At Maul’s words, Dominus’ face paled in the dark room. His saber was still drawn and he thought about taking his anger out on Maul. Instead, he tucked his saber back into his dark robe and ran a hand over his beard to calm himself.

“I will speak with Tyrannus. Don’t worry about her,” Dominus tried to push past Maul to leave the room, but Maul stepped in his way.

“Oh he knows about y/n,” Maul smiled as he said your name, “in fact, I came to tell you that he’s on his way to deal with her now.” Maul laughed as Dominus’s face lost all remaining color and the former Jedi left the room in a sprint.

*******************************

Reconnaissance missions weren’t your specialty, but you always enjoyed stepping into an undercover role. You were attending a separatist gala as a senator’s liaison. The actual senator was still on his ship, a few miles above the planet’s atmosphere, dealing with a pesky cusom’s agent by the name of Anakin Skywalker. Ahsoka Tano had accompanied you to the gala in the hopes that two listening ears were better than just one.

You hadn’t seen her in a few hours though and were beginning to worry. With your best smile, you excused yourself from the conversation with one of the banking clan members.

“Ahsoka,” you hissed into your coms, “Where are you?” After a moment of static, you heard Anakin’s voice answer.

“Her com may have died,” Anakin sighed, “Besides, the lovely senator has decided to just go home so I don’t need to be up here anymore. I am going to come down to you guys and see if I can find her.”

“Thanks, Anakin,” you whispered, “let me know if you find anything.” You felt a little better knowing that Anakin was on his way to you. You hadn’t realized it, but something was making you tense. Something felt wrong.

You knew better than to ignore your intuition. If something felt wrong, something probably was wrong. You felt the weight of your sabers in the small purse around your shoulder. Protectively you used one hand to cover your purse and the other to grab your black skirt. Lifting your dress up just a little, you tried to quickly leave the room. Perhaps some air would help clear your head and you would be able to think of a plan.

“There you are.” You stopped short as a body stepped into your way. With a quick glance up, you recognized the man. You had never met before, but Anakin and Ahsoka had told you many stories about Count Dooku. This was the man that talked Obi-Wan Kenobi into joining the separatists and the Sith. If Count Dooku was here, was Obi-Wan close as well?

“I’m sorry, sir,” you feigned politeness, “I don’t think I know-”

“Don’t play dumb, girl,” Dooku countered, “besides, if you don’t know me, perhaps you know her?” Dooku pulled out a small screen from his pocket and showed an image of Ahsoka. Your heart sank. Ahsoka was bound by some of the heaviest handcuffs you’d ever seen. Two separatists droids were keeping her on her knees.

“Take my arm and smile,” Dooku grinned as he spoke, “it’s an honor to finally meet you, y/n.” Without seeing another good option, you allowed yourself to be led out of the room. You hoped that Anakin would get here soon.

Dooku didn’t speak while he led you away. As you walked, he wordlessly took the small bag from around your shoulders and tucked your lightsabers into his own jacket pocket. You tried to think of a good way out of your current situation, but the walk was over before you could think of anything.

After a few short turns down increasingly reclusive hallways, Dooku pulled you into a storage room near one of the building’s exits. Upon seeing Ahsoka, you tried to move toward her, but Dooku pulled you back.

“Tell us what you want, Dooku,” you tried to keep your voice calm, “so we can all be on our way.”

“There is nothing you can do that I want,” Dooku said with a shrug. His eyes watched you for a reaction and you could tell he was expecting you to do something.

“Everybody wants something,” you returned, “and you’re talking to the best negotiator in the Jedi Order.” You did your best to match Dooku’s calm demeanor. He only smiled back at you.

“I’ve heard of your reputation as both negotiator and battle strategist,” Dooku glanced at Ahsoka, “but you’re going to have to do more than talk your way out of this one, dear Jedi.”

“Give me my sabers, dear captor,” you offered, “and we can exchange more than words.” Dooku laughed and drew himself up to his fullest height.

“Clever girl with a silver tongue, no wonder he likes you.” At Dooku’s words, you froze. Was he talking about… no. You pushed the thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi from your mind. That man - that Sith - took up too much of your time already. Sometimes it felt like you couldn’t get him out of your head, no matter how hard you tried. Even when you slept or mediated, you saw visions of him.

Even now, there was a nagging pull in your mind that usually meant he was trying to reach you. You closed your eyes, trying to push the feeling away.

“My ship will be here soon,” Dooku continued, “and you will board it with me or Ahsoka will die in this room.” You looked down at Anakin’s apprentice and could feel the fear well up inside of her. There was defiance too and you smiled as Ahsoka shook her head. She was brave and you adored her for it.

Please, please listen to me, You heard the familiar voice in your mind. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi and, just like you had time and time again, you tried to ignore him. Still, you felt him push harder than he ever had before.

Dooku is coming for you, y/n, Obi-Wan warned.

Dooku has me. You answered without keeping the mirth from your voice. There was a pause from Obi-Wan. Perhaps it was his shock that you had answered him at all. After all, you had done your best to stay radio silent over the past several months. But now you were straining to keep his presence at bay and you could feel both Ahsoka and Dooku looking at you. You tried to fake a smile but you felt Obi-Wan pushing his way into your mind.

I’m almost there, he said, be ready. He didn’t need to say more. You could feel him becoming stronger, closer. And you knew he meant to do something brash.

“When do we leave?” You asked Dooku.

“Y/n,” Ahsoka pleaded, “don’t do this.” Dooku nodded at the droid who took that as a signal to bring the end of a blaster down on Ahsoka’s head hard enough to make her cry out. You tried to push towards the padowan again, but Dooku pulled out his red saber and leveled it at your chest.

“We leave now,” Dooku glared at you as you thought about retaliating. Quietly, you made your way out of the room, closely followed by the Sith Lord. His saber was no longer ignited but he kept it in his hand as an idol threat. You gave Ahsoka one last look before he closed the door on her and the two droids.

“Follow me,” Dooku gestured toward the end of the hallway but you froze in your tracks. Standing in gorgeously dark robes at the end of the hall was none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi. You felt an overwhelming wave of something hopeful fill your chest. You wanted to run away from the Sith and you wanted to sprint toward him.

Dooku seemed just as surprised as you felt. But in his surprise, you realized that this was your opportunity to act. Using the force, you pushed Dooku back against the wall and felt your lightsabers in his blazer pocket. But you also felt Ahsoka’s. You couldn’t grab all four sabers and you didn’t have time to think about it.

Dooku pushed you away from himself but you were faster than him. You dashed back to the room that Ahsoka was in. You threw open the door and used her saber to cut the restrains. You left her to free herself and hurried back to deal with the two Sith lords in the hallway.

To your horror, Obi-Wan was waiting for you. He angrily launched a flurry of strikes towards you. Is he here to save you or kill you? You didn’t have a chance to ask him. Without a weapon, you were playing defense and he was merciless in his attack.

Run, Obi-Wan’s voice rang in your head, you were supposed to run. Obi-Wan pushed you farther away from Dooku with his attacks. You understood then that Obi-Wan was trying to help you. Over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you saw that Ahsoka had escaped the droids and was running towards Dooku. Even if you wanted to run, you couldn’t leave Ahsoka. Not to mention, Dooku still had your sabers. You tried to get around Obi-Wan. You needed to find some way to help Ahsoka.

Obi-Wan pushed you around a corner, out of sight from Dooku and Ahsoka. You suddenly realized that he was steering you someplace.

“What are you doing?” You halted, hoping that the Sith lord before you wouldn’t strike you down. Just as you hoped, Obi-Wan turned his lightsaber off. But not even a breath later, he shoved you against the wall. Not with the force. No, with his bare hands, Obi-Wan held you in place against the wall. He spoke in shallow breaths that were somewhere between fury and desperation.

“Dooku will kill you,” He was so close his breath was mixing with your own. “If you don’t get out of here, he’ll… I’ll be forced to…”

“Why don’t you let me go, and I’ll just kill you both instead?” You tried to break Obi-Wan’s grip on you but he held strong.

“Stop joking around.” Obi pleaded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wear the right dress for surrendering.” You offered with an eye roll. Obi-Wan looked at your dress then and you saw the corners of his mouth turn up in the smallest smile.

“Darling, that dress fits you perfectly. Even if it didn’t, I’d find a million new dresses for you if you just come with me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes took a second to linger before looking back into your own.

“Obi-Wan-” you began, but he cut you off.

“Come with me, willingly. Come with me and I can tell Dooku that I will train you. You and I will rule the galaxy.” Obi-Wan’s voice was softer now, pleading.

“I can’t,” You began, but you wouldn’t let him know how much you wanted to, “I would rather be tortured as your Jedi captive than live as your pet.”

“There’s no way out of this! You come with us or- you have to come with me or I will have to kill you,” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked. You looked at his face and you could feel the turmoil in him.

“You don’t have to kill me-”

“I won’t let him hurt you!” Obi-Wan’s voice was strained and his words seemed to come out against his will, “I’ll kill you before I let him have you, y/n.”

“You don’t have to kill me, Obi-Wan.” your voice was just a whisper and something in Obi-Wan’s expression softened. This man in front of you seemed so desperate and you couldn’t tell why. Before he could say anything else, you heard Ahsoka cry out from the other hallway. You need to get to the padowan.

Obi-Wan seemed to sense your apprehension. He registered Ahsoka for the first time and released you. He cursed under his breath and turned his attention away from you for the briefest moment. He ran back into the alley with Dooku and Ahsoka with you close on his heels. You watched as he used the force to pick up the padawan and hurled her towards the hallway’s opposite exit. You took that as an opportunity to attack Obi-Wan. You didn’t want to harm him, but you needed to get out of here. You used the force to push Obi-Wan away from you in an attempt to clear an escape route. He fell to the side but before you could run, you felt an overwhelming pressure around your throat.

It was Dooku. Now that Ahsoka wasn’t here to distract him, he had turned his attention towards you and Obi-Wan. He tightened his invisible grip around your throat enough to make you gasp for air but not enough to fully suffocate you. You couldn’t help but admire how terribly effective it was.

“Darth Dominus,” Dooku strolled toward the pair of you, “I am surprised to see you here.” Obi-Wan rose to his feet and straightened his robes. He ran a hand through his golden hair.

“I heard you were going after Master y/n,” Obi-Wan said, “I wanted to help.” Obi-Wan looked over at you as you struggled to take in breath. His eyes were the best shade of gold and there was a warmth behind them that took your breath away more effectively than Dooku could imagine.

“Be mindful of your thoughts, Dominus,” Dooku chided. He turned to you and slowly pulled you off your feet. The pressure around your throat constricted too much. You saw spots in the air and blackness began to close in on your vision.

As he dropped you, the sound of Dooku laughing filled the hallway. Obi-Wan had dropped to a knee in front of his master. He must have said something to Dooku while you were fighting for breath.

“So it seems, my apprentice, you are half of a dyad.” Dooku gave Obi-Wan a dark smile, “I’ve suspected it for some time now. I hear you calling to her in the dark nights when you should be sleeping.” You and Obi-Wan exchanged looks, but it was too late. The secret was out.

“The two of you together will be the most powerful weapons in the whole galaxy,” Dooku kelt in front of you and grabbed your jaw. Obi-Wan quickly stood from his keeling position.

“Relax, my apprentice. I’ll have you both alive and whole. Together we will help Darth Sideous-” Dooku was cut off by a cry from the hallway. Obi-Wan, Dooku and you turned to see Anakin and Ahsoka standing at the other end of the hallway. You smiled from ear to ear and knew that this was your chance. Just as you had done earlier for Ahsoka’s sabers, you reached into Dooku’s jacket pocket and retrieved your lightsabers. You ignited both and began an attack on Dooku.

Anakin and Ahsoka rushed to your side. But Anakin froze as he locked eyes with Obi-Wan. The two men looked at one another. Master and apprentice was a bond that stayed with someone for life and you could see pain written on both of their faces.

Even though Anakin was distracted, you were able to push Dooku far enough against a wall to make a run towards the exit. Ahsoka ran after you and Anakin began to follow after a silent nod at his old master.

“Darth Dominus,” Dooku said loud enough for you to hear, “do you think she cares for you the same way you care for her?” Your blood turned to ice as you doubled back to see Dooku stand and turn on his apprentice.

Before you could do anything, Dooku used force lightning on Obi-Wan. His scream filled the hall ways and before you knew what you were doing, you were running back to help him. You didn’t make it far though. Both Ahsoka and Anakin grabbed you and dragged you back. They were probably talking to you but you couldn’t hear them. The only sound you could hear was Obi-Wan’s screams.

A weak voice pushed its way into your mind. Run was all it said. You knew Obi-Wan was telling you to go. You knew that Dooku was setting a trap, but you couldn’t just leave him. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t just leave.

It didn’t matter. Anakin and Ahsoka dragged you away before you could do anything else.

*******************************

“What were you thinking,” Ahsoka was astonished, “going back to help a sith lord?” You were aboard a small ship heading back to the Jedi temple. Anakin and Ahsoka had done a full medical test on you just to make sure you were okay before they began their own version of an interrogation. You barely had a chance to speak over the two.

“You almost- I mean, I miss Obi-Wan, but the man I knew is dead,” Anakin seemed almost angry, “And what did Count Dooku mean, ‘does she care for you’?”

“Do you know what a dyad in the force is?” you finally asked. Anakin immediately went quiet and Ahsoka gasped. Ah, so they did know.

“You’re not- no, no way,” Ahsoka said in a hushed voice. She didn’t believe it and to be honest, you didn’t want to believe it either. All you could do was nod. You had been able to keep it well hidden. No one knew except you and him but that didn’t mean you liked it. How had you wound up the other half of a Sith? His one weakness was you and yours was him. You could feel how much you hated him and yourself for it. So why couldn’t you stop thinking about him and wondering if he was okay? Why couldn’t he stop himself from reaching out to you through the force? And why couldn’t you ever bring yourself to respond?

“I need to tell the Council when we get back,” was all you said. Anakin and Ahsoka stayed silent, the weight of this news sitting heavily on their shoulders.

The faintest voice filled your mind then. You really did look good in that dress. For our next date, try blue.

Before you could stop yourself, you smiled. He was alive and he was okay. Well, okay enough to be snarky. And that was enough for you. You looked up and saw Anakin watching you.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” was all Anakin could say.

A/N: Hi! I really like Sith Obi-Wan. I’m tagging people who asked to be tagged and who also asked if there would be a follow up to my last fic. Sorry I didn’t answer you, but I figured a part two was better than an answer. Anyway, thank you for reading! @emmamikaelson95 @fandom-lover-4 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @good-night-starlight

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hentaimommi · 3 years

Text

ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜꜱ | ᴀʀᴍɪɴ ᴀʀʟᴇʀᴛ (x fem reader)

Summary: The "underground" ran gangs were no joke. It was all fun and games until Eren wanted coke.

Warnings: mentions of drug and alcohol use, smoking, violence, and death. seduction and smut

[A/N]: I'm not back but heres a draftt

unedited sorry for any mistakes xx

[N E R V O U S]

"Armin I'm serious, it'll be cool." Eren spoke calmly, discarding the rapper for his gum into the garbage. Armin twisted his thumbs together, tapping his foot. Eren had asked him to retrieve some so called 'package' from his dealer. He wasn't forcing it upon him, rather, calling in a favor. His reasoning had been 'I'll be busy with Mikasa.' Yet neither of them disclosed exactly why they'd be busy. Armin had never been the the underground part of the Shiganshina city. All he knew was it wasn't actually underground.

"I can do it, I guess." He sat back, crossing his legs. Eren smiled, opening the black drawer up below the table. Within it was illegal substances along with stacks of cash. Armin peaked over the edge, peering into it. The white of Eren's palm clasped over a band, sitting it onto the glass that had been separating both of them. "Just give him the band and take the package. In and out." The blonde swallowed dryly, reaching across the table. The stack was heavy, easily one thousand dollars. "Leave now and be back by eleven. If you run into trouble, call me."

His slender figure stood, nimble and sweaty fingers caressing through his blonde locks. Eren gave him a nod of confirmation as he began walking toward the door. His brain ran a million miles a second. He could die, or worse, get caught. The black sneakers he had on squeaked the marble floor as he exited the apartment building. The streets were slightly coated with fog, a byproduct of the earlier rain. Sweat began beading up on the back of his neck. He'd never broken a law; not a serious one anyways. Sure, he'd manipulated rules and broken them too. Yet, never this.

The car drive was long, music slowly blasting through the radio of his new BMW. Armin prioritized self establishment, meaning he had worked for and bought the car himself. It was his prized position; now running the streets of the underground. Pedestrians turned their heads to him, often seeing mothers chasing after their children who were out to play in the puddles. He almost felt bad for the people who lived here. As he drove on, though, the bar sign he was meant to go into flashed brightly.

"OPEN FOR BUSINESS"

All he wanted to do was turn around. Eren was his best friend, but he'd surely understand why. Even so, he got up and out of the jet black vehicle. His shoes made loud thunks against the puddles, making him cringe. Swiftly he pocketed his keys and walked toward the bar. Upon entering, the smell of Tito's and cigars singed his nose hairs. He xhexked his pocket once more for the band, finding it safely resting in the polyester.

His ocean blue eyes peeked every corner of the bar until finding what Eren had described when offering this job to him. A person in a coat, hat, and sunglasses. How cliche. The bar tender was sure to notice this, although he didn't believe they would care much. His footsteps were heavy walking over to the person, each drop of sweat being heavier than the last. "H-Hello, are you, uh-" He checked the paper once more to clarify the name, "Snake?"

"I am." A cool, yet high pitched voice swallowed him whole. He watched as you removed your coat, hat, and sunglasses. The turtle neck you had on perfectly covered how obviously large your chest was, him hoping you didn't notice how he had looked. You tapped the cigarette out on the ash trey side, then picked up your half glass of liquor. "So, you're Eren?" You asked, taking a sip of the drink. It burned, but you wouldn't let it show.

"No, uh, I'm his friend. A-Armin. He sent me." His nails scratched at the table finish, making you raise an eyebrow. It was obvious this man was here against his will, perhaps called in on a favor. You felt bad, he wasn't in his element. "I'm (F/N), most call me snake on account of my tattoo. How did you end up here, if I may ask?" He shifted, crossing his legs. "Eren called me in on a favor for him. I've never really done this before, b-but you seem..nice." He could feel the goosebumps racing. Your eyes were piercing, hair perfectly elotted out in front of your beautiful face. You spoke so cool, so calm, like you new everyone was afraid.

"Well Armin, I'll give you a little run down. I'm the leader of a gang around here called Rose. I've cheated, lied, stolen..killed," He shivered, but watched your beautiful orbs travel from the room back to him. "I have a soft spot for people like you; perhaps you in general, you're so..innocent. It's almost enticing how I can smell it on you." A large gulp could be heard, he hadn't expected you to take such a liking to him so quickly. Not a woman like you.

"I-Is that good?" You smiled, chuckling and sitting your empty glass back down hard enough to make him jump. "It's fantastic. Hand the band over." Shakily he did as you told, pulling the thick wad from his pocket and pushing it across the table. You smiled, racking your fingers through the green. Then, you slid the opposing package over to him. "Pure cut ivory, the rich snort this shit. Be safe with it, will yon?" He blushed a bit, then nodding. "Good boy, huh? It's getting dark, would you want me to drive?" He was a little shocked my your question, realizing the brown bag was still out on the counter. He then shoved it into his pocket, replacing the band.

"How would you get home?" He asked, worried. "Honestly I'll just have one of my men come pick me up, no biggie. Wouldn't wanna leave a piece like you out in the cold how would we?" You stood, throwing down a twenty for the waitress. Dusting yourself off, you gave a hand to Armin. He still wasn't sure about you driving, he had only just met you. Your passive comments of attraction gave him comfort, though. He followed you outside as you waved goodbye to the few patrons who still resided in the bar.

"So, which is yours?" You asked, hand referencing the large parking lot. "The black BMW." He answered with a sense of ego, proud of his buy. You smiled. "Sweet, let's go." He gave you the keys, watching carefully as you started the car and pulled out. You seemed to know the streets well as you drove back to the city. He gave you small winded ins on how to get to his place. As you all pulled in, he watched your thighs rub the leather of his seat from your black pencil skirt riding up.

"We're here. I'll call Levi to c-" "NO, no, please come in for a moment. If you wish." Armin blurted aloud, cursing himself for being so forward. You chuckled, taking the keys from the ignition. He guessed you had wanted to when you opened your door, then his door. "Take me home, cutie." He nodded, hands beginning to sweat in pockets. You followed him diligently to his apartment, where he unlocked the door. The place smelled of cinnamon, eyes locking on the gorgeous set up of his place.

It was color coded black and marble, along. with white and brown. It looked expensive and large, too. "You can uh, sit your coat on the rack. I'll make drinks." He sat his own coat on the couch, headed over to the bar. You hung your coat up, trickling your way through the corridor and into the living room. A large flat screen was held above a fire place, two white couches facing the set up. You sat down softly, taking off your shoes and putting them next to the couch arm. "You must bring a lot of women here." You watched as he brought the drinks over, sitting them onto matching coasters. Armin chuckled softly, sitting next to you.

"I've never brought a woman home. I guess I'm not much of a womanizer." He scratched the back of his neck, watching as you picked up the glass. The rim stained with your burgundy lipstick, your tongue seductively wiping away the liquid from your lips. "I beg to differ." He could feel himself getting hard; from the moment you all met to now, you'd been complimenting him. He felt a connection to you, finally taking his chance to make love to someone. Although he had never, he wished it be special, and perhaps this would be.

"I've never met anyone like you, (F/N). I don't even know your last name and yet, you're so enchanting. Forgive me for thinking out loud." He took a sip, sitting the glass back down. "No, it's quite alright. I feel the same for you.." Your hand caressed his leg, trailing up his thigh. He watched, peaking to your thighs which were exposed again. Instantly he became hard, his cock pushing against his pants, begging for you.

In what seemed like an instant, he passionately grabs your face, kissing you softly. His lips were firm, obviously virgin. You held onto his hands with one of your own, the other entangled into his hair. His kiss only became more mature; deeper, if you would. Begging wordlessly. The heat between your legs grew while his cold hand slid up your thigh, contrasting the warm that had been growing for what felt like an lifetime. "I want you." He breathed, hand looping into your hair. "I want you so bad." You smiled, his head softly resting onto your heaving chest. "(F/N) (L/N). You can have me." "Armin Arlert."

After moments of hefty kissing and teasing, you all were back in his bedroom. Dimly lit as all rooms were, he watched your beautiful figure contort in the dark. You sat naked right above his cock, pulsating, precum beading. "Tell me Armin, do you like how I look?" You asked, pushing your clit onto his cock tip. He tensed, grabbing your hips. "I-I do." A sadistic smile returned to your face. "Fucking slut."

He relished the name you'd called him while you sat onto his hardness, hips rolling around. You were so tight, and had such a pretty pussy. He wanted to taste you, perhaps another time. Your body lifted up and down, fucking his cock so hard he felt as if he'd pass out. The snake tattoo you were known fro trailed from your thigh to your stomach, taking up half of the beautiful skin that resided there.

"Your tits are so god damn sexy." His hand pressed agaisnt the plush of your breast, softly caressing your nipple. The aftercare of sex was so beautiful; he'd came inside, but you'd let him rest onto you. He needed it. "You're god damn sexy." You responded as he nuzzled into your arm. "We need to get that coke to Eren, don't forget." You reminded.

"Eren can wait."

#armin x reader #armin smut #armin shingeki no kyojin #gang au #armin arlert #armin aot

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grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

Compartmentalization

Ada Wong tries to keep her work as a mercenary far fro her private life--and very, very far away from her secret girlfriend, Claire Redfield. Her clients don't know about Claire, Claire doesn't know about her clients, and Ada likes it that way.

Raccoon City blows that all to hell.

Or: Resident evil 2 if Ada and Claire were girlfriends before the game started.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, guns, blood, death, spoilers.

AO3.

“You,” Ada tells the zombie lurching after her, “are ruining my date.”

The zombie gurgles on its own blood and Ada dispatches it with minimal disgusted grunting. To be fair, he isn’t actually interrupting her date--that honor goes to the mission as a whole. Damn it, but she’d promised she’d take Claire out on a road trip to celebrate her finishing her final exams this year. Well, Ada would let Claire take her on a road trip, because Ada Wong did not do long sweaty hours stuck in a car in traffic with nothing to do. Long sweaty hours stuck to Claire on the back of her girlfriend’s bike? Now that Ada could do.

But she isn’t doing that, and it is entirely her client’s fault. “ Capitalism ,” Ada spits, echoing Claire’s voice in her head. Against her better judgement, she feels the corners of her mouth lift. Smiling about a girl even when she’s alone? God, she’s hopeless. “Get a grip , Wong. That sample has to be around here somewhere.”

“You’re FBI?”

“Yes,” Ada snaps testily, folding her fake badge up and slipping it back into her coat pocket. “And you're interrupting a private investigation.”

The cop frowns, eyes darting to the dog’s body on the concrete two feet from his face and the blood spatters on the walls. Any second now, another dead body might smash its way through another wall and be upon them. His thoughts are written clear across his face-- there’s a few better things for them to worry about than an investigation.

The guy is a rookie, through and through. His face is open and unlined. While he’s healthy and unscathed, he’s also obviously awkward in such a life-threatening situation. He’s never done this before, never brushed with death on the daily. He looks like a kicked puppy. Ada’s almost tempted to put him down right here and now, just to save him the pain and herself the trouble.

Claire would be pissed if she ever found out. Not that she would, but still. She’d want to know the cop’s name and where he’s from and how he got here. Claire would want to help him.

(Claire was never supposed to factor into Ada’s decision making. She was supposed to be a fling, someone to take the edge off and help Ada destress a little between missions. She wasn’t supposed to wriggle her way into Ada’s head, wasn’t supposed to slip through the chinks of Ada’s armor, and yet, here Claire is. She's with Ada without even being present. Claire is somehow essential for Ada to continue living. Love, Ada thinks, is a bitch .)

“Right,” Ada grumbles, and pulls her sunglasses off. He seems more comfortable when he can see her eyes, even if Ada rolls them as he releases the tension from his shoulders. “We’d better work together here.”

“This isn’t a game!” Ada snaps. Leon bristles but subsides.

“I know, alright? There were so many more of us--survivors--before, and now…”

His eyes are far away and Ada snorts. “Don’t worry, Rookie, I’m sure whatever little girlfriend you have got the hell out of town. Which is what you should be doing.”

His mouth falls open but he doesn’t look like he’s on the brink of tears anymore, so Ada considers it a win. Hysterics are the last thing she needs right now. No, what Ada needs right now is a goddamn breakthrough with this mission if she wants to go home in one piece. “She’s not my--”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. You know that’s twice I’ve saved your ass now?”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

“We need to terminate her before she turns.”

The words taste like ash in her mouth. Leon shifts anxiously beside her. Ada feels bile rise in her throat. She used to be able to hold her gun up without her trigger finger trembling.

(What would Ada do if it were the one person she cares about half-dead and turning?)

“Ada...Leave them be,” Leon murmurs.

She lowers the gun and resolutely does not think about Claire's skin going grey.

If she gets out of this, Ada Wong is going to absolutely tear her client apart for sending her into this mess. No sample is worth listening to Leon drone on about all the people he’s worried about.

“What about you?” Leon looks up from rummaging through a safe box for ammunition. Ada hums, tapping at the keyboard in front of her. They seem to be just above the Umbrella building she needs to get into; if they call the tram, they should be down there in just a few minutes. “Do you have anyone you’re here for?”

“No.” Thank God. Claire is still back on the coast, waiting in her dorm room for Ada to come back from her “last minute work trip.” She’d promised Ada she would wait for her to come back before starting her road trip, so they could go together. Ada’s been hoping to get some of her own research done before she gets back to Claire anyway; something about Claire’s brother disappearing into radio silence in this very city rubs her very much the wrong way. Claire could be walking straight into a trap. So yeah, maybe there was an ulterior motive for Ada taking this mission, if only to scout ahead and save her girlfriend the trouble of getting herself killed by the dead.

Good thing she has Ada to look after her.

“Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess. No family? Friends?”

“I’m here for the mission, Leon.”

Ada’d almost left him for dead many times; what good would he do her? Leon’s been an unexpected boon in the city, but he’ll run out of usefulness eventually. They all do. (But Claire would like him. He’s got the same fire. Ada settles for muttering darkly to herself about how soft she’s becoming for one redhead with a temper.)

“Yeah,” he concedes glumly. Damn it, it looks like the tram is manually operated; they’ll have to get down to the platform to power it up; Ada can’t call it to them from here. She’s so busy fuming she almost misses his next comment. “Still, there are innocent people in this city who are going to need our help to get out of this mess. Like the girl I came here with. I hope she’s found her brother…”

What? No.

No, it can’t be. There are so many people living--or undead, now--in Raccoon City. Claire is at college, a million miles away, and she’s smart. She wouldn’t come out to the middle of nowhere in the Midwest in the middle of the night after Ada asked her not to. She’s safe.

(She’s safe. She has to stay safe, because Claire is just about the only thing Ada has that isn’t part of her cover. She’s Ada’s . Ada’s to love, Ada’s to spoil, Ada’s to annoy, Ada’s to protect. She’s got to be safe.)

(But that doesn’t stop Ada’s blood from running cold. How many missing brothers can Raccoon City boast?)

Leon passes out from his wounds. The Claire voice in the back of her head won’t let Ada leave him to die; her stomach curdles at the thought of Claire finding out what she’s done, how ruthless Ada can really be. So Ada gives him her coat and resolves not to let herself think about how soft she’s getting until she’s curled up in the apartment no one but Claire knows about with a certain pretty redhead under her arm.

Ada ends up with a shard of scrap metal through her leg for going to the trouble of helping Leon.

Typical.

The rookie, to his credit, does come to save her. His face screws up when she gets up to limp her way to the tram with him but Ada shakes off his desperate attempts to help. She’s tired of this: she’s tired of being dirty and grimy, she’s tired of gunshots and blood spatter, she’s tired of not finishing her mission on time, and she’s tired of worrying about what Claire must be thinking right about now.

Claire isn’t even here!

(She’s tired of ignoring the increasingly loud thought that if Claire weren’t safe Ada would lose her mind.)

The tram is grey and drab and the most comfortable, safest place she’s been in since coming to this godforsaken city. Ada slumps gratefully into her seat and lets Leon fuss at her on the ride down. Her leg aches, pain radiating up the base of her spine and pulsing at the back of her skull. (What if the wound is infected-- )

Leon is still so young, a puppy dog through and through. It’s too easy to convince him to bring her the virus with a kiss.

(Thank God Claire isn’t here.)

(Her handler told her there’s another way to get the G-Virus if Leon can’t do the work for her, but even for Ada it’s distasteful. Sherry Birkin is as old as Emma was, and if she couldn’t pull the trigger when Emma was clearly dying, could she trust herself to do it when faced with a perfectly healthy little girl?)

Leon pulls a gun on her. Fantastic. Will this mission ever fucking end?

“Leon, please! We don’t have a lot of time--”

“As much as I wanted to trust you,” Leon snaps, scowling, “I didn’t.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ada mutters to herself. Leon’s eyes don’t widen when her gun raises to match his. The facility shakes around them and the walkway rumbles beneath their feet. Ada curses whatever possessed her to wear heels tonight.

“Hey!” A voice that sends ice through her veins shouts from behind the man Ada has lined up in her sights. Leon’s shoulders are too broad to glimpse around, but she must have heard wrong, it can’t be--

“Whoever you are, you’d better get moving, this place is about to blow!”

Not taking his eyes off of her, Leon turns his head. “Claire?”

“Wha--Leon?”

“ No. ” Ada whispers, numb.

“Claire, get out of here!”

Claire is here. Claire didn’t listen to her. Claire came to Raccoon City to find her brother. Claire isn’t safe. Claire is coming up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Leon, eyes wide and darting between the two of them.

Claire sees Ada.

“Ada?” Claire jolts forward before curling a hand around Leon’s uninjured shoulder. “Leon, don’t hurt her! I know her--”

“No you don’t.” Leon says. Something deep in Ada’s core is shivering. Her throat has locked up, the muscles there spasming. Her mind is blank. How can this be happening? Claire isn’t supposed to be here. She isn’t supposed to see Ada like this. She isn’t supposed to know . “You may think you know her, Claire, but she’s a liar. I bet you think she’s FBI, huh?”

“I…” There’s a clang and a small, childish squeak and Claire whirls around, throwing out her hand. Behind her, a blonde girl Ada only saw in photographs before dropping into the city huddles on the nearest platform. “S-stay back! We’ll--let us just sort this out and then we’ll get out of here.”

Of course. Claire wouldn’t have left without trying to save a kid. This stupid, reckless, noble woman. (Ada loves her so , so much, so much that it makes her sick.)

“She isn’t FBI.” Leon spits, his eyes sparking. Ada sneers at him as best she can while her world turns upside down. Her feet are frozen to the floor even as it rolls beneath them. “She’s a mercenary and a liar. She tried to trick me into giving her the G-Virus so she can sell it to the top bidder.”

“No, no, you’re--you’ve got to be wrong.” Claire turns and her eyes are so green and wide and Ada can feel her heart cracking in her chest. “Ada, tell him he’s wrong. You’re not--you’re here to help, right? You’re here to help me.”

“Yes,” Ada says, but it scraps at the lining of her throat on the way up, comes out mangled and false. She’s never been this bad a liar before. But she’s got to keep trying; she’s hanging onto a ledge by her fingertips and if Claire turns from her, if she goes away, Ada will have nothing left to hold on to. Nothing matters now, not the G-Virus or Leon and his gun or the mission or the city set to explode around them. Nothing matters but Claire’s green eyes staring uncertainly into her own. ”Yes, that's right, Claire. I--I had to cut work short and I was worried you’d gone ahead to Raccoon City without me--”

“That’s a lie! Claire, she’s never once mentioned you. She’s only been lying to you. She wasn’t on a work trip before she got here, she came here for the virus and nothing else. Did you tell Claire you were FBI too, Ada? Or did you save that one for me?”

“Claire, who are you going to believe?” Ada asks, desperation clawing at her veins. But Claire’s gaze has shifted to the blood drops Ada can feel flaking against the skin of her cheeks and chest, to the gun in her hands she’s holding too steadily not to be trained in firearms. Claire’s always been too smart for her own good. “Your girlfriend or some rookie cop who’s in too far over his head and snapped under the pressure?”

“Sure didn’t seem like you had a girlfriend when you kissed me.”

“Shut up!”

She can’t be losing her cool like this. It’s dangerous, and while Ada likes danger, it’s also stupid. An amatuer move. How has she fallen this far?

Claire reels back a step. “Wh--what?”

“It’s not what you think,” Ada switches tactics. Denial isn’t working. But if she can twist this back around on Leon, maybe Claire will listen to her long enough for Ada to get them out of here. She can call her extraction team and, provided she’s snagged the virus off of either Leon or Sherry, hold it for ransom so they’ll let her take Claire to safety too. She’s in a rush, though, and getting sloppier by the second. In moments they won’t have a walkway to stand on as the NEST tumbles down around them. “I just needed to get to you as fast as possible. I’d do anything for you Claire.” (She really, really would.) “Let’s--let’s just take Sherry and go. Leon can keep the virus, I only wanted to make sure it was destroyed to protect you, but he can keep it if I know you’re with me and safe. Come on, get Sherry and we can leave.”

She knows as soon as she stops talking, breath bated, that she’s said the wrong thing. Claire takes tone, two, three slow steps back. “I never told you Sherry’s name.” Claire says quietly.

Leon speaks then, chiming in with more incrimination and defamation and any other accusation he can hurl at Ada, but it doesn’t matter. Ada can see the light that’s gone out of Claire’s eyes, can see the poison spreading through her mind like black veins. She’s adding up the late nights, the strange bruises, the way Ada is squirrely about work, all the times she’s used kisses and sex as distraction on Claire before. Damn Kennedy and his big mouth. Ada never should have saved him.

The three of them waver there on the precipice. Ada’s gun does not lower and neither does Leon’s. Claire doesn’t blink, her eyes never leaving Ada's, her face crumpled and confused and war-torn. Ada stares back, holding her gaze as if through sheer force of will she can make all of this stop happening, as if she could smooth this all over if she just keeps looking into Claire's eyes. For a second, no one moves, no one speaks.

The NEST makes their choice for them, though, as it crumbles, blocks of concrete crashing into their walkway and the platforms beyond. Sherry screams. Claire is thrown against the railing and Ada’s gun spirals out of her hands as the metal below her begins to give way. Ada almost screams herself when the floor really does disappear and her feet meet open air. Only Leon’s quick reflexes stop her from falling.

Her heart breaks open, a hot wave of something too strong to be sadness and too sweet to be defeat when Claire stumbles away. The redhead looks back once, a long, lingering look that Ada feels all the way down to her bones. Claire hesitates; Ada sees her shifting on the balls of her feet, moving to take a single step back towards where Ada dangles from Leon's fingertips. For the first time in a long time, Ada isn't sure of what Claire is thinking.

Sherry screams again. Claire's mouth opens and even though Ada can't hear over shrieking metal and growing fires, the sob Claire lets out shakes her to her core. Then Claire bundles the little girl into her arms and turns from her.

Ada looks up at Leon, who sweats and shakes and holds onto her for dear life not even a second after threatening to kill her.

“Take care of Claire for me,” Ada tells him, and lets go.

Later, holding on to the rope ladder swinging from the extraction helicopter her client sent for her, Ada wonders how long she’ll have to wait before she meets Claire Redfield again. If Ada has it her way, it won’t be long.

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coffeebeannate · 4 years

Photo

From This Prompt List

“If a person is destined to have a soulmate in this life, they will find that one of their eyes has changed colour, reflecting the colour of their anticipated soulmate.

For this to occur, the two must be in close proximity to one another (most studies say no less than several miles, but others claim that there have been some variations), and that, upon meeting, the eyes will revert to normal.

In some legendary, and notable cases, the eye colours will remain heterochromatic for the rest of their lives.

Of course, keep in mind that these stories are not always the same, and not every couple has a soulmate status. And that there is nothing less valid about non-soulmate couples.”

“Nicky?”

Nicky looked up, hastily closing the cover over his tablet, “Ah, sorry, can I help you?”

“The computers broken, again.” His co-worker sounds the most interesting combination of annoyed and sheepish, “Do we have to call tech support?”

“No, no, let me take a look, it’s alright.” Standing up from the desk, “The one we use for catalogue searching?”

“What else?”

He sighs, muttering curses under his breath, “Thing is about as good as a piece of scrap metal, at this point.” Resigning himself to an afternoon tinkering with the world’s most stubborn library resource computer. “It’s alright, go back to work, I’ll let you know if it decides to behave.”

“Thanks, Nicky, call me if you need help.”

“Yeah, yeah no problem” Facing the not-ancient but absolutely useless desktop, “You going to behave, or do we have to fight?”

Predictably, the computer blinks at him, Nicky sighs again and settles before it.

---

It isn’t that Nicky hates his life. Because he doesn’t, and despite what people might think, he’s fairly content. Working full-time as the head librarian might seem like an outdated job, but Nicky’s only 32, and he likes to argue that libraries are a vital part of society. Upgraded as they are, and some facets available entirely online. Besides, he had a degree in the stuff, and plenty of practice.

Andy might’ve had a series of interesting names for his life. His small apartment, three cats, more books and tech than is strictly necessary for a single man to have, and a car that is really a ridiculous thing, but it runs and he loves it and maybe the radio doesn’t work and it has no AC and the heater is also dying, but it’s a good car and he happens to find it charming.

He’s fine.

He’s dated, some one night stands, but nothing sticks.

“Are you reading that book again?” Andy asks, when she catches the soulmates book opened up on his tablet for what is definitely not the 10th, 12th, let’s not talk about it time.

“I think it’s comforting,” Nicky retorts, catching her look of disbelief.

“You know that in most cases, that shit’s a load of crap, yeah? Quynh and I have been married for eight years, no issue. She’s my soulmate, magical eyeballs aside.”

“I know I know..I just think it’s sweet.”

Nicky does not tell her that, for the last six or seven months he’s been glued to the damned thing. Everything feels antsy. He’s not an anxious man at all. His life has never felt empty, nor hollow. And yet, a few months back everything started feeling weird. Like he just couldn’t settle. Bee’s beneath his skin. Ghosting sensations across his scalp. Tingles.

He’d casually mentioned it during his yearly physical, but the doctor determined nothing out of sorts physically, and Nicky had been delaying calling a psychiatrist.

“Maybe you just need a change of scenery.” Andy suggested, stirring too much sugar into her coffee. ‘Maybe your library is finally getting to you.”

Nicky had declined to respond, but filed it away in the back of his mind regardless.

The morning that it happens, Nicky is running late, and doesn’t bother to look in a mirror much beyond ‘brushing teeth and running a comb over hair” before heading into work.

They’re finally upgrading the useless front computer, and he has to let the techs inside. Meaning he’s supposed to be at work an hour before he’d usually be, fiddling with his keys and muttering apologies as he opens the door fifteen minutes after he was supposed to let them in. Offering to buy them coffee for the troubles.

He’s that sort, after all.

He stands in the early morning crowd rush at the cafe yawning and buzzing, body thrumming with tension he can’t pinpoint, nor understand. It’s ridiculous and by the time he stumbles his way through the unfamiliar order, he feels much like he’s about to explode from it all.

The techs are thankful for their coffees, at least, Nicky tries to do some work in his office, and by the time he finally takes a break from his unsatisfactory work, it’s nearly noon.

There, in the libraries Men’s Room, is when he finally notices it.

His left eye isn’t grey, or green, or blue.

(Or whatever true colour his eyes seem to think they are)

It’s dark brown. So dark Nicky can barely see any other colour to it beyond pupil.

He blinks. Splashes water across his face, scrubs his cheeks.

It’s still there.

He takes a selfie with his camera, and stares.

Still there.

It’s still there after work, and the next day, and the Friday when he meets Andy for their usual after work time at the bar, Andy staring at him.

“So it’s not a contact?”

“No, I don’t wear contacts, or glasses! You know that.”

“You think your flowery soulmate shits legit then?”

“What else could it possibly be, Andy?”

Andy studies her beer, for once, she has no answer.

---

It is an extremely boring Wednesday morning when Nicky scrolls through his emails and finds something that bothers him for absolutely no reason at all.

It’s from one of the other departments, and it’s about the national art show being hosted at their oh so esteemed library. Nicky’s library is a popular venue because the building is historic and has a nice receiving room.

That’s not what bothers Nicky. He looks forward to this show. And it’s the first time he’d be in charge of much of it since becoming head librarian some eight months back, but no, it’s the shows headline artist that is prickling at him for yet again, reasons he can’t discern.

Nicky scrolls past the necessary details, but keeps going back to the beginning.

Headline Artist: Mixed Mediums. Classics with a Twist. Yusuf al-Kaysani

Nicky saves the email.

Again, no reason at all.

“Do you think it means anything?” He asks Andy and Quynh while four beers in and sitting on their couch.

“Some artist’s name you’ve never even met or heard of?” Quynh snorts, ‘Yep, definitely cracked some universal secret code there Nicky.”

He sighs, “Hand me another..”

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe he’s being ridiculous.

“Sorry, are you uh,,Nicky..Genova?”

Yes, okay, that does sound odd. But to his credit! He was named Nicolò thank you very much. His mother had made some comment about classics, traditions, blah blah.

“Yeah! Sorry just let me-”

He’s at the top of a ladder, fiddling with a birds nest, of all things. The outside of the library (again historic building) attracted plenty of them.

“Take your time, I don’t usually yell at people on ladders, on principle and all.”

The voice is nice.

It’s the dumbest thought Nicky has had in his head in months.

“Good practice, that.” Finally gasping the nest, starting to climb down the ladder, “Okay!” When he’s returned to solid ground.

“So, what can I do for-”

Nicky, quite elegantly, forgets how to think. Or breathe. Or do anything appropriately life sustaining like that.

The man before him, nice voice man, his brain helpfully supplies. is..gorgeous. And see, Nicky has SEEN gorgeous men and is nicely partial to them. But this man is gorgeous, attractive and, most distractingly, has one blue-grey-green who actually knows eye, and one dark brown one.

And! Nicky notices, has completely lost his own ability to speak. The two of them seem to amend this moments later by pointing at each other’s face mostly rudely, stunned and confused.

Nicky seems to find intelligent language first, but only manages to say, “..Are you Yusuf al-Kaysani?”

The equally stunned gorgeous man confirms this, and Nicky is quite sure he either faints, or dies.

(He does neither of these things, thank you very much)

“..It’s nice to meet you, Nicky.” Yusuf says, finding actual intelligence far before Nicky does. Nicky just swallows.

Their eyes never reverse to their birth states.

Not at the first date.

Not at the proposal.

Nor the engagement party.

Or the wedding.

10 years later, Andy remarks that ‘the most romantic bastard she knows’ would indeed, find an even MORE romantic sap, and that they’d have the perfect book romance.

Joe’s cleaning out the closet one evening when he finds a well-worn paper back version of the novel that Nicky had read endlessly on his tablet all those years ago.

“Hey babe, you never told me you had a paper copy of this.”

“Hmm?” Nicky pokes his head out of the bathroom, “I do? Oh, yeah, it’s a bit worn out.”

Joe flips open the cover of it, peering down into the slightly musty paper, reading aloud and finding his way to join Nicky at the vanity.

“Before reading this book, we must advise and remind that soulmates in this manner are rare, and that there is little scientific study to show a truth. Please do not fret if you never fall into this concept.”

Nicky hums, accepting the arm to his waist, the familiar kiss to his cheek, ghosting along the side of his lips.

“Go on,” Nicky says, casually.

“You know this story, my heart.” Joe chuckles, but continues.

“This rare phenomenon has been observed throughout history..”

#the old guard #kaysanova #au #soulmates au #prompt fic #prompt fics #fanfic #fic #nate does writing #oops this got longer than i anticipated #old guard au #nilefreemans #bi-leigh-bi

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blouisparadise · 4 years

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Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry use drugs during the course of the fic. If you support our rec lists and want them to continue being made, please reblog this post and spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Lips Are Like The Galaxy’s Edge | Mature | 2365 words

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

2) Can You Feel The Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

3) Read You Like A Book | Explicit | 8089 words

Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He’ll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.

4) Put You On Repeat, Play You Everywhere I Go | Explicit | 8290 words

Harry is a college radio show host and Louis is a contemporary dancer attending said college. After a drunk hook-up, naturally a whole bunch of pining, dedicated love songs and make-out sessions on dance studio floors ensue.

5) Keep It Sweet In Your Memory | Explicit | 17039 words

'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear.

'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.'

And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that.

'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.'

'Saturday? Your--'

'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.'

'He WHAT!?'

'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.'

'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.'

'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

6) Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt It For The First Time Looking In Your Eyes) | Not Rated | 18431 words

The one where Louis meets Harry at 14 and things don’t quite go as planned.

7) Ain’t My Fault | Explicit | 18690 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

AU. Liam posts an ad on the wrong section of Craigslist, Louis is pretty sure they’re gonna get murdered as a result, and Harry’s missing an avocado.

8) Kiwi | Not Rated | 24110 words

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

9) Honey, Make This Easy | Explicit | 25483 words

AU; Harry’s sister recently passed away, leaving him with temporary custody of her daughter. Needing help, he hires Louis as a nanny and the boy turns out to be help in more ways than he expected.

10) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

11) Captain Jack | Explicit | 31752 words

Note: Please take note of the tags and warnings on this fic before reading

Louis has been searching for something and Harry is there to give it to him. Drugs, sex, disappointment, and the tangled web they’ve woven that keeps them trapped in the same cycle.

12) Can I Make It Any More Obvious? | Explicit | 35560 words

AU where Louis does ballet and Harry is the epitome of everything Louis’ friends want him to stay away from.

13) Bluebird | Explicit | 39024 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

14) Another Hazy May | Mature | 41042 words

Louis is a terrible poet and Harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance AU ft. Marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

15) Looking Through You | Explicit | 41905 words

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

16) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

17) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

18) Into The Midnight Sun | Explicit | 63525 words

It’s 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn’t easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

19) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

20) Liberté | Mature | 64603 words

AU. 1647. “Pretending you don’t have a heart is not the best way to not get it broken. It’s just the easiest.”

21) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

22) Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes | Explicit | 120875 words

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

23) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic. This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that’s the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

24) I Only Ever Want You | Explicit | 180079 words

Note: This fic is the sequel to this fic.

Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #drug use #drug tw #larry #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs

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