#enjoy this ficlet that has been sitting in my docs for a while now

[hamspenalty]

max/daniel. 550 words. henchman au

-

The man that Max is required to kidnap and kill is much too attractive for him to actually want to do it. Ever since he was a kid, his dad always told him to never get emotionally attached to the people they’re forced to kill. Their job is to do what the customer wants, plain and simple. Emotions make all of that even harder.

Yet for some reason, Max can’t help but feel drawn to him. He’s been watching him for weeks now, feeling out his daily routine. He works at a law firm, alongside his childhood best friend named Michael. It’s kind of sweet.

Max finally strikes when he least expects it; when he’s sleeping. He enters through an unlocked window in the lower level of his home, and heads upstairs to the master bedroom.

When Daniel opens his eyes, they widen the moment he registers what’s in front of him, and Max sticks the needle in his neck right then, his body falling limp just as he begins to reach for his phone.

-

Max looks up just as Daniel begins to open his eyes. They flutter for a second before he begins to take full blinks, lifting his head to meet Max’s eye. He can see the shock when he remembers that he doesn’t know where he is; he’s used to seeing it. The way his shoulders climb up, the way he sleepily fights the knots around his wrists and ankles.

“There is no point in trying,” Max informs him, looking up from his book, “I tied it very intricately.” Daniel squints at him, a look of defiance in his eyes.

“You are probably wondering who I am,” Max sighs, getting up and putting the book on his chair. “I am the guy who was hired to kill you.”

Daniel’s eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowing, muffled pleas escaping from behind the gray tape that covers his mouth. “I am not sure whether or not I will kill you yet. You seem like a pretty bearable person, Daniel.”

“If you scream, I will rip your teeth out,” he warns, before taking the tape off of Daniel’s mouth. “How do you know my name?”

“I have to know the name of the person I am required to kill, of course,” Max says, blunt, and Daniel’s eyebrows climb so far up it’s almost comical. “Also, research.”

“So are you some kind of henchman or assassin or something?” Daniel asks, smacking his lips together dryly. “Sure.”

“You won’t tell me which one you are at least? Give a guy something,” Daniel sighs, and Max shakes his head. “I cannot do that for you. But I can give you water.”

“How kind,” Daniel says, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Just because I said I might not kill you does not mean I will not hurt you.” He watches the fear start to register as he cracks open a bottle of water, pocketing the cap.

“Drink.” He raises the bottle up to his lips, watches how his plump, pink mouth looks around the top of the bottle. He hums, taking it away and capping it.

He puts the tape back on his mouth. “I will come back later. Do not miss me too much.” He turns on his heel, shutting the garage door.

#enjoy this ficlet that has been sitting in my docs for a while now #maxiel #henchman au #my ficlet

[spell-cleaver]

The Heir // The Luke Palpatine AU, Part 91: The End

Prompt from @heartsofstars

It had been a year, but it felt longer. The day Vader had waited for had finally arrived—the day when he would see his sweet little angel again—but as he stepped off the ship and onto Naboo, he realised he was nervous.

What if Luke hated him? What if Luke had never fully recovered, and blamed him for it?

Still Vader continued on his path, into the garden... and then he felt someone behind him. Slowly, fearing what he would see, he turned around...and froze.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

There was Luke, wearing the most brilliant smile on his face...and, for the first time in his life, he looked really, truly happy.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

“Father!”

He was wearing clothes more colourful than he’d worn in the last fourteen years, in a thousand beautiful shades of blue, his cheeks rosy and face tanned. Of course: the school year had been over for several weeks by now, though the work of the Empire had not been, and Luke had spent a lot of time out on the Lake Country with his… friends. The Naberries had been most accommodating for him.

Now… Vader just stared.

That was his son.

His son.

He looked so, so happy.

He pattered down the garden path of Varykino, to where Vader was standing, awkward, on the edge of the estate. He was aware that the Naberries were inside, were all staying there for the holiday while Vader dropped by to see Luke, and Vader found himself reluctant to go closer. This was Luke’s happy family tree, the perfect life he’d built for himself, that he deserved. Vader should not step in to ruin it.

But then his son was two steps away from him and had scooted to a halt, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Vader took a moment to study him in even more detail: he was taller, broader—Jedi training with Ahsoka was paying off—and lines around his eyes betrayed an abundance of the broad, bright grins he was currently bestowing on Vader like they were suns and stars to give away.

“Luke,” Vader said, and when Luke leapt forward to hug him he received the hug with an oomph, his heart nearly full to bursting. Vader leant down to hold him as tightly and as gently as he could, careful with his own strength, careful with his boy.

He’d seen him in holo calls and messages, he’d heard about his progress through Ahsoka and through Sabé, who’d been updated through Sola. He’d been sent a holo, which he kept in one of the compartments on his belt, of Luke after Sola had dragged him to the hairdresser’s in Theed to get him a haircut that looked less severe, more like a teenage boy. He’d been sent another holo of Luke after his first day of school, with Leia and Zev dropping by to visit and staying for dinner, with Luke smiling broadly in front of a plate full of potatoes, leaning in to hear something she was saying, his eyes fixed on Zev in a way that made Vader both fiercely protective and nostalgic at once. He kept that one on his desk.

But it wasn’t the same. Luke’s Force presence had blossomed, so lovely and unapologetic and true, and he basked in the feeling of it, the way it opened at his touch like a flower to daylight. Luke laced their fingers together.

“Come on,” he said, still smiling that dizzying smile. “Nova came early, to help me prepare those rooms for you again—you know, the ones you had last time? With the view of the lake?—and Aunt Sola even bought an extra big chair for you so you can sit at dinner, I—”

He realised he was babbling, then, and tried to calm himself—stopped himself from skipping, as well. He’d been skipping.

“I missed you,” he told him candidly. “It hasn’t been the same.”

Vader squeezed his hand gently.

“No,” he agreed. “It has not.”

“Can you come inside?” Luke asked. Vader looked up at the building—the manor where he’d told his son the truth for the first time, the house where he’d married Padmé. The place that had been so much happiness, for so long, even when he was so miserable that the memory of that happiness only hurt more.

There would be Sabé, and Ahsoka, and the Naberries inside that building. It would be awkward—it would be beyond awkward; one thing he was here to discuss with Luke was his official resignation as Emperor, and what he thought about Sabé being coronated as Empress in his wake while she worked to deconstruct the Empire, all the politics that Luke had fled to Naboo not once, but twice, to get away from—but…

Luke would also be inside that building.

And so would Padmé.

He squeezed Luke’s hand tightly as they bounded up the stairs and walked through the doors. The entrance chamber was as beautiful and arching as ever, the breeze stirring through the air to tug at his cape and shift Luke’s hair, the sunlight gleaming in the glasswork. There were several people sitting and standing around in the downstairs living room when he first got in there: two young women perhaps five or ten years older than Luke, who looked so much like Padmé Vader had to glance away; an aging couple, who he’d met before, and were all but glaring at him, the man trying to disguise tears of sorrow and anger; and a woman only a few years older than her sister, who also looked far too much like her sister, and whose expression was not angry but… fierce. When she beheld Vader’s mask, and also the hand which clasped his son’s so tightly, it was positively ferocious.

Her gaze softened when it landed on Luke, though. Good, then, that she was so protective of him. Luke deserved as many protectors—

No.

Luke deserved as many parent figures as he could have.

They were not his protectors. Or his enforcers, or attack dogs, or advisors. Luke was no longer an Emperor—he was just a boy, just a son, and he was a part of a family that had grown into more than the lonely, abused child he’d been could’ve ever imagined.

Vader had grown into a man he could never have imagined, either.

“Grandmother, Grandfather, Ryoo, Pooja… Aunt Sola…” Luke bit his lip, then revealed his teeth in a gleaming smile. “This is my father.”

The Naberries’ eyes moved, cuttingly, to Vader, but all he had space for in his mind was Luke’s words.

As Luke wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him forward, into the sitting room proper, that was all he thought.

He was Luke’s father.

And…

And he realised, he understood now, that that was all he ever needed to be.

The End

Beginning | Previous | Finish

Okay. I... have no idea what to say. Where to start, how to express.... aaaaaaaaah is the only way that comes to mind. This fic was such a strange undertaking. It’s a ficlet series nearly 100 ficlets long! Inspired by a five sentence prompt that ended up being sixty sentences! It’s over 100k on my doc! I started writing it in... I don’t even know, January or February, balancing so many fics, and then quarantine came and this was a reliable thing I could post, and work on, and update, and it helped me a lot. A million shout outs to everyone who made this possible, even though there’s no hope I’ll get you all -- it’s a collabfic, essentially; there are so many people I brainstormed with about different plotlines, so many people who sent in prompts, so many people whose enthusiasm kept me going..... You know who you are, and please know that you were amazing.

This was such a fun challenge to work on, a completely different style to what I was used to, and the emotions, and ahhhh I enjoyed this so much; I’m so sad it’s over now. But I’ll be back soon, once I’ve got into the rhythm of the new way life is going to bel I have a lot of fics I’ve been meaning to write for a long time :D

Thanks to everyone for reading, whether you’ve stuck with me the whole time or are only just discovering this series now!! I love you all so much <3

#the heir #luke palpatine #luke skywalker #darth vader #the naberries #my writing #random words on a page #spell gets emotional #the end!! it's THE END #this is UNREAL #THE END #<3 <3 <3 #onto new adventures (*side eyes the hamster au and the hdm au*)

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford has been suspiciously absent from all of the ficlets I’ve posted thus far in this AU, and while I’ve talked a bit about his role, I haven’t gone too in depth.  So, here, for everyone craving some Best Revenge AU Ford, I’m here to satisfy that craving.  Finally, some Ford content.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford slowly woke up.

              Shit.  I stayed the night, didn’t I?  He sat up. The man he’d slept with the night before was already up and getting dressed.

              “Mornin’.”

              “Good morning,” Ford said hesitantly, realizing to his horror that he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Um…”

              “I can make ya some breakfast ‘fore I send ya on yer way,” his one-night-stand said.  “I’ve got to check in on my sister first; she’s startin’ a new job today. You can find yer way to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee while I’m talkin’ to her.”

              “…Okay,” Ford mumbled.  The man finished dressing and left the room.  Ford hesitated for a moment before dressing as well.  He exited the bedroom.

              Which way is the kitchen?  Ford chewed on the inside of his cheek and turned left. He followed the hallway down to a living room.  One corner of the room had a colored rug, baby toys, and a playpen.  He said that he lived with his sister, right? Maybe she has a child.  Ford wandered into the adjacent kitchen.  His jaw dropped.  There was someone sitting at the kitchen table.  Someone he recognized.

              “Holy shit, Stan?!” Ford said.  Stan looked up with a frown.

              “Hey, keep it down around Junior.”  His eyes widened.  “Ford?!”

              “I- you-”  Ford’s gaze landed on the infant in Stan’s arms, greedily drinking from a bottle of milk.  “Is- is that your child?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “…Sorta.”

              “What do you mean by-” Ford started.  He was interrupted by the arrival of his one-night-stand.

              “Oh, I see ya met my sister’s boyfriend,” he said. Stan groaned loudly.

              “Lute.  How dark was the nightclub where you found last night’s lay?”

              “Didn’t pick him up at a nightclub.  Found him at the library when I dropped off books fer Angie,” Lute said cheerfully.

              “Look at his face.”

              “Hmm?”  Lute looked at Ford.  He paled. “…Oh.”

              “You managed to hook up with my no-good twin,” Stan said.  The infant in his arms began to fuss.  “Aw, it’s okay Junior,” Stan cooed.  “I know, Uncle Ford is scary, especially his face.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “We have the same face, Stanley.”

              “Since Lute didn’t realize we were related when he picked you up, I don’t agree,” Stan said tartly.  Ford sighed.  “You better get going before you make Junior even more upset.”

              “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what you’ve been up to and why you’re holding an infant that you said is ‘sort of’ yours,” Ford said firmly.  Stan scowled.

              “Lute, kick him out, will ya?”

              “No.”

              “Lute-”

              “I think it might be good fer the two of ya to reconnect,” Lute said.  “Don’t you think the lil bean would like an uncle from yer side?”

              “He won’t know what he’s missing.”

              “Okay, fine.”  Lute smirked.  “How do ya think Angie would want ya to act under this circumstance?”  Stan glared at him.  “You know full well that Angie would want ya to use this opportunity to reunite with yer twin.”

              “…Fine.”  Stan adjusted his hold on the infant.  “Why didn’t you come to the kitchen with Ford, Lute?”

              “I wanted to check in on Angie, but she’s still sleepin’.”

              “Yeah.  Since she’s starting her new job, I figured I’d feed Junior.”  Stan grinned down at the infant.  “He can’t be happy he’s getting his breakfast from a bottle instead of a boob.”  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Crass, Stanley.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

              “You catch up with yer twin while I whip up some eggs,” Lute instructed, already opening the fridge.  Ford walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Stan. He peered closely at the infant.

              “So…”

              “So…” Stan parroted.

              “What’s his name?”

              “Stanley Junior,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Well, he’s not really a Junior, since he’s got his mom’s last name instead of mine. But he’s named after me, so we call him Junior.”

              “Ah.  And, um, how old is he?”

              “Four months.”

              “Four months?  Are babies supposed to be that small at four months?”

              “Doc says he’s definitely smaller than average, but that he can probably catch up pretty quick,” Stan answered.  He removed the now empty bottle from Junior’s mouth, then burped him.  “He’s a good kid.”

              “Is he yours?” Ford asked.  Stan set the empty bottle on the table.  “You said he ‘sort of’ was.”

              “If you were anyone else, I woulda left that part out,” Stan muttered.  “I hate your guts, but I’m not used to lying to you.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Biologically, he’s not mine.  He’s my girlfriend’s ex-husband’s.  But with how bad things got between Angie and Max, she decided not to tell him about Junior.”

              That’s a strange coincidence.  Didn’t Max Hillcrest at work recently go through a divorce?  What was his wife’s name again?

              “I was dating Angie, so I stepped up,” Stan continued with a shrug.  “And Angie named her kid after me.  I’m the only dad this little bean’s ever known.  If things go well, I’ll be the only dad he ever knows.”

              “Little bean?”

              “That’s what Angie called him while she was pregnant with him.  It stuck.” Stan smiled fondly at Junior. “Isn’t that right, bud?”  Junior giggled.

              “You’re raising another man’s child as your own?” Ford asked, his brain desperately trying to catch up with all he’d been told.

              “Yep.”

              “Why?”

              “I love Angie.  I love Junior.  Why wouldn’t I?” Stan asked, a hint of a bite to his tone.  Junior settled in his arms, smacking his lips happily.

              “Fair enough,” Ford said, deciding to back off. Some tension left Stan’s shoulders. “Other than dating pregnant women and taking in their children, what have you been doing since we last spoke?”

              “You mean, since Pops kicked me outta the house and you didn’t say anything or use your power to summon me in secret at any point for years,” Stan said flatly.  Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times.

              “…Yes.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “When we were younger, I remember you wanting to follow in Mom’s footsteps.  I haven’t seen any pyro heroes around here, though.”

              “Hold up, what?” Lute asked.  The brothers looked over.  Lute stared at Stan in shock.  “Stanley, you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid?”

              “Most supers do.  And like Ford said, our mom was a hero.  I looked up to her.”  Lute was still staring at Stan.  Stan sighed. “Obviously I didn’t do that, Gucket.”

              “Yer mom is a hero?”

              “Retired.  What’s with the third degree?”

              “You understand why that information is important in our line of work, right?” Lute prompted.  “Does Angie know?”

              “Duh.”

              “Why don’t I?”

              “‘Cause I’m not sleeping with you,” Stan snapped. “Even though I’m apparently your type.” Lute turned red.

              “Wait.”  Ford held up his hands.  “Wait. Stanley, am I reading between the lines properly?  Are you- are you a villain?”

              “Maybe I am.  Maybe I’m not,” Stan said.  He met Ford’s eyes.  “But whether I am or not, you know better than to snitch.”  Footsteps sounded.  Stan looked over.  An exuberant smile broke across his face.  “Look who it is!  The hot new professor!”  Ford looked as well.  A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt she was practically swimming in.

              Presumably, it’s one of Stan’s.  The woman smiled at Stan.

              “I don’t mind it much when ya say it, but I sure hope no one at work calls me that.”

              “If any creepy coworkers do, let me know,” Stan said.  “I’ll handle it.”  The woman grinned viciously.

              “Oh, darlin’, ya know I’m fully capable of handlin’ it myself.”  Stan grinned back.

              “Good point.”  He held up Junior.  “Junior, say hi to your mama.”

              “Aw, he’s too young to talk yet,” the woman cooed. She walked over to Stan, took Junior from him, and sat at the table.  “And I don’t know if his first word ‘ll be ‘hi’.”  She began to lift her T-shirt.

              “Whoa, hey, uh, Ang, you don’t need to whip your boobs out,” Stan said quickly, glancing at Ford in distress.  “I fed him while you were sleeping.”

              “Oh.”

              “Also, we have a guest.”

              “Hmm?”  The woman lowered her shirt and looked up.  “Oh, my apologies.”  She smiled at Ford.  “My name is Angie McGucket.”  Ford felt himself pale.

              McGucket?

              “Dr. Angie McGucket,” Stan corrected.  Angie chuckled.

              “Yes, I have a doctorate,” she said.  She cocked her head, her eyes boring into Ford. “I’m guessin’ yer Stan’s no-good twin I’ve heard so much about.”

              “I- uh-” Ford stammered, still reeling from hearing his ex’s last name dropped so casually.

              “Geez, you make it sound like all I do is talk about Ford,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  “That’s wrong.  All I do is talk about you and Junior.”  Angie laughed.

              Angie and Lute do appear to have the same nose as Fiddleford.  How could I have been so blind?

              “So, Stanford, what brings ya here?” Angie asked.

              “I brought him home last night,” Lute said.

              “Hmm, that seems out of character fer ya,” Angie said to Ford.  She shrugged. “Just goin’ off the stick-in-the-mud that Stan described to me.”

              “Why do you keep insulting me?” Ford asked. “This is the first time we’ve met.”

              “Maybe, but I also feel like I know ya pretty well,” Angie replied.  She bounced Junior in her arms.  “Stan took a while to start tellin’ me ‘bout ya, but once he did, he had a lot to say.” She smiled.  “Most of it was negative, sure, but some of it was positive.”

              “Angie, shouldn’t ya be gettin’ ready fer work?” Lute asked.  Angie groaned.  “I’ll make ya some nice breakfast while ya dress ‘n whatnot.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.” Angie handed Junior back to Stan, kissed his cheek, and left the room.  Ford coughed politely.

              “I, um, I should probably leave,” he said. Lute looked over.

              “Ya don’t want to stay fer breakfast?”

              “Your sister isn’t the only one who has a shift starting soon.”

              “Shift, huh?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.  “Where’s the big shot genius working?”

              “Well, uh…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have been working on my own personal research, but to pay the bills, I’m currently employed as an executive assistant.”  Stan snickered.

              “Isn’t ‘executive assistant’ just a fancy word for ‘secretary’?” he asked.  Ford flushed. “You better get going, then.  Whatever doctor’s office you work for definitely needs you manning the front desk.”

              “Stanley,” Lute scolded.  Ford swallowed his retort.

              He’s been remarkably civil, let him be childish for one moment.

              “…See you later?” he suggested.  Stan froze.  “I mean, the fact that we were able to talk without fighting is, I think, a good sign that we can bury the hatchet.”

              “Ford.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “Junior was here the whole time.  That’s why I didn’t shout or knock your block off.”

              “…Oh,” Ford said softly.

              “But…”  Stan sighed. “I’m not against making up.  Just know that the next time you and I are in the same room, it’s open season if Junior’s not there.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford managed a smirk.  “I think you’d be surprised by how well I can hold my own now.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Stanley.”  Ford leaned over to smile at Junior.  Junior stared at him with wide eyes.  “Goodbye, Junior.”  Junior giggled.

              “Bye,” Stan grunted.  Ford waved goodbye to Lute and walked out of the house.  Beeping sounded from his pager.  He pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.  The message made him sigh again.

              I swear, I’m the only person who can fix the wifi at work.  Everyone else either doesn’t know how or isn’t willing to do one of the secretary’s responsibilities.  Ford shook his head.  He put his pager away and began the long walk to work.  A building full of superheroes and not one of them can unplug a router.

#I've also got another ficlet in the works that involves none other than the legendary Ma Pines herself #but here's some Ford stuff for now. hope it scratches that itch. #Best Revenge AU #Stanford Pines #Lute McGucket #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Stangie Family #Stangie #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #Junior Pines

[frangipanidownunder]

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

A Lifetime Ago: Fic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I go out,” he said, indignant. 

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

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

“Friendly?”

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

“Huh,” she said. Nerdy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life?” he supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #xfficchallenges #challenge: social gathering #a lifetime ago #msr

[faejilly]

I was tagged by @la-muerta​ & @facialteeth​ & @thedivinemissema​ for the WIP/Title Game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

AND THEN  by @shadoedseptmbr​ @msviolacea​ & @ravenclawnerd​ for the “stories you want to write... but for some reason haven’t yet”

so this will be a mish-mash of both? The WIPs will mostly have blurbs in this case (to fit the second meme) but you are still welcome to ask follow-up questions, if you’d like ;) Assuming you make it through the list, it is uh. Not Short.

Anyone who would like to play with their WIPs, please consider yourself tagged in either or both of these. :D

Misc Fic Folder:

“untitled document” - where I’m working on fictober fills so I have word-counts for my GYWO tracker. I am not working on these because Brains Are Dumb and also Going Back To Work Is Exhausting

I made a file called “YULETIDE!” which has nothing in it but I’m determined to finish this year so that is definitely technically a thing in the Unending WIP List of Doom worth mentioning. (Tho obviously that’s all I could say even if I had started, because anonymous.)

“coda-fics, rewatch!” -yes, that exclamation mark is important! it’s to keep me motivated! (it didn’t work). Much like untitled, this is for putting stuff so I can do word count tracking even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Currently I think it just says “MARYSE” because I was working on my SH 1x6 coda-fic and then got distracted and haven’t typed anything up yet. (Yay notebooks? Boo notebooks? Not even sure at this point.)

WNIP (works not in progress) Folder:

“TOG” - I had one vivid mental image of how Nicky & Joe met (blood-stained evil smiles?) but then no idea for a follow-up story and also the fandom is insane and I’m not sure I want to deal with all of *gestures vaguely* all that

“Shan Xia Notes” -for a TTRPG that never quite got off the ground; she was a semi-tragic selkie who was still in love with the evil queen/lady who stole her skin and I got to play her for like one session and she was surprisingly chaotic neutral, which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. But the game never really got off the ground, so I never had enough info to really delve into writing backstory fic

“post-Kruschev” -Kruschev’s List was the last episode of Scarecrow & Mrs King, and I was debating writing an epilogue in place of the s5 we never got, to try and tie up some loose ends, but the fandom’s three old-ladies in trench coats and I never quite worked up the gumption to get it anywhere

“Code Realize warm as silk sequel” -there is literally nothing in this file except “SEX! Only a little angst” because I wanted to write some “we can’t actually touch each other” smut but never actually did. 🤷‍♀️

BioWare (also all Not-In-Progress Anymore)

“seb/adelaide”, “Theia” & “DAI Erana” -these WIP folders were cannibalized for ficlets for the last few times I did fictober, and while originally I had ideas for longer epilogues for all three of them, at this point I don’t think any of the remaining bits could support a story any longer.

”whispers in the dark” -Maia Ryder never really got much fic at all; the cancellation of any further Andromeda stuff was really disheartening, and at this point I’d have to play the game again, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage that any time soon

”TSP” -a Mass Effect 3 Shepard AU collab project that kind of went off the rails, and our mutual brains/lives never quite seem to line up so we can try and rebuild it ”Ngaio & Tane” -my one truly ruthless Shepard (Alliance background, who romanced Traynor) whose father Tane Shepard was, I think, in PsyOps, and I wanted to figure out their complicated relationship but never really did know where I was going with it

”JE Zu & Yaling” -so I’ve rambled about my Tragic Sagacious Zu Romance Thoughts regarding Jade Empire more than once (#Icy Yaling should have most of it) but apparently I want to yell about it more than I want to actually write it? Whoops.

”CI sequel: 5 times fic?” -Cruel Intentions is a kinkmeme fill that I started and then it sat for like five years before I actually finished it, and I liked the ending, but it does leave a giant fucking question mark in terms of how those people got from there to where they are after the game, and I kind of wanted to write a proper h/c fic rather than just... leaving them wallowing in all that trauma?

But I didn’t. I don’t even remember for sure how I wanted to frame the 5/1 of it all, besides it being something sad about allowing people to see you or touch you in some way. (Prayers maybe, since I think there was definitely some Sebastian & Fenris & faith stuff going on in there.)

“candles” -Merribela prompt fill that I never was happy with? Not sure what I might do with it at this point, so it’s just sitting there all sad and lonely and neglected-like.

Shadowhunters

pt1: WIP LIST ONLY

“Persuasion” -so I keep trying to write Persuasion AUs in many fandoms because it’s my favorite Austen, but I think I like it too much, I have no real solid concept of how I’d transform it, and if I don’t have anything else to say about different characters within that framework, I have no push to actually write anything? Also this SH version of it suffered from MASSIVE scope creep when I started outlining and it got too big for me to handle so I like, killed it twice? Whoops. This one is really probably never gonna happen.

“oosdt sequel” -I wanted to write more about the Forest That Eats People and Magnus & Alec as Guardians Between Worlds, and also some background Magnus’ Found Family & Lightwood Family Feels (maybe some clizzy?) and I left a Madzie plot-thread dangling from the first one on purpose even but I think this one had too many ideas and not enough focus so it’s sort of sprawling all over a doc with a lot of “???” in it

“procedural-ish” -this was originally going to be a sex-farce. and then it turned more serious. and then maybe kind of copaganda which was uncomfortable in terms of the Everything That Is The News in 2020, and then maybe it was more a Mafia AU and at that point I had self-inflicted tone whiplash and I wished the voices in my head were a little more forthcoming about their plans so I stopped before I brained myself on my computer monitor in frustration.

“I had rather a rose than live forever” -I started a reverse!verse Malec (Shadowhunter!Magnus, High Warlock!Alec) for bingo last year, and I couldn’t quite get it together in time, so I made a moodboard inspired by the bits I’d started instead. I may see if one of my prompts from Bingo this year help me finish it?

“fall fright fest (practical magic  au)” -exactly what it says on the tin! almost exactly a year old & neglected! IDEK ANYMORE (I talked about this one with the WIP meme last time tho: here)

“priest!kink theology?” -I thought it was gonna be smut? I like priest!kink. I have made other people like it and yell at me even! But then I kept diverging into demon!Magnus thinking about Priest!Alec’s faith and as usual, IDEK ANYMORE *laughs*

(If they’re remotely canon-adjacent or divergent, a bunch of these are in here because I need to rewatch the show to get the pacing/timing/tone right and I haven’t, and I don’t know why, because I enjoy the show, but BRAINS! Are Dumb! So I guess that’s it?)

“I do” -I have tried to write this damnable Malec arranged marriage fic like six different times. I have signed up for fic exchanges and bangs with it, I have rewritten massive sections, trying to change tone or structure or POV or whatever, and it basically comes down to they like each other too fast and I keep not gutting it enough to get back to a useful pace, but by the time I realized that I was on take six and kind of sick of it. I may get back to it eventually

“wing!fic” -canon divergent in early s1, trying to deal with the consequences of Simon’s kidnapping as the Truly Serious Event that it should have been. It uh. Got heavier than I expected with those consequences (considering it was originally just supposed to be Alec’s wings flirting with Magnus) and also see above re: rewatching for pacing.

“2x20 aftermath/date night/pandemonium porn“ -yes that is the actual wip title. It used to be “spite fic” because I was originally inspired by fighting against a lot of fic!Alec characterization that was clearly based more on the books and ATG syndrome than the Alec in the show, which is the Alec I know and like and want to read about. BUT, pacing and etc. again, I think. Also I have somehow entirely lost my knack for writing porn, which makes it difficult to finish something originally intended to be smut!fic. Or even teasing almost!smut.

“rubbish heap” -so this is about three different fics that I realized complemented each other really well so they’re now all in the same file as I try to turn them into the sequel of “with an if in its soul”. It includes amnesia, parabatai lore shenanigans, a s3 rewrite, and some truly awful Owl adjustments that make me wince in horrified authorly delight and pain. BUT, as with the other ones in this file, the scope is large and I normally write short-fic and I kind of just threw up my hands in exasperation. I may have to break it back up into the three different fics instead, if I ever actually want to write it. Them? But also I need to take better notes on s3 to make sure I have what I need in here.

SH Pt 2: Started posting or not yet in hiatus because it’s actually almost ready to be a thing in the real world! maybe!?

“kisses (firsts)” -I actually started publishing this one, a “series of firsts” that was supposed to be kind of relationship milestones and kind of an excuse for smut, and then there wasn’t that much smut and I lost momentum and also dear lords & ladies the timeline is stupid, wtf. I may not ever add to this one, tbqh. It doesn’t stop in a terrible place, and they’re all ficlets so they stand alone all right.

“clizzy epilogue” -this is blank atm, it’s more a reminder for me to keep poking away at my “girls who can’t breathe air, only fire” collection BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE CLIZZY AT SOME POINT

"mer!alec" -pts 2-4 of a series, but apparently having an actual plan gets in the way of me *writing* the thing, and I haven't managed to throw the half an outline far enough away from my brain to be able to write again. Or something like that.

"ibhww" -if broken hearts were whole is a soulmate fic I started a million years ago, and purposefully set aside to finish some other WIPs because I thought they'd be quick, and now it's just buried under two and a half years of regret and shame so it's hard to get back to it

"iafy" -i am for you is a delightful & frothy semi-epistolary fluff piece that also just lost momentum because Life & 2020 & etc. It's far and away the most popular thing I've ever posted on AO3, which also makes me feel weird sometimes, and I feel like the fact that there's no grand conclusion planned, just a bit more fluff and settling in, might end up being disappointing? Basically, it's the first time I think I've psyched myself out about reader expectations, and until I get over that I'm going to have trouble finishing the last couple chapters. (There really are probably only two more chapters though. IT’S SO CLOSE, I wish I could just... write it. And yet?)

“fake-hating” -I do not like fake dating as a trope that much, I just do not get it, but I love outside POVs and arranged marriages and there’s this delighful tumblr post about how they wished there was more fic about people who were together but had to pretend they werent’, and uh. This may be that? Eventually? I’m not exhausted by my failure to finish it yet, so it’s still in the regular folder rather than the hiatus folder, even though nothing’s been posted for it.

AND I THINK THAT’S IT?

Not as terrible as it could be, but still. MANY WORDS THAT MAY NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. Posting the equivalent of one’s old ratty sketchbook is always a weird feeling. :D

#on writing #writing memery #unending WIP List Of Doom

[jasonvtodd]

Cut & Run fic recs;

for my own doc @kellyabbotts & geek @zanesgarrett 💖

The 12 Days of Sidewinder - Day 8  The only way to get Digger out of the kitchen is to put him on a mission. In this case it's to find the perfect Christmas tree.

A Delayed Honeymoon  Ty and Zane take some time-off from their hectic schedules to enjoy themselves, unbridled by CIA assignments and devious cats.

The Bachelor Party Ty, Zane, Deuce and Sidewinder head to Vegas for Ty and Zane's bachelor party and Zane has a special surprise for Ty.Ty looked around the room. “Where’s Zane?”“He’ll be out in a minute,” Nick told him, moving one of the dining room chairs to the middle of the room, facing the door to the bedrooms. “Why don’t you take a seat here?”“Why?” Ty asked.“Trust me, Six.”Ty looked at him warily, but got up and sat down. “What’s going on, Irish?”“It’s a surprise. One I know you’re gonna like. One I think we’re all gonna like,” Nick told him as Ty gave him a dirty look.

The Bet  Sidewinder picked up a community blanket while they lived in Jacksonville. It is the bane of Ty's existence even years after they moved apart.

Black Market Bar & Grill Welcome to the Black Market Bar & Grill.On the busiest night of the year bartender Ty Grady is the most in demand person in the bar between the drink orders and the girls trying to get his attention, it's too bad the only thing he can think about is how badly he handled his first meeting with the beautiful dark haired man who owns a bookstore on the other side of town.

Celtic Knot Usually when the phone rings at three in the morning on a Sunday it’s because someone got the wrong number or the world was ending.“The world had better be ending.” Ty snarled at his cell phone when it blared to life, he answered it without looking at the ID. “What?”“Ty man sorry to do this but I need help, big time.” Nick whispered to him clearly anxious. Ty was instantly up and alert glancing around for pants in case he needed to get up and leave immediately.

Crushes, Collisions, and Conspiracies  Kelly expects the dorm's laundry room to be empty at 2am, but it's not. There's a quiet, kinda jumpy guy named Nick and, once they meet, Kelly can't seem to get the guy out of his head.

Day Old Hate  Set between Chapters 10 & 11 of Touch & Geaux. Explores how Ty spent that night after Zane kicked him out of their room.

Double Play  Ty didn't know what he expected when he texted the number scratched into the seat next to his. It certainly wasn't to fall in love.

Ducks and Mayhem  Ty has a bad day. Ducks may have been responsible, because ducks are evil.

Give & Take  Takes place during Fish & Chips. Feeling a little light-headed after winning another round of poker, Zane gets a little possessive of Ty. Hot sex ensues.

Gone, Gone, Gone  When life leaves you high and dry I'll be at your door tonight If you need help, if you need help. I'll shut down the city lights, I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe To make you well, to make you well.

Semper Fi  A story detailing the most awkward double date in the history of double dates: Ty, Zane, Nick and Kelly end up spending the weekend together in Kelly’s cabin where Nick and Ty takes some time to work through their issues.

Scoundrels  Welcome to Miami, where truth is always stranger than fiction. And Kelly Abbott's life is about to get a whole lot stranger when a chance meeting lands him in the sights of Nick O'Flaherty, the new manager of the Sidewinder nightclub.

Sharing & Caring "But now it’s your turn. Let us hear what’s brewing behind that poker face. Tell us something about Zane Garret we didn’t know yet."Sidewinder all confessed their well-kept secrets to each other and finally cleared the air in Part & Parcel. Just Zane didn't say anything in that round, as that was a team-thing he had no room in. So now it's Zane's turn to make a confession.

Short Shorts  Of course someone decided to wear a sexy costume to the Halloween party. Of course it had to be Kelly.

Spectator Sports  Sidewinder was supposed to meet Ty and Zane for dinner, but a quiet sit-down isn't what they find when they arrive.

The Tumblr Month  As part of a routine (and at the urgings of his therapist), Nick joins Tumblr and soon meets an intriguing user named DevilDoc.

What a Night  Night out at a gay club, voyeurism, sex with D/s elements

While You Weren't Sleeping It's not that different from sharing a house all those years ago, is it?

Zombies And Restless Partners A ficlet in which Zane and Nick are trying to have a Walking Dead marathon, and Ty and Kelly are twitchy."

#em recs #cut & run #cut and run #ty grady #bcydbeaulieu #tagging laura too yes #and ok so nealry all these are nickels with some tyzane on the side as i havent found any ones that i OBSESSIVELY love yet sadly but.. #hopefully someday soon i'l find The One #i have the cutting loose series and forever & always series bookmarked so hopefully i'll enjoy them cause they're long #IF ANYONE WANTS TO ADD ON SOME THAT I DONT KNOW ABOUT PLEASE FEEL FREE #stow it em #fics

[indesperateminds]

Jayne/River Ficlet from forever ago

So, this is the beginning of a Firefly series loosely based on Tennyson poems that I never got around to writing and now can’t find the notes on plotting and am not sure I want to start all over again. I didn’t want to put it on my AO3 because then I’d need to come up with a lot more coherent tagging than: sometime pre-Serenity and probably going totally AU if I had any idea where it was going.  But it’s probably the set of characterizations I’m most proud of so I thought I’d see if anyone on here was interested. Italicized text is from “The Lady of Shallott” and you should definitely go read it if you haven’t already.

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the ‘curse’ may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

 Whispered footsteps filled the silence of the night cycle on the Midbook Transport, class code 03-K64 – a Firefly named Serenity.  Pale hands and feet appeared ghostly in the dim light as the shell of River Tam danced to a music only she could hear.  She and one other – if she concentrated, River could easily have ascertained whether it emanated from Simon or Inara’s dreams.  Embracing the threads of her sanity, she elected to dance instead. Dreams tended to be much more pleasant than waking thoughts, splashes of color on a canvas rather than needles pulling thread through stiff, unyielding fabric.

“And moving thro’ a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear…”

 Her breathed words melted into the air, caught by a hidden pair of ears.  A frown creased Jayne Cobb’s brow as he leaned against the wall of the cargo bay.  Girl shouldn’t be wandering about on her own in the middle of the night… not that it had ever stopped her before.  Somethin’ unsettlin’ about how she seemed to shine in the low light that way and those words could’ve been a spell for all he knew.  Still – a merc knew about pretty things and River Tam stretched out all graceful like that held up by one slender ankle – that was all kinds of pretty. So it maybe wouldn’t hurt him to watch a minute.

 Down below, a prickle of awareness began and the web began to quiver in response.

 But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror’s magic sights,

For often thro’ the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights,

And music went to Camelot

 “Whatcha up to up here, lil’ witch?”

River tilted her head, her dark eyes studying Captain Malcolm Reynolds as he stood over her on the catwalk where she perched, observing the comings and goings of the crew down below in the bay.  Coming to some sort of decision, she smiled wanly at him and gestured toward the temporarily empty space.

“Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, an abbot on an ambling pad, sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, or long-hair’d page in crimson clad, goes by to tower’d Camelot,” she mused softly.  

“That don’t make a lick of sense, River.  We’re running powerful low on damsels and towers these days,” he grunted back to her.

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.  Look again,” she whispered.

Despite a sigh of annoyance, Mal slid down to sit next to her.  The crew had learned over the months that humoring River tended to make life run a mite smoother and often came with its own sort of amusing payoffs. Just as his patience began to wear thin, Mal heard voices float up to their perch.  Soon Inara and Kaylee came into sight, their smiles and laughter lighting up the gray space as they giggled softly.  Their heads were close together as the conversation dropped to whispers before breaking into full shrieks of glee as they collected some packets of food before moving off towards the kitchen.  They passed the Shepherd on the way, his eyes fixed intently on the Bible in his hands.  He crossed the space and settled in a chair that had been set up near Jayne’s workbench within the past month.  

Suddenly Mal was startled by River’s quick movements as she swung her legs up and dropped flat on the grating beside him.

“What in the name of – “

“Shh! Quiet, like a mouse,” she whispered faintly.

He might have protested had Simon’s dark head not appeared across the way.

“Captain, have you seen my sister?  She’s not in her room and I wanted to make sure she was cleaned up and ready for dinner.”

“Doc, your sister’s not some lost lamb or somethin’ – she’s a genius, I’m sure she can manage to get herself to the dinner table without an escort.”

“Yes, Mal, I’m certain she’s off right now dressing for dinner… probably in a space suit!  I’m going to check the bridge, maybe Wash will be more help.”

Simon’s voice faded out as he exited the room, the irritation in it clear even in the echoes.

“Starting to think you might have something there,” Mal muttered softly.

“Sir?” a voice called from the end of the catwalk where they rested.  Looking up, he saw his first mate, clad in a red shirt, leaning against the doorway.  

“Yeah, Zo?”

“Happy to see you’re enjoying your little conference here.  I’ve been sent to inform you that the doctor’s just about driven my husband to distraction with his worrying.  We’re on auto-pilot while Wash takes a breather before he has a fit.”

Her voice was as dry as usual, but a spark of humor was apparent to a man who had known her for years. River just smiled her ghostly smile as Zoe settled down next to the two of them, slipping into the quiet moment with practiced ease.  

“Well, River-girl, we’ve got damsels, an abbot, a shepherd, and a page.  Any other additions to our little circus?” he asked, voice gentle and amused.

“And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue, the knights come riding two and two…”

At that moment, Wash and Jayne ambled down the steps across from them and went towards the Shepherd and the weight bench, a playful banter between the odd pair of men.  A light touch against his forearm made Mal whip his head around to look at River’s troubled eyes gazing up at him from a dejected face.  Her whispered words barely crossed the space between them.

“She hath no loyal knight and true, the Lady of Shalott.”

Moving his hand to squeeze hers, Mal shot a sad look at his longtime friend before answering, “I know, little witch, I know.”

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn’d like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot...

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;

On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow’d

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

 “Jayne, we’re just doing a meet for a job, not starting a gorram resistance army!  All this go-se really necessary?”

“Aw, hell, Mal – you know how long it’s been since I got to have any fun on a job? If I ain’t gonna get a chance to shoot nobody, least ya can do is let me look mean and scary!”

“Petulance uncharacteristic of such a heavily armed subject,” River softly mused, hand floating in the space near one of the many guns strapped to the large mercenary’s waist. “However, given the subject…”

Before Mal could get in a warning, Jayne’s hand snapped out seemingly of its own volition, setting a course that seemed in a direct line with the young woman’s jaw.  The collision never occurred, though. River’s small hand trapped his mid-flight, the fingers of her other hand reaching out to caress across his calloused ones as she held his wrist at a nearly impossible angle.  

“No,” she murmured, “we’re not ready to dance yet.”

Her eyes held his, unusually clear and focused, and he would later swear he could feel in that moment something changing.  Jerking his hand away, the moment was shoved aside in favor of the job.  River’s swaying form stayed rooted to that spot, however, until minutes before the group returned several hours later.  Her reverie was broken by the arrival of Simon and Kaylee’s appearance on the stairs.  His arm wound around her waist as she smiled up into his face and River slowly moved back out of sight.

A bitterness filled her voice as she intoned, “Or when the moon was overhead, came two young lovers lately wed; ‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said the Lady of Shalott.”

As the sound of their return filled the ship, Jayne’s voice boisterously singing “The Hero of Canton,” River stood poised in the shadows of the catwalk and felt the threads of her life begin to shift.

She left the web, she left the loom;

She made three paces thro’ the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look’d down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack’d from side to side;

“The curse is come upon me,” cried

The Lady of Shalott.

#firefly #own fic #rayne #river tam/jayne cobb #alfred lord tennyson #what even is this

[thelastspeecher]

Werepire Stangie AU - Odd

I went through my Werepire Stangie doc today and discovered a scene that I had mostly written but never finished: Ford seeing his twin for the first time since Stan became a vampire.  So I sat down and finished it.  Enjoy.

(This is actually the third in a sort of mini-series of ficlets that take place shortly after each other: first is this, second is this.)

              “I don’t know what yer plan is, but I’d prefer if ya stay with me fer a bit,” Fiddleford said to Angie, who was sitting with him at the card table in the living room.  Angie shook her head as she braided her hair.  She seemed more alive now that she had showered.  Fiddleford glanced at Stan, looming in the doorway.

              Not sure about him, though.  The shower didn’t seem to liven him up much.

              “I can’t leave Stan alone,” Angie said.  Fiddleford rubbed his face.

              “Banjey…”

              “Look.”  Angie tied off her braid and flung it over her shoulder.  “I won’t leave town.  But I don’t think Stan would want to stay in his brother’s home, and I can’t leave him on his own.”

              “He’s a grown man.  I’m sure Stan can take care of himself.”

              “Okay, let me amend my statement,” Angie said irritably.  “I don’t want to leave him on his own.  He’s my boyfriend.”

              “Banjey.”

              “You don’t know him like I do!  He’s a good man.  He took care of me.”

              “Yer in such a vulnerable state, junebug.  I don’t know if yer judgement is very good,” Fiddleford said.  Angie glared.

              Are- are her eyes glowing? Before Fiddleford could look closer, Angie whipped her head around to stare at the front door.

              “Who is it?” Stan asked.  Angie narrowed her eyes.

              “Don’t know.  But someone’s comin’ up to the door.”

              “Prob’ly Stanford,” Fiddleford said.  Stan swallowed.

              “I’m just gonna leave through the back, then,” he mumbled.  Before he could take more than a few steps, the front door swung open and Ford strolled inside.

              “Fiddleford, I wonder if we might investigate those reports of werewolves in the next town over,” Ford said, paging through his research journal. “There was some sort of brouhaha last night.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Fiddleford saw Angie’s hands clench into fists.  Ford looked up.  He frowned at Angie.  “Um. You didn’t tell me you had a relative visiting.”

              “Turns out you have one visitin’, too,” Fiddleford said cheerfully, nodding at Stan.  Ford turned. He glowered.

              “Stanley.”

              “Stanford,” Stan said shortly, crossing his arms.  Ford stepped closer to Stan.  “Personal space, Poindexter.”

              “What are you doing here?” Ford asked.  Stan shrugged.

              “Dunno.  I was driving with Angie, and got this weird urge to come here.”

              “Almost like something was guiding you here?” Ford asked slowly.  Stan eyed him.

              “…Yeah.”

              “I see.  I see.” Ford reached into his trench coat. He pulled out a bag of jelly beans. Angie sucked in her breath softly. Fiddleford frowned at her.

              “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked quietly.  Angie bit her lip and didn’t respond, continuing to stare at Stan and Ford. Slowly and deliberately, Ford tore a hole open in the bag of jelly beans and poured them onto the floor.  Stan twitched.

              “Stan,” Angie whispered.  Stan twitched again.  Ford raised an eyebrow smugly.  Stan let out a noise between a groan and howl before diving to the floor.

              “One, two, three,” he mumbled, picking up the jelly beans one by one. Fiddleford blinked.

              “What’s goin’ on?”

              “My twin is exhibiting arithromania,” Ford said, watching Stan continue to count the jelly beans.  “One of the diagnostic criteria necessary to identify a vampire.”

              “A- Stanford, I know you have yer issues with Stanley, but accusin’ him of bein’ undead is a mite too far,” Fiddleford scolded.  Ford shook his head.

              “His skin is pale, he has enlarged canines, he’s as cold as stone. There’s nothing else that this could be.”  Fiddleford felt the blood drain from his face.

              “Banjey, you’ve been livin’ with a vampire fer months.  Oh, I’m so sorry.  And I’m so sorry ya had to find out this-”

              “You couldn’t have asked?” Angie burst out suddenly.  She glared at Ford with such intensity that Ford flinched. A low growl came from the back of her throat.  “You had to make him count all that?  Come on! That’s just cruel!”

              “You- you knew?” Fiddleford stammered.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Of course I knew, Fidds!  Like ya said, I’ve been livin’ with him fer months!  It’d be pretty difficult to miss all the times he knocked out someone fer lunch.”

              “Oh, Lord.”  Fiddleford made the sign of the cross.  Angie sighed.

              “Don’t blow this out of proportion.”

              “I don’t think it’s possible fer me to do that.  My lil sister has been an amnesiac living with a vampire fer months!”

              “Amnesiac?”  Ford looked over at Angie.  “Wait, is this the sister that went missing?”

              “Yes.  And apparently she’s been with Stan, not rememberin’ anything about herself.”

              “Hmm.”  Ford looked back at Stan.  “I haven’t heard of a vampire bite causing amnesia, but-”

              “Stan didn’t make me lose my memory,” Angie snapped.

              “What did?” Ford asked.  Angie huffed and crossed her arms.

              “If I knew, I’d tell ya.”

              “If Stan didn’t attack you, how do you explain those bite marks?” Ford asked, nodding at the scar on Angie’s right arm.

              “A dog bit me, genius.”

              “When?”

              “I ain’t tellin’ ya.  Not after ya insisted on testin’ my boyfriend by makin’ him count candy!”

              “Boyfriend?”  Ford looked back at Stan.  “You’re dating Stanley?”

              “Yes.  I am.” Angie jutted her chin out proudly. “And I don’t care what you or anyone else says.  I love him.”

              “Really?” Fiddleford asked softly.  “You love him?”  Angie turned to him.

              “Yes,” she said in the same tone.  “I do.  He’s saved my life time and time again, he took care of me when I didn’t know who I was, and he- he makes me laugh.  He’s a good man.”  Angie smiled. “A good vampiric man.”  Fiddleford sighed.

              “Stanford, I want Angie to stay here fer a bit.  At least until she can get back on her feet.”  Ford nodded.

              “Of course.”

              “But she doesn’t want to stay unless Stanley also stays.”

              “Out of the question.”

              “Please, Stanford,” Fiddleford said.  Stan finished counting the jelly beans and stood up.  “Stanley, will ya promise to behave if ya stay here?”

              “What counts as behaving?” Stan asked, shoving the jelly beans into a pocket.

              “Not feeding from anyone in the household, to start,” Ford said.  Stan waved a hand airily.

              “Eh.  Everyone here is O positive, and I prefer A positive anyways.”

              “Darlin’, yer not helpin’ yer case,” Angie said.  Stan looked over at her.  He softened visibly.

              “…Fine.  I’ll behave. I’ll make nice.  As long as I can stay here with Angie,” Stan said.  Angie smiled at him.  Ford looked away, frustrated.

              “You can stay,” he ground out after a moment.  “But only because Fiddleford wants you to.  And if you so much as look at anyone’s neck-”

              “I won’t.”

              “Good.  Because if you do, I’m going to revoke your permission to be here immediately.”

              “Figured.”  Stan stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.  He looked outside.  “Looks like it’s finally nightfall, so I’m gonna go outside and uh…do some vampire stuff.”

              “Be careful,” Angie said.

              “Don’t worry.  No one’ll even see me,” Stan said with a wink.  He rushed out through the front door.

              “He clearly wasn’t to eager to stick around,” Ford remarked.  Angie scoffed.

              “You triggered his arithromania.  Of course he won’t want to stick around when he doesn’t need to!  That was incredibly rude!”  Ford walked over to the table Angie and Fiddleford were sitting at.

              “My apologies.  I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.  Angie continued to glare at him.  Again, Fiddleford could have sworn her eyes were glimmering eerily.  Ford frowned.  “May I see your dog bite?”

              “No,” Angie snapped, jerking her arm away from him.  She stood.  “I’m going to go outside and wait for Stan to come back.  Fidds, you can join me if ya want.”

              “I’ll be out there in a few,” Fiddleford said.  Angie left, slamming the front door behind her.  Fiddleford turned to Ford.  “Stanford, why’d ya have to go and do that?  Angie’s furious!”

              “Look-”

              “Try not to upset either Angie or Stan, at least fer a week or so. Please.  I need to find out what all happened to Angie while she was gone, and she won’t share if she’s in a mood,” Fiddleford said.  Ford sighed.

              “Very well.  I’ll do my best to keep it civil.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “But I should probably let you know that something about her dog bite seemed…odd.”

              “How many dog bites have you seen?”

              “…None.”

              “Exactly.  Nothin’ seemed odd to me.”  Fiddleford paused.  Ford nodded.

              “You saw her eyes, too.”

              “Prob’ly just a trick of the light.  You said yourself that vampires are cold, and she’s like a lil furnace right now.”  Fiddleford stood up.  “Don’t go around tryin’ to diagnose Angie with a case of some spookum disease, okay?”

              “But if she’s-”

              “Stop.  I don’t care. My sister is normal.  Or as normal as a McGucket can be.”  Fiddleford began to head towards the front door.  “Clean up the attic, would ya?  I think Angie ‘n Stan can sleep up there.”

              “Okay.”

              “Thank you.”  Fiddleford exited the house.  Ford immediately took out his journal and flipped it to the page he’d had open when he entered.

              “I’m sure I wrote something about glowing eyes in here somewhere…”

#jk Ford doesn't actually figure it out right away #he takes forever to connect the dots bc he gets distracted by something #and then when he does figure it out he shoves wolfsbane into Angie's face to confirm which could easily kill her #and Stan barely stops himself from killing Ford #Werepire Stangie AU #Angie McGucket #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Stangie #my writing #ficlet #speecher speaks