#have a good day my dear! i am about to hunker down at home for the next 48hrs to ride out the heatwave 😭

[magistralucis]

@absolut--kurant!

#behold! our first sunflower of the year 💖🌻💖🌻💖 #i noticed it had bloomed yesterday morning... at 4am 😅 #it was the only cool time i had to go on a walk alas #but we have flowers! and what flowers they are! #there are about three more plants beside this but they haven't formed flowers yet #watch this space for future sunflowers 🌻🌻🌻 #have a good day my dear! i am about to hunker down at home for the next 48hrs to ride out the heatwave 😭 #oy.............. #sunflower

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She’s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. “I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #me: I'm gonna take this show incredibly seriously and analyze it in detail #also me: wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if viola just rode around in Dani's mind yapping all the time? #also also me: oh no it went from being stupid to having heart anyway what the hell #anyway this is all karatam's fault and she knows it #and like everything else it isn't as silly as it could be because my dumb heart got in the way

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

Not to Me

Darth Maul x Reader   

A/N: Heyyyyyy, so, here’s yet another story! It’s a short little thing, but that’s because I have a really long fic that I’m working on right now that’s slowly but surely getting written! It’s taking up most of my writing time, but I wanted to take a break and work on some shorter fics! (Plus this has been in my drafts for wayyyyyyy too long!) I hope y’all like it!

Original Imagine/Summary Thingy: A prompt: Just a small dialogue prompt: “Take Me Instead.” 

Warnings: None, just a mild, miiiillllld bit of angst, but then there’s fluff, so it’s okay! Also, edited, but not really? Like, I did some mild editing but...eh? I think it’s pretty good as is!

Word Count: 1.4k

(Okay, this gif has nothing to do with the story, but I just think he’s really pretty in this one!)

You saw the sunlight glinting off the sword outstretched from the grunt’s arm. And from another angle, a second agent, holding Savage in a hard headlock.

“You will come with us Lord Maul! The Black Sun will not stand for this treachery any longer!” He yelled across the throne room. “You come with us, or we kill your brother!”  

The ultimatum was set. And a decision needed to be made.

You remained hidden, but you can see Maul considering his situation from his place upon the throne. He thought for a long while, and you could tell that the grunt was getting antsy. He didn’t have much time left.

Something came over you then, and despite your shaking, fisted hands, you made a bold decision. One you knew Maul would disapprove of. Nevertheless, you did it anyway.

“Take me instead.” 

You stepped out from your hiding place, and stood before the Black Sun representatives.

Maul’s heart plummeted through the palace floor. 

No.

“Hmm? Whose this? What’s your name little thing?” The Black Sun operative seemed amused by your bravery. He lowered his sword, and walked closer to you. 

Thing? The zabrak raged.

You answered as confidently as you could. 

“My name matters not. However, my title might be of some value to you. I am the royal advisor to the Throne of Mandalore. If you took me you would have influence over the throne and access to priceless information about the inner workings of Mandalore. You could run the planet with the information I have.” 

The operatives didn’t get a chance to respond. They were thrown back into the walls, and you were spun around to face Maul. His grip on your arm was steel. It almost hurt.  

“What, do you think you’re doing?” He seethed above you with crinkled brows.

Your eyes were wide, shocked by his ferocity and the strength of his grip on your arm. 

“I’m doing the smart thing,” You began after the shock faded, “Listen, Maul, in the grand scheme of things, you’re vastly more important than me. If I came home without you, Mandalore would crumble. But if you came home without me, big whoop. Mandalore would be vastly better off. Let me go with them.” 

“No”

His tone was stone. There would be no swaying him, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try.

“Why? It’s the smarter decision Maul, it would be better-“

“It would not be better.” He declared through clenched teeth. There was more behind it than the worry of leaked information.

“Why not? You know that this is the smarter option. Why won’t you-“

“It’s because I love you!” He finally shouted.  

And the room stilled. It was silent save for his heaving breaths. Nothing moved for minutes.

“You...You love me?” You whispered out of the silence with wide eyes. 

Maul looked into your eyes, and brushed his hand against your upper arm, and watched the surprise on your face. Though he couldn’t really tell if it was surprise or horror. Neither would surprise him honestly.

He glanced over your shoulder to check on the Black Sun grunts. Thankfully they were still out cold which gave him some time.  

He sighed, long and deep, looking back to you and your wide eyes.

“I.....Yes.” Maul whispered in a repressed sort of way, as if he was holding something back, “We’ll speak of this in a moment. Let me deal with these these two traitors.”

You nodded and left for your office in the palace, not missing the vibrating buzz from Maul’s saber and the chilling swooping sound it made as it moved. 

You dread to think what those operatives were going to go through.  

~~~~~~ 

It was quiet in your office save for the crackling fire in the large fireplace. You waited patiently on the beautiful, deep red leather couch that sat on the long wall of the room opposite a large window. You tried to read through some agreements and propositions that were piled all around you, but you couldn’t stop thinking of what he said. 

He loved you. 

You couldn’t help the giddy smile on your lips and the warmth in your cheeks. You even giggled a little and scrunched up your nose. 

He loved you!  

He really loved you!  

You abandoned the propositions and agreements to the floor and thought about the way he looked at you. He seemed so angry. His eyes were alight with fire when you told him you wanted to take his place. But then they were so soft. Softer than you’d ever seen them before. And then he brushed your arm and...

Damn. You almost took his place. If it weren’t for Maul, you’d be in a ship on the way to Maker knows where, and you’d be absolutely screwed. I mean, what you said wasn’t wrong. You could run the planet with what you know. But still. Just the thought scared you. 

You shivered at the idea, and put it out of your mind. The Black Sun was something you could worry about later.  

Maul loved you. 

There was a soft rapping on your door that brought you back to the couch and the crackling fire.  

“Maul?” You question, inviting him into your office.

He steps in, his shoulders were slightly hunkered in a way that was hard to see, but he looked like he was trying to hold himself high as always.  

“Hello dear.” His voice was hesitant.  

“Hello.” You gave him a bright, knowing smile.  

Looking at him. you could see that he seemed lost. He wasn’t looking at you, and his shoulders hunkered more as he leaned against your desk.

He sighed before he spoke.

“I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never done anything of this sort before. I’ve never felt this way before.” 

“You don’t have to say anything Maul,” You offered kindly, “You said that you loved me. That’s all the explanation that I need.”  

“Yes, but, I feel the need to apologize for how I told you. It wasn’t anything sweet or romantic, not that I’d know how to go about anything of the sort in the first place, but that’s beside the point. I yelled it at you. Dear, I would never dream of yelling at you, and yet I did. I was angry and....” He had to collect himself again, letting out a breath before he spoke, “I was....scared...to lose you. I was afraid that they’d take you, and I couldn’t have that. I can’t run Mandalore without you, and more so I can’t imagine a day without you. Let alone multiple. It’d be unbearable.” 

He trailed off with his last thought, looking down to his hands which were nervously worrying at each other. 

“Maul...I--I don’t know what to say...” You whispered through your hand as happy tears started building in your eyes. The smile on your face was the widest you’d ever smiled. 

He looked up to you when he heard the waver in your voice, and his eyes softened once again at the sight of you. Even if he knew you were smiling, the tears in your eyes shot a pang of worry through him.

“Oh dear, don’t say anything.” He rushed over to you and held you in his arms. A tight hand around your waist and the other crading the back of your head. 

And a few moments later, despite the joy of finally holding you close to him in his arms, he pulled you back so he could look into your eyes, “Just kiss me love. Please.”  

And you did. With the happiest of tears falling down your cheeks, you surged up and kissed his lips. Maul’s arms tightened around you and he pressed back into your kiss with every drop of love and affection he had. Hi kiss was hard and needy and his grip was unyielding. You could feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and taste the sweet tang of his lips. There was something so comfortable, so right about this moment. 

Maker you never wanted it to end. 

But moment’s later, Maul pulled away, breathless, and held your head to his chest. 

“My love, you have not idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing that.”  

You hummed in response before looking up to him with something mischievous in your eyes. 

“Well then dear, why don’t you do it again?” 

He smirked at your forwardness, giving an amused chuckle before leaning down to kiss you once more.

~~~~~~

Tags!  

@justalittlecloud @fanficsforheartandsoul

#darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul imagine #darth maul x you #star wars #Hey this is a cute little fic #I hope yall like it! #It's pretty cute to me!

[aftgficrec]

Any recs for fics written in an epistolary or otherwise unconventional format? Like news articles and such? (Social media AUs are good but I think I’ve read all of those lol) Thanks so much!

Yes, we’ve got plenty here for you!  Fics in letter form, social media formats, interviews, pov changes, flashbacks and even incorporating post-it notes. Hope you’ll find something here that’s new to you! - S

From previous posts

Epistolary form:

‘Inevitable (the epistolary remix)’ here

Other Formats (social media etc.):

‘Take Me Home’, ‘every time you curse my name’, ‘all that i’ve been dreaming of’ and ‘What if we kissed…and we met on tinder?’ here

‘Post Its and Missing Persons’ here

‘places to go, people to see (think we both oughta put 'em on hold)’ here

‘Would You Rescue Me’ here

‘00:00 (Zero o'Clock)’ here

‘Reputation’, ‘So Fucking Romantic (The Social Media Remix)’ and ‘i got so fucking romantic (i apologize, lemme light your cigarette)’ here

‘The Best of Men’, ‘you used to call me on my cell phone’ and ‘pro exy, pro twitter au’ here

‘Captured Moments’, ‘I’ve had a love of my own’ and ‘Andrew and Neil Take the Internet’ series here

‘Please tell me it’s just the fandom freaking out’, ‘Stay Home With Me’, ‘aftg social media au’ series here

see also: ‘Red Rabbits’ series 1 and 2, the podcast au incorporating audio file transcripts and in character posting on various social media platforms (Season One and Season Two, both now complete)

Epistolary fics:

An Exchange of Owls by AgentCoop [Rated T, 2792 words, complete, Aftg Spring Exchange 2021]

Dear McGonagall,

Fuck you.

Yours sincerely,

Andrew Not-A-Witch Minyard

***

In which Andrew's Hogwarts letter finds him three years too late. In which Neil is a work study student manning the owlery. In which shenanigans, hijinks, and magic ensue via letter over the course of a semester.

Dearly Detested by darkbluebox [Rated T, 1207 words, complete, 2021]

Transcription of handwritten letters between anonymous rivals, circa 1800s. Letters were discovered in their original envelopes, which bear a broken wax seal and the stamp of the U.S. postal service. Letters have been ordered chronologically according to postal markings. For speculation on the events and people referenced, see appendix 13.

"Long distance Andreil except it’s the 1800s so their only communication is long handwritten letters sealed with wax stamps"

Every Letter That You Write Me by lemonicee [Rated G, 2000 words, complete, Aftg Mixtape Exchange 2021]

Your Grace,

I have noticed your recently increased patronage of the fencing studio situated across the street from my offices. Even in the flow of ridiculously attired swordsmen, you are monumentally easy to differentiate from the others. You have, I’ve observed, a quite unique gait. I am reminded of a small rabbit darting from the safety of one burrow to another.

Forever yours. by Aiofhan [Rated T, 6833 words, incomplete, last updated March 2021]

'You say I’m not brave, but if I manage to get this letter to you, I will feel brave. I will feel that I beat them, just for a second.'

Neil goes on a journey to find out who was writing letter to his mom.

He meets Andrew along the way.

Liebe Herr Hemmick, by rabeimwald [Not Rated, 871 words, complete, 2020]

Andrew writes a letter to Nicky in a push to start his life post-system. It's messy and painful, but so is life. He hated everything about it, but he knows it's important. And a small, small part of him hopes it works.

Heaven was a place on Earth by moonqueerdom [Rated M, 2137 words, complete, 2020]

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody

Is loving you

Baby, now you do

~ 

A letter from Neil Josten to his lover, Andrew Minyard.

tw: major character death, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced violence

summer’s snow by exyandreil [Rated G, 1913 words, complete, Aftg Valentine’s Day Exchange 2019]

he looked like the god of sunshine. golden hair and honeyed eyes. his demeanour wasn’t as sweet as he looked, but the silence seemed to fit with him

Other Formats:

per my last email, you're an asshole by koemi [Rated T, 1710 words, incomplete, last updated March 2021]

(Andrew to Kevin):

Kevin Day,

I’ve noticed you frequently using your company email account for personal use. I remind you that this is against the company policy. We also discourage dealing with personal issues during work hours.

Thanks,

Andrew Minyard

Columnist

Columbia Chronicle

(803)-415-8876 ext. 0310

(Kevin to Andrew):

Bitch.

—

In which the gang works at the local newspaper and communicates via passive aggressive corporate email. Neil is their newest reporter, Nicky is a walking HR violation, and Kevin wishes that Matt would stop reviewing sports movies.

READ OUR INTERVIEW WITH ROLLING STONE HERE: by @redrabbitspod [tumblr, 2020]

Red Rabbits: The Rolling Stone Interview

Featuring Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten, and the Red Rabbits Team

(includes art by @bloodydamnit)

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa

Clickbait by Frostandcoal [Rated T, 5431 words, complete, Aftg Exchange 2017]

It is fitting that Josten is set to don a Dragons’ uniform. Like his new mascot, Josten is a fire-breathing, relentless, somewhat mythical creature whose very existence seems larger than life. And Minyard is the perfect manifestation of a Cyclone; an inescapable, violent maelstrom of unpredictability, where your only chance of survival is to hunker down and wait out the storm.

What happens when a dragon battles a force of nature? That’s what we’re all waiting to find out. 

The media reacts to teammates-turned-rivals in the summer before Neil Josten’s first year in the pro’s.

Trending by Frenchie (Fauks) [Rated G, 2142 words, complete, 2016]

It starts with a clickbait article:

25 Themed Weddings You Wish You Were Invited To

Number 3 on the list:

3. Exy-Themed Wedding

#fic #Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard #Mary Hatford/OC #Nicky Hemmick & Andrew Minyard #universe: pre canon #universe: canon divergent #universe: post canon #au: podcast #au: journalism #au: soulmates #au: historical #au: social media #au: harry potter #theme: fluff & angst #theme: fluff & humour #theme: angst with a happy ending #theme: epistolary #theme: enemies to lovers #theme: strangers to lovers #theme: long distance #theme: secret relationship #theme: minyard josten rivalry #theme: trans character #theme: mafia #aftg exchange #aftg mixtape #tw: major character death #tw: implied/referenced csa #tw: implied/referenced child abuse #tw: implied/referenced violence

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #1: Hunker Down

Words: ca. 2,500 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: lime CW: language, angst, talk of sex

AN: This isn’t the full story, but the rest hasn’t been written yet.

—

What am I doing?

Anna stuck the six pack of craft beer in the rusty metal basket on the front of her bike.

You have no power, dummy. The house is gonna get hot, and she invited you. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Anna sighed and looked up at the orange-gray sky. “So eerie,” she mumbled as she got on her bike and began peddling. Kind of ominous of how I think this is gonna go, she thought. How many years has it been since we’ve even talked?

An hour ago, during a particularly nasty bit of hurricane weather, she lost power at her house. No surprise there, really. She almost always lost power when it rained. And Anna didn’t like rain. Or, more appropriately, Anna didn’t like being alone during rain.

Just as she began texting friends to see whose place she could crash at, she received a text from her estranged older sister.

“Hey, it’s Elsa. I know it’s been a while, but if you need company during this storm, I’m at the house.”

Something inside tugged at Anna’s heartstrings. She wanted a relationship with Elsa. She wanted to have her sister back in her life. She wanted to talk about the fight that drove a wedge between them. So she texted back that she’d be over shortly.

As she biked towards her destination- her childhood home now occupied by her sister, Anna nodded at the few people out assessing their property. The eye of a hurricane was always an interesting time. The winds died down and the rain stopped, but experience told Anna that this storm wasn’t over yet. It was nowhere near over.

She easily crossed the road that separated her neighborhood from her sister’s. Funny, we live close, but we’re so far apart, she mused as a few drops of rain fell on her.

Shit.

She peddled faster, praying she’d make it before the heavens opened up again. Luckily, she spotted the familiar white house ahead.

Come on, come on, come on. Made it!

Anna braked in front of the black door with the brass knocker and waited. Should she let herself in? She had a key. Should she knock? Was she a guest or was it still her home too?

As Anna contemplated, the door opened, and she was shaken from her thoughts. Her older sister stood in the doorway in loungewear that fit her perfectly. Anna had always been a little jealous of Elsa’s figure. She was taller, leaner from years of running, and had slightly bigger boobs that Anna envied. Her white gold hair was voluminous, and her complexion was flawless. In short, Anna thought her sister was gorgeous. God, she looks the same as she did three years ago.

“Some things never change,” Elsa chuckled. “Still lost in that big, imaginative mind, huh?”

Anna chuckled nervously. “I wasn’t sure if I should just come in or not.” She got off her bike. “Can I bring this in?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Elsa responded and opened the door wider to let Anna in. She regarded her younger sister as she walked in. Anna looked healthy and well, if not a bit wet from the rain. Her bright yellow raincoat and black rain boots kept her mostly dry. 

“I brought beer,” Anna said as she kicked the stand on her bike and picked up the six pack from out of the basket. She held it up for Elsa to inspect. 

Elsa crinkled her nose. “I’m not much of a beer drinker.”

“More for me then,” Anna shrugged. Though it had been a few years since she last stepped foot in the house, muscle memory took over and she walked to the kitchen. “But you do like booze.”

Elsa followed her sister and peered over her shoulder at the wine she set out after Anna’s text confirmed she’d come over. Three wine bottles sat on the large island in the middle of the space.

Anna picked up a bottle of rosé. “You a wine mom now?”

Elsa lightly laughed. “I guess so. I never learned how to drink beer. I couldn’t stand the taste, but I like wine. Besides, what’s a hurrication without a little alcohol?”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Anna grinned. She handed Elsa the bottle and sat at the island. Taking her own bottle out of the cardboard pack, she attempted to twist the cap off. “Dammit,” she muttered.

“Need a bottle opener?” Elsa fished one out of a drawer and tossed it to Anna. Then she pulled a wine glass from a glass-paneled cabinet and placed it on the island.

Anna watched as Elsa uncorked the wine bottle and sniffed the cork. Then she poured a small bit into her glass and swirled it around before taking a dainty sip. Satisfied, she poured more.

Ever the classy one, Anna thought.

Elsa noticed Anna watching with a raised brow and blushed. “I took a class,” she explained. “Wine is a fascinating subject.“ 

“Hey, no judgment here,” Anna grinned. “It’s cool that you took a class. Maybe I could take a beer brewing class. I’m sure they have them around town. There’s so many local breweries now. I feel like I’m at one at least once a week with friends.”

Elsa hummed as she took a sip and looked out of the kitchen window. The rain was in full swing and she could see tree branches swaying violently in the wind.

Dammit, Anna. Don’t talk about your friends with your estranged sister.

“So, what el-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Elsa laughed lightly. “You don’t need to be sorry, Anna. You have a life. Which is what I wanted to ask you about. What have you been up to lately?”

Anna took a swig of beer and set her bottle down. Her sister wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I’ve been working at a souvenir shop. It’s actually really fun too because we also do tarot and palm readings and fortune telling, and tourists are so stupid they believe what we say.” She chuckled and took another sip of beer. When she looked at her sister again, Elsa didn’t look amused. “What?”

Elsa blinked. “What?”

“What’s that face?” Anna crossed her arms. Here we go.

“I’m not making a face,” Elsa defended. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, causing the house to shake.

“Yes, you are, Elsa. You’re making a snobby face, like my job isn’t good enough for you. We can’t all live in our parents’ house and have tons of money from our fancy museum job or whatever you’re doing these days.”

Anna’s tone was brusque, but she didn’t care. Things had been bad between them ever since the fight.

The fight was three years ago after Elsa walked in on Anna having sex with her at-the-time boyfriend/current-and-forever ex. It’d been Anna’s idea. There had been a big party, and her whole family had been dressed to the nines. A perfect night for something special. She had wanted to lose her virginity that night, and- despite it being with Hans- it had been pretty good. At least he knew how to eat a girl out. Well, not as good as the girls Anna had since been with, but he had been good enough for her first time.

But Elsa just had to walk into Anna’s room to ask her something about… she didn’t even remember what Elsa wanted. Elsa had frozen in place, staring at the two of them for what had seemed like 20 minutes, when it was actually only a few seconds. 

“Get out,” Anna had screamed. Thankfully, that had gotten Elsa to run out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

The fight had taken place the next day after her parents had a chat with her about sex. She’d been mortified. She had been 18 after all, and she had consented. Her parents hadn’t cared and forbid her from seeing Hans again. Looking back, Anna didn’t mind that part. Hans had turned out to be a manipulative ass. At the time, however, she had been angry at Elsa. She’d called Elsa a prude and old-fashioned and said that no one would ever want to have sex with a pasty virgin. Elsa had called her trash and an embarrassment to the family.

In essence, they had hurt each other deeply that morning, and their relationship never recovered. They had gone their separate ways in life, only coming back together 8 months after that to say goodbye to their parents who had passed away in a car accident just outside of the city.

Remembering how Elsa had called her a whore that day, Anna grinned wickedly and stood up. Her puritan sister might as well know what else she did with her free time. “You’d really hate my favorite job though.”

Elsa opened and closed her mouth before sighing. “What job?”

“Camming,” Anna said. “That’s right, dear sister, your younger sister gets naked online for money. Sometimes I even have sex with my female roommate for my audience.”

“Anna-” Elsa’s eyes darted around the room, and she looked very uncomfortable, her face beet red.

“Still such a prude,” Anna shook her head as she grabbed the cardboard case that held her unfinished beers. “Jesus, Elsa. Get out from the rock you’ve been living under. Who knows, maybe you’ll even find someone to fuck.”

She turned to leave, deciding that taking her chances in the hurricane was better than staying here. When she got to the foyer, however, the lights went out. “Shit.” At least it’s still daytime. There’ll be some light outside to get home.

“Anna,” Elsa whimpered from somewhere behind her.

Anna took a deep breath and let it out. Without turning, she addressed her sister. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I… please don’t leave. There’s a hurricane,” Elsa sniffled.

Anna finally turned. In what little light was coming from the windows, she saw that Elsa had tears in her eyes. She immediately felt like a bitch for being so mean to Elsa. Elsa had always been the more sensitive and skittish of the sisters. Anna could remember times when touching Elsa would scare her so much that she jumped.

“Please. I want- no, I need you. To stay. Please,” Elsa said desperately. “I can’t lose you.”

“Elsa-”

“I know we haven’t talked in years, but you’re my fa-family, and I don’t want to l- lose you again.” Tears fell down Elsa’s face as she spoke. “I’m sorry I was jealous of Hans and told on you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I-” 

“Wait, what did you just say?” Anna’s brows knit together as she held onto a thought.

Elsa wiped her eyes. “I said I was sorry.”

“No, not that. You said you were jealous of Hans.”

“N-no. I didn’t.” Elsa’s voice was shaky, and her arms wrapped around her midsection, something Anna remembered her doing a lot during their childhood when Elsa was anxious or frightened. When Anna stepped forward, Elsa stepped back.

“Elsa.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t,” Elsa shut her eyes tightly, unable to continue. She was sure she was about to have a panic attack when two arms wrapped around her waist. 

Anna drew her into a hug and spoke softly, “Elsa, it’s okay. It’s okay to be jealous.”

Elsa’s body shook. “Not like this.”

“Like what?” Anna sounded so maternal in that moment that she could hardly believe that she was so cruel to her sister a few minutes ago.

“I can’t tell you. You… you’ll hate me, and I can’t lose you. I can’t,” Elsa cried, soaking Anna’s raincoat-clad shoulder. 

The cogs in Anna’s brain started turning as she realized what Elsa wasn’t saying. “Elsa, you were jealous of Hans… because he had sex with me?” 

Anna could feel Elsa shaking harder with that question, but she had to know. “Did you wish you could…?” 

Elsa tried to pull away, but Anna held tight.

“Elsa, tell me. Please.” 

She felt the slightest of nods and took that as confirmation. Her sister had told her parents about her and Hans because she was jealous that Hans got to have sex with Anna. Elsa was jealous of Hans because he got to have sex with Anna and she didn’t. Elsa wanted to have sex with Anna.

Not as creeped out by that as I could be.

While the thought was a little weird, Anna was more flattered than anything. And it made sense that Elsa had deflected during the fight. She had had a secret to keep- a secret that was, societally speaking, more morally wrong than having a whore for a sister. The more Anna thought about it, the more she was actually turned on by the fact that, of all the people in the world, Elsa wanted her. She contemplated her next move as she rubbed Elsa’s back. 

Elsa’s back still shook from crying, but she finally returned the hug. After a few minutes, Anna pulled back slightly and noticed that Elsa couldn’t look at her. She cupped her older sister’s cheeks tenderly. “Elsa, I won’t leave you, okay?”

“Why,” Elsa questioned. Her eyes begged Anna to tell her why she wouldn’t leave an incestuous monster. 

Anna stroked Elsa’s cheeks with her thumbs and smiled before closing her eyes, leaning in, and brushing her lips against Elsa’s. 

Elsa froze but didn’t back away. Her eyes were wide when Anna’s opened. 

“Because I think… maybe I want to have sex with you too.”

Elsa squeaked and finally withdrew herself from Anna. “No, you… you don’t want that.” 

“But what if I do? You want it, so why can’t I?” Anna’s eyebrows furrowed. Isn’t this what Elsa wanted? Isn’t this what could finally end their estrangement?

“It’s wrong, Anna,” Elsa said.

“I know it’s wrong, but… oh god, I’m… give me a minute.” Anna tried to search her feelings because, despite feeling right, this was new and she needed to talk through things. “I think I’ve always been attracted to you, Elsa. I just shrugged it off as envy. I mean, you’re gorgeous as hell and smart and fun to be around.” A skeptical look from her older sister had Anna backtracking a bit. “I know we had the fight; but, before that, you were fun to be around. And, now that I know why we had the fight, I understand. You were trying to protect me, Elsa. And I love that you’ve always been protective of me. I love you. As a sister and as maybe more. So, please, let me show you.”

For the next several minutes, they just looked at each other. Like the hurricane outside, there seemed to be a storm brewing behind Elsa’s eyes. Anna wasn’t sure if her impassioned speech would change anything, but she knew she was not leaving the house anymore. 

“I can’t lose you either, Elsa.”

Elsa seemed to stand a little straighter with Anna’s admission, and her eyes locked on Anna’s. She surged forward to pull Anna into a kiss that sent bolts of pleasure down to Anna’s core. Anna’s yellow raincoat was quickly removed as their tongues moved in harmonious synchronicity, and Elsa guided her up to her bedroom.

While the hurricane raged on, the two sisters gave into their desires, finding both themselves and each other. 

The next morning was silent and still. People began the process of cleaning up and assessing the damage. Crews were already starting to work on restoring power. News anchors interviewed street flood kayakers and business owners.

In the white house with the black door, Anna woke with a start. Her sister’s naked back was to her, and her hair cascaded onto the mattress. Remembering last night, Anna wiped the sleep from her eyes. 

What have we done?

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm #lime #cw: angst

[ineffable-endearments]

Waking up in July

(Rating: G. Approx. 1917 words.)

July 1, 2020.

On reaching for the snooze, Crowley discovers an envelope he definitely didn’t leave on top of his phone. (Mail doesn’t usually get delivered to his bedside, of course, but given the handwriting on the front, Crowley has the impression divine intervention was involved this time.)

Dear Crowley,

I am writing to you in frustration. Not with you, you must understand, but with myself. There are a few things I do believe need clarifying.

Given everything that’s happened, I feel strongly that I ought to be behaving in solidarity with the guidelines the people of London have set for themselves. I must admit, it was a surprise to hear you express the same sentiment. I’ve always known you aren’t cruel enough to want to see innocent people fall ill (don’t you roll your eyes at this letter; you said it yourself), but I thought surely you would have your own ways of getting around the lockdown, carrying on outside the rules and indulging in mischief as you always do. Were this the case, it would only be responsible to invite you over here, to decrease your bad influence.

And yet, this was not the case. Still, after declining your offer when we spoke, I felt somehow unsatisfied, or perhaps at loose ends. It would have been very nice to share my baking with someone who is not attempting to steal my cashbox.

If you read this letter before July, do know you’re encouraged to reach out. We could at least speak telephonically. And if you don’t read this before July, know I will be immensely happy to meet with you again as soon as you awaken.

(There’s a long gap between the end of the paragraph and the end of the letter itself.)

Crowley...I suppose the truth is I miss you very much.

Yours, always,

Aziraphale

“Sentimental old sap,” Crowley says out loud. How else is he going to dislodge the painfully fond lump in his throat? “Right. Time to see what’s going on, then.”

=

Continue below or read the rest on AO3

One rushed mobile search and five minutes later, Crowley has an approximate idea of where the humans stand. They haven’t done the greatest job of getting the virus under control, but they seem to have made...progress? Arguably? Ugh, they could have done better. At any rate, if he and Aziraphale want to see each other, they’re going to have to form a...a “support bubble.”

The notion of asking Aziraphale out loud if he would like to be in something called a “support bubble” together almost makes Crowley want to turn around and go back to sleep.

On second thought, the angel would probably get a kick out of it, and the awful naming scheme would give Crowley something to gripe about, so all’s well that ends well, really.

The bookshop phone barely rings before Aziraphale’s voice is on the line. “Hello. I’m afraid we’re closing early--”

“Good,” Crowley says. “I’m not calling you to buy books.”

“Crowley!”

Oh, that’s a familiar delight in his voice. That’s rescuing-from-the-Bastille, cleaning-paint-off-his-coat, showing-up-for-Armageddon-in-a-flaming-car delight.

“Good morning, angel.”

“So very much has happened. I’d like to fill you in, but oh, I don’t even know where to begin...”

Crowley frowns at his phone, worried. “A lot has happened? What, at the shop?”

“No, no, I mean in the world.”

“All right. Well. Just start in...I dunno, start off from our last conversation, I fell asleep pretty much right away--”

“Come to the shop,” Aziraphale blurts. “You have to wear a mask, and-- and don’t go anywhere else, but it’s allowed. It...it’s okay now.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Crowley says, grinning, ready to ignore any admonishments about speed limits.

“Wait! Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Actually. If you come see me before July 4, we...we have to be in, ah. A support bubble.” There it is. “Have you heard about that yet?”

“Sure I have.” Crowley does his best to sound gruff and unaffected.

“You couldn’t be in anyone’s place but mine, you know. And even after the fourth, you couldn’t...get closer than two metres to anyone but me, even though you could visit--”

“Aside from the fact that all this is totally for show anyway, stop worrying, it’s fine,” Crowley insists. He miracles himself the least-ugly mask he can contemplate and bustles out the door, hurrying irritatedly back a minute later to grab the “something drinkable” he forgot.

They don’t even sit down right away, much less get within the 2 metres of each other. Aziraphale does, however, give Crowley a long, pleasantly intense look (it appears to be a proper drinking-in) when he enters the shop.

“Did you, ah,” Aziraphale clasps his hands together. “Did you get my letter?”

“I did,” Crowley says. “Got a bit bored, did you?”

Aziraphale sighs, impatient. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

“I’d have come over, you know,” Crowley says softly, just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. “You could have called. Had my phone right by the bed.”

“I know,” Aziraphale responds, not any louder. He looks away to the table next to him, makes a show of studying a book that wouldn’t have moved from the shelf since 1949 if it weren’t for Adam’s reorganization. “But if you’d...stayed here, wouldn’t you have been bored?”

Crowley shrugs. “Maybe. I’m sure being bored here wouldn’t be worse than being bored at home.”

“If you were here, hunkering down as you put it, we might have got in each other’s way. I’m sure it would have been lovely for a while, but what about after a day or two? Or after a week? A month?”

“You have always liked being left alone with your work,” Crowley muses. “I could have gone to sleep here, too, though. I know you’ve got that little flat with the single bed you haven’t used since 1993 upstairs.”

At this, something in Aziraphale’s face loosens, and he looks almost as if he might smile. “Oh, now what kind of host banishes his guest upstairs for bedtime?”

“You absolutely would. Or I could just come visit and leave. Rules only apply to us if we decide they should, right?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Aziraphale says. “I was stuck. It seems silly, I know, I know, but it’s such a strange time, everyone out there struggling - I would have felt terrible for choosing not to align with the humans’ rules myself. I was hoping…”

“That I’d help you get around them,” Crowley finishes.

“As you always have,” Aziraphale admits. That confession alone pushes the air out of Crowley’s lungs, a surprising sensation even considering his breath is optional.

“Those were...stupid rules. Dangerous for an angel to break. I felt like I was sort of doing you favors while also being a proper demon when I did that. This isn’t quite the same.”

Aziraphale nods. “No. Perhaps it’s not.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, urgently needing eye contact. Aziraphale cooperates, drifting even a little closer as he does. Not quite 2 metres away now. “This is our side.” Crowley gestures vaguely at Aziraphale and everything around them. “I can sneak around other people’s rules all you want, but I’m not gonna force my way around yours.”

“I don’t know what’s right,” Aziraphale says, plaintive. “People aren’t supposed to be seeing each other, so if we’re going to live here, neither should we. I missed you every day, though, Crowley. Isn’t that strange? We don’t even meet every day under normal circumstances, but something about being forced to stay apart reminded me so much of old times - bad old times…”

The angel is getting himself worked up. “No point worrying about it now,” Crowley interjects. “We’re a...we’re a ‘bubble,’ aren’t we? We’re following the rules just fine and I’m even allowed to come and go. Problems solved.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “For now,” he agrees, smiling in earnest this time. “It did get me thinking about an awful lot of things, though.”

“And none of them have to be resolved this second,” Crowley reassures. “Would you like to talk over wine? I’ve been thinking about this bottle since April.”

“Certainly, yes.” Aziraphale waves his hand. “One more thing before we do, though. You know, it’s alright for people in a bubble to get close to each other.”

“You sure?” Crowley asks, not because he doesn’t know the rule, but because he doesn’t know what Aziraphale’s rule is going to be.

“Yes. I was actually hoping you might - and you can refuse, Crowley, really, it’s a bizarre request - but I was hoping you might allow me to hug you.”

Crowley feels a big, undignified grin breaking out on his face. He schools it into the best semblance of a smirk he can manage, but he’s definitely not going to fool Aziraphale. That’s fine. “All right,” he says. “If it makes you happy.”

There is a different sort of delight on Aziraphale’s face as he sidles nervously up to Crowley. It’s not as blatant as what he’d sounded like on the phone. It’s quieter, but deeper. It’s rescued-books-after-a-fallen-bomb delight.

“Come here,” Crowley murmurs, pulling his very favorite fusspot into a hug. Upon resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, breathing in that cologne and the scent of various baking experiments, soaking in Aziraphale’s warmth like a...well, like a serpent in the sun, Crowley realizes this is as much for him as it is for Aziraphale.

And he doesn’t want to stop. Sod the wine; let this take hours.

“Do you still get the feeling we’re not supposed to be doing this, no matter how safe it is?” Aziraphale asks, voice muffled. He’s sort of talking into Crowley’s jacket.

“Not really the same for me,” Crowley says. “My lot weren’t big on guilt. Fear, more like. Terror, yes. Not guilt.” He lifts his head so he can rest his cheek against the angel’s ridiculous fluffy hair.

“Oh. Yes, that makes sense. Sorry.” Aziraphale presses his head into Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley rolls his eyes, knowing Aziraphale won’t see it, more attempting to reassure himself that he hasn’t gone completely, entirely soft. “Let’s take it one moral crisis at a time,” he whispers, stroking Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale shifts and breathes out, snorting very lightly (although he’d never, ever allow it to be called a ‘snort’ out loud) in a way that indicates he’s trying not to giggle.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, apparently regaining his composure, “they might tighten restrictions again.”

“It’s possible. It might be the smartest option,” Crowley agrees.

“We should consider what we’re going to do if that happens.” Aziraphale has not removed himself from Crowley’s grip. “If you’re really sure you wouldn’t mind…”

Crowley finds himself chuckling, progressing to a full-throated laugh. “What, sleeping upstairs?”

“Well, no--”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it, but if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that I wouldn’t want to sit around and chatter 24/7. You’d have your reading time.”

Aziraphale sighs. “And wouldn’t you miss your things?”

“Sure, possibly. Not like I was using them when I was sleeping the months away, though, was I?”

“All right.” Aziraphale pulls away enough to gesture toward the sofa, leaving Crowley wanting more. Days. Days more. Aziraphale is beaming, though, and Crowley might be, too, and Aziraphale doesn’t end the hold entirely because now their hands are clasped. “Now, bring the wine over here and let’s go sample the desserts. I’m especially interested to hear what you think of the devil’s food cake.”

#good omens #ineffable partners #good omens lockdown #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #covid19 cw #coronavirus cw #alcohol cw

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 17

             A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter 17 1776

The man hunched over, under a blanket, and headed up the mountain road. He was desperately tired and almost starved after hiding from people who would take him into custody. He narrowly escaped the first attempt to take him, but his papers had convinced the ruffians to move on. After that he took no chances and stayed hidden from sight, only moving under the cover of darkness. He could easily hide in the vegetation of the mountain road if someone was coming, so he felt safe walking in the daylight. He looked up the mountain and wondered how far it was and if she would still be there. He kept walking.

I looked up from my garden to see Brain walk out of the woods with a deer slumped dead on his shoulder. He was happy and tossed the thing onto our processing table to butcher it. It filled me with relief when he brought more meat to store away because I expected it could be a very unstable winter. Jamie has been gone for a week, meeting with the governor who is calling in his debt. This beautiful land, the Ridge, that allowed our community to prosper all these years had a price and Jamie would be the one to pay it. I wanted Jamie back home, to hear the news, and to hold him for as long as I could. I’m feeling powerless and scared, like the final days at Lallybroch before the blue stone saved us all.

Every man, young or old, that resided on the Ridge, was aligned with the rebels against the king's army. Many would fight against the loyalists when they were called. This secret was carefully kept. When the government came sniffing, they were told strong loyalists were present to stand at the hand of their leader, Jamie Fraser. It made my stomach turn to think of the dangerous game they were playing. I tried to concentrate on harvesting the last of the garden before it rested for the winter.

I stood up, stretching my back to ease the stiffness and thought, not for the first time, that fifty-four years of age was too young to suffer from constant back pain. When the ache passed, I walked to the gardening shed to put up my tools for the day. It was time to start the evening meal, my duty since Misses Crook was called home to heaven. It had been three years and I still looked for her from time to time and missed her always. As close to a mother I would ever know, a part of me felt empty without her. I walked toward Brian to admire his deer, but his love interest came out of nowhere and hugged his neck. He looked so happy, beaming a smile at her. I decided not to intrude and headed to the house.

Glavia was already adding chunks of vegetables to the pot in the kitchen. Since Daniel was away for his father’s funeral, we decided to feed everybody at one home, mine was far larger. It was so nice to have her here for the past week and I hugged her when I entered the kitchen. Glavia’s oldest son accompanied his father to the funeral, but the other two were there in the kitchen, getting in the way, regaling us with funny stories of their trip to town. I hugged them both and let them know that Brian shot a deer to add to our winter stores. Glavia looked at me with relief. We had seen our share of near starvation over the years when fate and the weather worked against us. It taught us to double our garden space and sell less of the harvest each year.

Jamie has provided for us quite well, however those lean years were terrifying. We all shared what little we had, and the men hunted ten hours a day with little to show for it. Jamie decided to do something about that and used every penny we had to purchase animals, wherever and whenever he found them. It started with three chickens and we feasted on the fresh eggs the first year. The next year he brought home a rooster and soon there were fluffy baby chickens all over the yard, sticking close to their mothers as they pecked the dirt. The chicken coup was enlarged twice to facilitate their numbers and we invited all families on the Ridge to take part in their upkeep, feeding, cleaning, and protecting. I dubbed it the Ridge Cooperative and it grew as we added pig breeding, then sheep, then a few goats. Through this effort, we added pork, eggs, chicken, goat cheese. milk, and wool to our daily existence. It took many years to build up a strong breeding and selling program and we made a lot of mistakes. I remember Misses Crook running across the front yard with a pan of chicken feed in her hand, screaming bloody murder, and a huge male pig chasing her. The giggle bubbled up when the kitchen was quiet, and I realized everyone was looking at me.

I turned around and shrugged my shoulders, “just remembering the pig chasing Misses Crook across the yard.”

Everyone seemed keen on sharing a funny story about Misses Crook, we laughed and held our stomachs until she was there with us again through our memories. I could feel her presence and my eyes stung from tears that were held back. Glavia yelled at her boys to bring the chairs in from the parlor and gave me a knowing smile.

Two years ago, Jamie returned from his spring run to town for seed and supplies with a skinny cow tied to the back of the wagon and I nearly fainted. A cow! I was thrilled to have milk again, real milk, after so many years. The poor cow was malnourished and half dead after the trek up the mountain, but I was determined to bring her to the peak of health and have fresh milk every day. I named her Bluebell, after my favorite ice cream in my century. Now she is three times that size and free-range, coming home each day to be milked and have a scoop of grain and fresh grass hay. I focused on getting stew into bowls and wondered where my daughter was.

Faith snapped out of her daydreaming and stretched at her desk in the schoolroom. She stayed late to prepare the lessons for the next day and got lost in her mind where she constructed her perfect life filled with friends and love, children, and a home. Whenever she allowed herself to think of such things it always left her emotional because she would never have such things. She was busy with learning to teach, helping the community with childbirth, and medicating cuts, burns, and headaches, when she should have been socializing and flirting with the growing number of eligible bachelors in the community. She couldn’t be bothered at that time and somehow the years pushed her over the proper age of marriage and to her horror sealed her fate as a spinster. She shook her head and yawned, reaching for her cloak to go home.

It was already dark when Faith closed the door to the schoolroom and the cold breeze seemed to go right through her. Hunkering into her cloak she hurried home until she saw movement in the trees. She stopped and set her eyes on one tree, the way she was taught, and stared straight at it. There it was, a figure, man or beast, moving slowly up the road to the ridge. She watched it struggle to put one foot in front of the other and finally collapse. She started running, realizing it was a human and called out she was coming.

“Sir, are you well? Do you need food or water?”

She struggled to pull the man to his feet and looked at his handsome face. “Who do you come to see?”

“Claire.”

“Come with me, I will take you to her.”

“Thank God.”

Claire heard Faith calling from the front door, and with her mother’s-hearing, knew something was not right. She wiped her hands on her apron and came quickly.

“Who is this Faith?”

“I don’t know, I saw him fall on the road and ran to help him. He asked…for you.”

“Come and sit down sir, I am Claire Fraser, you look like you could use some food and drink.”

Before I could walk away the man’s hand shot out and seized my arm.

“Pet.”

I felt paralyzed, stunned into silence. That name, Pet, was from a long time ago, and it once meant so much to me. The years of separation made my memory foggy as I tried to remember…

“Dear God, is it you, Joe?”

I fell to my knees and pushed the blanket off his head so I could see his face. It was all I could do not to faint when his incredible eyes found mine. I jumped up and hugged him for all I was worth, sobbing his name over and over. He pulled me to the couch and looked at my face smiling.

“I’ve missed you, Pet.”

I held his hand so tight and sobbed. I wanted to ask him what he was doing here, why did he come, where was Baritone, how long could he stay. But I couldn’t form a single word in my shocked mind, so I just looked at him and cried. Glavia was so happy to see him and hugged him with her own tears rolling down her face.

By now, everyone was standing in the parlor, watching us, wondering who this man was that meant so much to us.

“Joe, may I introduce you to my son, Brian, Glavia’s sons, Matthew and Jacob, and this is Faith, who you held as an infant. Everybody, this is Joe Abernathy, my dearest friend.”

The boys approached respectfully and shook hands in welcome and smiled with warmth. Brian was especially interested and remained close enough to hear every word. Joe spoke to each of them, asking about their lives, their age, their favorite things. He still held my hand and Brian was silently observing. We pulled him into the kitchen and got three bowls of stew in him while we continued to talk about superficial things. As Glavia and I cleaned up the kitchen, Joe continued to talk with the boys. His interest in them made them want to talk, so they did. I could tell Brian wanted to grill him about how he knew me so well, but he politely excused himself to fetch his little love for an evening walk. When Glavia took her boys home she hugged Joe and kissed his cheek, promising to visit every day while he was here.

Faith had not uttered a word since bringing Joe home. It was her nature to sit quietly and observe things she did not understand. Joe looked at her and beamed a smile in her direction.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again, young lady. You have grown into a beautiful woman and I see parts of both parents in your face.”

Joe’s speech and mannerisms were not of this time or place and his statement about her beauty was taboo for a stranger, making her shrink into the corner. I wanted to speak freely with Joe and made a fuss about how tired he looked.

“Let me show you to the guest room, Joe. I will bring hot water for you to wash and then you can rest. We will have loads of time to catch up I hope.”

When we were alone, he asked if I could come to his room later and talk. I nodded yes and smiled, telling him to rest until then. I knew I had to say something to Faith, but what? One thing I was sure of, I wouldn’t lie to her.

“Mama?”

“Yes, darling, I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I would like to talk when your father is here, the three of us. Do you mind terribly?”

“No, I can wait.”

She kissed me on the cheek and went upstairs to her room, brimming with questions I’m sure. Once in my own room, I tried to read, then paced for a bit, and finally crept downstairs and tapped on Joe’s door. He opened it and hugged me into the room. I was decidedly uncomfortable, in a closed room with a man who was not my husband. I shook my head like I was daft, but it didn’t help. After spending more years in this century than my own, I could not allow such impropriety and suggested we speak quietly in the kitchen. I poured whisky for us both and the strong spirit took his breath away at first, then he slid the glass back toward the bottle and I poured another round.

“We said your name every day, Pet, at least once, Baritone and me. He loved you like a sister. When I went through his things, I found a sonogram picture of Faith that he kept all these years and a picture of you and him in front of the fire talking.”

A tear rolled down Joe’s cheek and I grabbed his hand, “what happened?”

“He died of a brain tumor. Diagnosis to death in six months. Inoperable and no treatment. I sold my practice right away and we traveled, lived the high-life, ate, drank, loved, and talked for hours and hours. We walked the surf of so many countries and talked until he couldn’t anymore. The tumor ravaged his brain in four months, so I brought him home, put him to bed, and kept talking. If there was a single piece of brain tissue left that could interpret my voice, I wanted him to know I was right next to him.”

Joe cried into his shirt, trying to stay quiet. I hugged him and he gripped me like a life saver to a drowning man. I just held him and rocked back and forth, saying how sorry I was that he lost his love. It was quite some time we stayed like that. Until he could speak again, I just rocked him.

“He is buried at Lallybroch. It was his wish, the only place that ever felt like home, he said. Every spring he would collect those hay cubes left from the last harvest and give them to a neighbor for his horse. We would go together when I could get away for a few days. To care for the house, prepare it for winter, drive into town, and visit Fiona.” Joe was quiet for a minute. “ We kept our room in the basement, it was comfortable, and the master bedroom just had too much of you and Jamie in it. After Baritone was laid to rest, I spent three days in that room and your energy seemed to wrap around me in comfort. I swear, Pet, I felt you there.”

“I’m so glad it brought you comfort, Joe.

“I couldn’t cope with losing both of you. I spent a week in the library and online, learning everything I could about this century, I found plenty of bills of sale in the archives, for… slave ownership, and had one forged with Jamie’s name on it. It got me out of being arrested when I first got here, after that, I only traveled at night.”

“I am so honored and overwhelmed that you came to find me. It was quite a risk though, how could you be sure we were still here?” I watched Joe struggle to answer and when he did it broke my heart.

“I am in a dark place, Pet. I wanted to see you and nothing else mattered.”

I could see his hands shaking and knew he was exhausted. “Do you think you can sleep, Joe? We can talk again tomorrow. Jamie should be home tomorrow and he will be so happy to see you.”

“Yes, thank you, Pet. See you in the morning.”

I turned the lamps down as I moved toward the stairs. I felt so sad about Baritone’s passing and Joe’s broken heart. Hopefully, some time on the Ridge will heal his heart and soul, meanwhile I have my best friend back.

I always woke early when Jamie was away. I had started the porridge cooking when I heard the front door close and looked around the corner. Joe was standing rigid, glaring at me, and I felt the hair on my neck stand up.

“What is it Joe, what’s happened?”

He looked at me for a whole minute before he answered making me very uncomfortable.

“You have slaves.”

“Certainly not, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What are all those dark-skinned men doing working your fields, Pet?”

I pulled his hand to the kitchen and pushed him into a chair. “They are not my slaves, they are working their own fields. We do not allow slavery on the Ridge, we never have.”

I put a bowl in front of him and noticed his expression was still concern and maybe some disbelief.

“It hasn’t been easy and we have had to fight for their right to stay here. Jamie has ownership papers on every person of color in our community. It’s against the law to free a slave in this time and we have been forced to prove our right to them. It is nasty business owning a human being but here they are equal to every other person on the Ridge. Maybe it’s not true freedom. They cannot leave here but they can choose to farm their own land or any other profession they fancy, they raise their families and all the children are schooled together.” I took a deep breath and looked at my friend. “It’s the best life they can have now that they are in this country and no one tells them what to do. They are happy here.”

I felt his hand cover mine, “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. You and Jamie have done a remarkable thing for these people. What of Murtagh?”

“He is with Jamie right now but normally spends most of his time in town. He has a blacksmith business there. It was his idea to free the ten slaves that were sent to work here by Jamie’s aunt. It all started with him.”

Faith had been listening from upstairs and meekly entered the kitchen and said hello to her mother and Joe. She ate her breakfast, cleaned the kitchen up, and went outside to collect eggs and wait for her father to get home. She agreed to wait for him before her questions were answered and it was killing her not to blurt them out. Why was her mother so familiar with this man? Why did he talk like an educated man? When and where did he hold her as an infant? Faith was sure Brian would have questions of his own.

I talked with Joe for most of the morning and when I heard the wagon outside, I flew to the door and rushed outside. It took a moment to find him with all the men around but when the sun bounced off those azure eyes, I made a mad dash for him and jumped into his arms. He hugged me to him and whispered endearments into my ear. I was so happy to see him and whispered that Joe was here. Jamie held me at arm's length and looked at me with shock on his face.

“Did ye say Joe, mo chridhe?”

“Yes, he came last night. He is heartsick because Baritone died, and he just had to see us and hopefully feel better. I left him a stone shard in case he ever needed to find me.”

Jamie’s face broke into a smile, “I canna wait to see him Sassenach, where is…”

Joe was walking toward Jamie when he looked up and the men shook hands and hugged both smiling and laughing.

“It’s good to see ye, Joe. I’ll be wantin yer time to talk in a bit but I havena washed in a week… and need to.”

Murtagh was next to shake hands and hug Joe, then the three of them headed for the stream for a chilly bath. I brought towels down for them and stopped in my tracks at the sight of them, laughing and talking, so happy to be in each other’s company again.

I put out the noon meal and we sat around the table and talked, about Baritone, Misses Crook, our children, Joe’s practice, and a million other things. We talked about the night Joe and I jumped to find Jamie in the wagon at Lallybroch and how Joe started his heart again once we were back, only to nearly lose him again from blood loss two days later.

“It was Baritone that found the blood you needed but I never asked him how, and now it’s too late,” I whispered, feeling a tear roll down my cheek.

“He was a good man. Let us toast our good friend.”

Jamie poured whisky all around and asked us to stand and held his glass up, “I swear by my hope in heaven that we’ll meet again my friend. To Baritone.”

“To Baritone,” said in unison, and the whisky was tossed back to fortify us during this heartbreaking memorial.

I watched for Faith to come in all afternoon to stem any talk of jumping and the century in the future. I wasn’t aware she was upstairs listening to every word until I ran up for my cloak and fell over her. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and when I tumbled to the ground, I sat up quickly, eye to eye with her and knew she had heard it all.

“Please Faith, wait for your father and me to have a moment to talk with you about this. I know it sounds impossible and you have questions that I promise to answer but it has to wait sweetheart.”

“Why? You were all there together. Why can’t you all answer them for me? It’s what I want mama, as soon as Glavia gets here.”

I wanted to speak with Jamie about this first, but Faith had heard almost every detail of our living in the future and then jumping back. I surrendered to what I felt was fair at that moment. She is an adult and we should treat her as such.

“Alright, Faith, why don’t you get Glavia back here and we will all fill in the details of an extraordinary experience you had as an infant, and who Joe really is.”

Faith was down the steps and out the door before I could get off the floor. I cursed my old bones and pulled my jacket down before getting my cloak for a meet and greet later with Joe. I walked into the kitchen and the three dearest men in my life looked up at me.

“Faith has been upstairs this whole time. I didn’t know. She has questions about Lallybroch, living in the future, jumping back to this time, and more. I asked her to get Glavia and we would tell her all about it.”

I looked at Jamie and he smiled and nodded, much to my relief.

“Come sit with me Sassenach, I need ye near me lass.”

He held my hand under the table and whispered to me, “have courage in the truth, love.” Not a minute later, Glavia and Faith joined the table and we began. Faith asked for each of us to add to the story and I suggested Joe start with our trip to Scotland and seeing me walk through the stones. Jamie picked up the story and described Master Raymond walking into the stone and just minutes later I shot out. He said prayers that the baby was alive and well after the demons tried to take her from my womb.

“It was difficult, saying goodbye to my pregnant wife the last night before the stones would open and allow passage. We were still on the ship and had no idea when we would see Scotland, the ship was already a week overdue. Murtagh was gravely ill and I feared takin his last breath as we heard the crewman yell land. He made a miraculous recovery after yer mam came out of the stone.”

Jamie wrinkled his brow and stared at his folded hands. “It was a miraculous recovery Murtagh and I never thought about it until now. Suppose ye explain it to us.”

“Ye wilna like my explanation laddie but here’s the truth of it. My last visit to the witch she tricked me, and I paid her to tell me how the lasses’ journey through the stones would go. She agreed and said ye would lose yer mind and die of insanity if I told ye how it would end. She said two hearts will enter the stones but only one would come out and she was mum about which one of them survive. Forgive me lad, I was so scared but couldn’t tell ye. It made me sick and I was tortured with worry. When the lass came out of the stone my misery stopped instantly.”

The silence was deafening and I struggled with Murtagh’s truth, remembering how mean he was to me on the ship and how close he was to death the last day I saw him.

“Murtagh, it was worry, about me and the baby that caused your temper and sickness!” I stood up and rushed to hug and kiss his cheek, leaving his face wet from my tears. I could see Jamie nod to him in understanding. It was a very heavy moment and we all pushed our glasses toward the bottle of whisky and Jamie poured.

Faith held her hand up, “why did you go to France, and where did you disappear to the last night.”

I explained how I would wake up in Jamie’s woods every night and we met and fell in love. We learned I could walk through the stones at Craig Ne Dunn on the summer solstice and stay in Jamie’s century forever, but I needed someone to come from the other side to balance the centuries. That person was Master Raymond who owned an apothecary shop in France. That’s why we went to France and he agreed to be my trade, but his heart stopped in passage. Joe can tell you more.”

We continued in a round-robin fashion, telling her this remarkable story. Glavia told her how she came to Lallybroch for a job and the very first day I went into labor and she delivered Faith with Misses Crook. Well, Glavia likes to talk so there were plenty of details, like looking between my legs and seeing the baby head and Jamie refusing to leave the room. Then she explained the man who tried to rape her during a robbery.

“I was screaming and so scared but your mam came behind and hit him on the head with a pan, and then tied him up until yer da came. I tried to hit his head again because he scared me so bad but yer da wouldn’t let me.”

I had forgotten about that horrible incident and the way Glavia explained trying to hit the man with Jamie chasing the pan to grab it away from her had us in stitches. A bit of comic relief made us all feel better and the whisky was poured again. I wished we could stop there but I knew the rest had to come out.

Brian walked into the kitchen around this time and although we were laughing, he could feel something big was in process. He pulled a chair next to his father and remained silent while every adult he knew and trusted told a story that shocked him.

I explained how Jamie was going to get us on a ship to the new world before the uprising but was kidnapped and press-ganged into service for the Jacobites. I told her about the blue stone and Jamie destroying it by throwing it into the gorge. How we fled the house for the cave, my final trip to the gorge in a rainstorm, and finding the blue stones in time to save them all from execution by the red coats. I was sobbing so Glavia took over describing a tremendous trip we went on clinging to each other and landing at Lallybroch two-hundred and fifty years in the future.

Brian sat up in his chair and Jamie put his hand on his arm to steady him. He needed to hear this. Murtagh took over describing a fantastical world with objects made of metal that took people across land at high speeds, warm water that poured out of the wall like rain to wash in, boxes that stayed cold inside so food didn’t spoil, and lights were bright without lamp oil or fire, instantly whenever you wanted to light a room.

“And no corsets or bum rolls, that’s right, women wore pants and sometimes dresses that were so comfortable. You put dirty clothes in a metal box and they came out clean and you didn’t do nothing! You could watch a play any time of day from a box in the parlor or a lady that told you to exercise, ya, that’s what Baritone and Misses Crook watched while they jumped up and down.”

“Faith, all of this is true, and we can stop here if you have heard enough.”

“How did you and Baritone come to Lallybroch, Joe?”

“Your mother is my best friend and the only family I have. She gave me Lallybroch and four million dollars, then she left and I couldn’t cope.” He looked at me and my eyes were starting to sting. “I knew she would never be back but decided to use some of her money to modernize the house and I put a cell phone in the kitchen just in case. I had a dedicated tune for that number and when I heard it ring, I almost passed out. It was…”

Faith stopped him mid-sentence with her hand up, “what is a cell phone?” She looked at me, “how did you come to own Lallybroch and where did four million dollars come from?”

The talking continued, the whisky flowed, and before I knew it Glavia was starting the evening meal. Fortunately, I was not scheduled for animal duty today so I hadn’t missed any obligations on the Ridge. It was eight o’clock when we all stopped talking. I was feeling numb from reliving so many events and Jamie was getting more insistent with is hand under the table. I suggested we rest and start again tomorrow if there were still questions. Brian went home, and Joe was in his room reading. Jamie made short work of turning down the lamps and banking the fire, then he pulled me upstairs.

He went back down for a basin of warm water and soap and held my hands when I reached for the cloth. He looked at my face for a long minute.

“I take this beautiful face and this loving heart with me when I go away, and they keep me company and calm my loneliness. It doesna compare to seein and touchin ye in the flesh. I’ve missed ye lass.”

He pulled my laces slowly, and then my skirts, and then my shift. He lathered the rag with my rose soap before smoothing it onto my skin. The warm water was delightful as were his kisses on my neck during the process. To be honest, it felt like months since I had seen him, rather than a week. I touched his face and he picked me up and laid me on our bed before pulling his clothes off. He smothered the wick of our lamp, so it was just the flames of the fire throwing shadows on our skin. He kissed his invitation and I accepted.

We made love slowly and Jamie stopped twice and just looked at me before kissing my arousal up again. He wanted to celebrate our love tonight and we made it last with dozens of I love you’s. I knew in my bones there was a truth lurking, like a black cloud to threaten all that I loved. I can wait until tomorrow to hear it because the rest of the night is for Jamie and me.

[wolfbeastau]

Light of the Holiday (Part 1)

Link to Full Chapter Summary: The festive holidays weren't the first holidays that Luz had experienced on her time in the Isles. She had been there for the Coronation Anniversary, the 30 days where the sun hadn't set, the Isles version of Halloween. To say the least she had some decent experience with holidays it felt like. But this time something felt different about the upcoming festivities and not entirely in a good way. OR Luz begins to understand why the Boiling Isles version of Christmas is so important to them, even more so then the human realm. :readmore: Part 1 Luz over her six months on the Isles had experienced her fair share of festivities. Some more somber, some more upbeat. But before now she hadn’t really experienced anything that came with such a feeling of trepidation. It was such a stark contrast to the anniversary of the eve of Belos’ coronation only a couple of weeks back that Luz was having such a hard time wrapping her head around it. Before now, she hadn’t really seen anything that the community seemed to fear. But that really was the best way she could describe the atmosphere that surrounded the final hours of the year before the sun disappeared for thirty days. Luz guess she understood to an extent. Thirty days with no sun did seem a bit freaky. It was not something she had experienced herself before. Her house wasn’t anywhere near the Artic Circle back on Earth. But still considering just how powerful some of the creatures were, how powerful Eda was, it did kind of surprise her. Though it was telling that Eda had been reluctant to let her go into town when the Reyes had called to ask if she could do emergency babysitting. Eda for all her griping about the Reyes twins when they had been at The Owl House the last time didn’t really mind the Reyes, though Luz knew she would never admit the entire affair to anyone if asked. So for Eda to have actually been visibly reluctant to let her leave was telling and it really only had happened because Mrs. Reyes had assured Eda that if it started to get close to sundown, she would give her a ride back on her own staff. So to say the least, Luz knew something was definitely different this time around. Though she was having a hard time fully understanding what. Luz stood up from her seat on the floor next to one of the Reyes twins, Victoria, as Mrs. Reyes came into the sitting room area in the late afternoon. “Thank you again for watching the children while I did a final run. I do not enjoy going shopping at the last minute. However, I had thought Lucius had got the last supplies we needed for the next month. I will need to be more careful next year, that is for certain.” Luz gave a dismissive wave at that. “It’s not a problem. Like I’ve said in the past, they’re good kids.” Well, usually anyway. Luz had seen the temper and issues that had led to the Reyes’s going through multiple babysitters. But having been in the outcast role before, even if it was entirely different for her, if anything the problems had only made her want to get to know the kids more, not less. Mrs. Reyes gave a small warm smile at that. “It is nice to hear someone take a genuine liking to them. I do wish more saw it that way.” Luz said nothing to that. The difficulty of retaining a babysitter for the twins before Luz had met them was a well-discussed matter. Though she had never admitted it partly why she was attached to the twins was because she understood what it was like to be viewed oddly. Though admittedly those were different situations, apparently the understanding comradery had been enough for the twins to latch onto her very early on. “Like I said they’re good kids.” Glancing in the window's direction. “I should probably get going though if I want to make it home before dark though.” “Yes, the last thing you need to be is get caught out in the dark this time of year.” Mrs. Reyes agreed. “Though this brings up something I was wondering about. I must admit that I am surprised that you are not going back to Earth during the month.” Mrs. Reyes noted after a slight pause as they moved towards the front door of the house. “I technically should still be in school this time of year. And Mom is saying I’m at ‘boarding school’ since no one back home would even begin to believe the actual truth. Me being back on Earth would cause more problems than not.” Luz explained. She would be going home for the family reunion, but that was just for the day. The rest of the time she would be on the Isles. Sure it would have been safer to go back to Earth, and she was sure her Mami would have preferred that. However, it would have caused even more problems for her to go home. Besides, at the very least with her Mami’s work, it would be kind of lonely if she went back home. Not that she would say that because she knew her Mami would feel guilty if she admitted that. And it wasn’t like she was used to it having done it before... but she did like the companionship that came with Eda, not having to work the same odd hours as her Mami did. So she was staying on the Isles. Even if there was definitely something going on with the coming weeks that Luz didn’t fully understand. Eda had promised to explain to her at some point what the Aeterna Nocte actually was and everything revolving around it. Including why people seemed to hunker down for the duration of an entire month. However, Eda had been too busy with her own preparations to do that yet. So there was a slight disconnect for Luz because she still didn’t fully understand anything involving the coming month. “Oh dear, it really is later than I realized.” Mrs. Reyes said to herself, looking out the door for a moment at the sun that was slowly lowering itself on the horizon. “Let me get my staff and I will give you a ride home.” Luz frowned at that, wondering where this was coming from. It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten back to The Owl House late on a couple of occasions after all. She got that something was different today, but she didn’t really understand why she couldn’t keep her normal routine. “It’s okay, I can walk home.” Mrs. Reyes shook her head at that. “No, Edalyn would have my head if I allowed that and for good reason. Trust me, you do not want to be out once the sun goes down.”

#the owl house au #the owl house #cursed luz #cursed luz au #christmas fic #werewolf luz

[afterthelastreset]

Krisei Zodiac Event Aquarius Week

Aqaurius Zodiac Sign Info gotten from

https://www.zodiacsigns-horoscope.com/zodiac-signs/aquarius/

“Aquarius zodiac sign is a group-oriented person, but only in that, they like to work with others to accomplish a goal. They also love their freedom and treasure it above nearly all else.

Consequently, Aquarius sun sign may have a huge circle of friends, but they fear intimacy, even from family members. Their love for others is tempered by their difficulty in understanding how to handle their own emotions; if only love could be an intellectual exercise! This inner turmoil produces very eccentric people who want to change the world in their way.

Aquarius zodiac sign care a great deal about this world and the people in it. It is not unusual to find them heading up a nonprofit business or volunteer organization. More often than not, this is how they make a living. Aquarians are very good at gathering large groups of acquaintances and even followers who are focused on the same goals. Their take on the world is largely philosophical and not prone to running on emotions. As long as things stay on the intellectual plane, Aquarius star sign are great communicators as well. This skill is needed to organize groups, after all.

Aquarius zodiac sign is emotionally stunted and needs to work on this to have healthy interpersonal relationships. Otherwise, they tend to lash out with stubbornness, sarcasm, and ultimately detachment that may be seen as coldness. These are all defense mechanisms.Inside, many Aquarian zodiac people feel lonely and isolated, but they don’t know how to reach out. This is not to say that they need a major catharsis. But if the person closest to them is patient enough to take “baby steps” to help them open up, it can do wonders. Besides, those defenses may make them seem invulnerable to attack, but no one is.“

🌬Aquarius Week

(Im gonna try to follow the info above so have Aquarius Kris struggling to open up and Ralsei being their to open up his feelings. I’ll also try to go with they care a lot about this world theme.)

Day 1:

Ah. The wonderous Darkworld. A place for second chances in the chaotic place that is his life. Where he could mend their old ways and earn a chance to go to the wonderous escape that is the dark world...Now only if it was more accepted by others around here. He didn't have the best reputation or start to be honest. Being embarrassed as being labeled the quiet kid, their one and only patient mother being divrced, and not to mention having the very powerful and feared bully as a best friend.

Gosh he really was a doom to be a weirdo wasn't he?

Even their own parents didn't know of this. What kind of hope could they possibly have if her own family didn't even believe in something that shouldn’t exist? Which is why they found Themselves curled up on her bed, under the blankets, crying his eyes and heart out. They didn't want to be disturbed right now. He just wanted to be alone, and have his five minutes in peace. He almost didnt hear the knock at his door but he could never mistake the sweet voice.

"Oh, Kris. You have a visitor," A voice sang from the other side of the door.

Silence came from the room. Before the lump under the pillow shifted and curled in onto herself.

"G-Go away. I-I don't want to be bothered right now.,

"...Alright, Dear. But you should know- Im respecting your privacy by knocking, but showing my authority as your mother by coming in anyways." The sound of the door suddenly opening and stare at the new arrival standing in the doorway and smiling down at him Seeing his frown he tilted his head. "Why the long face? That's not the Kris I know."

He sniffed and reached a hand up to wipe her face. "S-Sorry, Mom. Im not feeling too good." He flinched and looked up when she suddenly felt her wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"That's no way to behave! Now buck up and wear that beautiful smile of yours." he was suddenly yanked from the bed by his hand and thank goodness she still held onto him because his legs felt like jello and he would fall over any moment. "You should be fully dressed when meeting your guest now!"

he didn't argue with the taller monster, and aloud himself to be walked out the door and into the hallway. It gave him the excuse to wipe away his tears and try to get his feelings in check. They continued to walk down the hall and to the flight of stairs that went down to the first floor or more specifically the main lobby, Toriel hummed a strange tune while she walked with the smaller child.

"And here we are!" he was placed down given a sudden shove forwards and stumbled a few feet. "How about this, Kris. Your friend said he came all the way from another country to see you!"

Friend? Another country?

He tripped on the last step and was just about to face plant the floor when something stopped him, leaving him inches away from the floor. But luckily something had snagged the back of his shirt and he was slowly lifted up and back standing on his feet. Staring at her was toriel who was smiling as usually, but another similar looking monster was right next to him. Smiling and staring at her with pink eyes.

Asriel?...No. His brother was still in college.

"You should really watch where you're going, Kris." It giggled. "Or else you would've ended up like a pancake."

She stared at the smaler goat monster more....before a giant grin broke out on hia face. without a moment's hesitation Ralsei opened his arms for a hug but stopped when Kris Flinched back a bit, instead smiling and standing there patiently waiting for Kris to make a move he was comfortable with. Kris slowly stepped forward and him in a hug against hia sad sorry self. Ralsei in turned gave a couple laughs before looking around at the hotel surrounding him, before landing back on Toriel.

"Impressive home. You really know how to bring in the light. Not bad."

She giggled a bit more before Kris snuggled into his white fur. he may not have the presence of her parents or susie right now, but at least Ralsei showed his love for him.

Day 2:

*Sorta au if Kid Kris met Kid Ralsei*

The words she told him still rang in his head. "Kris!!What is wrong with you!? That was really mean!!” The slap had also stung, but his feelings had been the most damaged. Guess he couldn’t blame Noelle for slapping him on instinct when he scared her. It was a bad idea in hind sight. he was only trying to make an effort to make friends like his Mother suggested.He made a side step and pushed open the door to one of the rooms that no one usually entered. Almost immediately he collapsed onto one of the walls and broke down. It’s not fair! Why was making friends so hard?! This wasn’t fair! Tears streamed down his furred face and a few choked sobs escaped his throat. He almost didn't notice the startled yelp. He whirled around and came face first with the strange mammal. Ralsei shook. "What are you doing here? This is the science club’s room.” he stopped when she saw the tears running down his cheeks.".......Hey.....Are you ok?"

Kris  only shook his head and choked out a squeak.

She watched as he sat on the floor and proceeded to cry more. She arched a brow at this.Due to his reputation...he had a pretty good idea what happened “.Was it the incident with Noelle?" He made a whimper noise to confirm his suspicions. "........" he walked over to him and slowly sat next to him. "......Sorry to hear that. She was pretty spooked.”

"........."

"I can be.........loud at times. Hehe....uh."Still no reaction."...Why did you come here anyway?"

".......To be alone." "I see.......I come here to be alone sometimes, too."

".......Why are you here?"

he shrugged. "I don't have many friends outside the club, so I come here mostly to think about stuff. Berdly shouldn't have to baby me all the time."

"Berdly?" He peeked over at her.

"Yeah. he's like my only friend. he has problems of his own."

".......Why don't you have a lot of friends? You seem nice?"He finally sat up fully and looked at her.

he shrugged again. "I guess it's because of the way I am. I guess everyone finds me being too talkative and girly."

".......A-A lot of people find me weird, too."

"Really? how so?"

"I'm.like the only human here and my parents are divorced."

"Wow. And I thought I had it bad."

"Heh. Yeah. I don't know what I'd do without Asriel." "Same for me and Berdly. Without our friends......what would we do?"

"Yeah." A small silence followed. “Kris?”

"Yes?" "For what it's worth....I don't find you weird. You're actually a nice guy. Just have a hard time between your family and feelings. "......." he smiled. "Thanks. You're not bad for a goat yourself." "Thanks." Just then the door opened and Berdly sqauwked at the sight of him.

Day 3:

*Kris struggling with his piano music*

Everything was pretty silent in the hospital where patients resided. Except for the front. A few off key notes sounded out. A few patients have already complained about the noise, but he kept playing. Sweat dripped from his forehead as his hands strummed over the instrument under his arms. His fingers were numb and sore, but still he kept at it. He just couldn't let them down.

"Oh. Why did I have to say I knew how to play," he mumbled to himself," Me and my big mouth." He strummed a couple other notes, but they all came out the same. Terrible.He groaned before putting his face in his hands."I'm doomed." He was soon startled by someone Clearing their throat. "Yes?," he said not looking up.

He heard someone walk up to him. "....Kris, are you ok?"

Immediately, his head snapped up and towards the figure. "Ralsei?!" Sure enough...standing there was the goat monster. he was staring at him confused."......Uh....W-What are you doing here?"

"A lot of people were complaining about some noise, so I  came to investigate." he looked between him and the piano. "......Let me guess. Piano solo?"

He hunkered down a bit. "I'm.....uh.....warming up."

He walked over and sat next to him. "I thought you said you played guitar." "Well....I never said I was good at it."

he giggled. "You know...you don't have to do this."

”I can’t. I promised I’d play for them but...” He looked at his hands, “I’ve been on such a funk recently I can’t do anything anymore. And I don't want to let everyone down. "Oh!.Uh, well. Sometimes when Im frustrated with my magic, I go and do something to distract myself. Maybe what you need is a break from everything for a while....Do you maybe wanna do something together?"

”........”he shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" 

"Great! Uh.....What do ya wanna do?"

he shrugged again before standing up. "Anything but music."

He chuckled before standing up too. "Hehe...Yeah." Both chuckled and smiled before walking out of the room. Leaving the piano behind.

Day 4:

Valentine's Day. The one day of the year when others announced their love for another. It was so romantic. he despised it. Love was never a concept he understood or had much of. It just never worked out for him. If he wasn't being used by his current partner, they were chased away by his weird personality. It came to the point where he just gave up on love completely. It was fine though. he didn't need to be attached to anyone. he usually didn't come out of his home  during this time. Sure a few students gave im some valentine's at his class’s Valentine party, but that was far from actual love. he would never tell even his closest friend....but sometimes....he still yearned for it. Although he knew it was a hopeless cause. After all, who would fall for a human like him. Right now he was relaxing in front of his TV, watching a few cartoons. he almost didn't hear the knocking at her door.

"Hmm?" he turned her head towards the door.he waited for a bit......but no other noise was heard. Shrugging, he faced the TV again. Just when he was about to change the channel...

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Startled by the sudden noise, he stood up. The remote tossed to the side with a thump. Someone was definitely knocking at her door. 

"Now who in the world could that be?" he watched his mother slowly make her way towards the door from the kitchen.

Who could it be indeed? It was sunset. Most were out slobbering over each other, or making goo goo eyes at some make up wearing snobby prissy model. Maybe a card from one of his friends? But the mail usually doesn't come this late. And everyone else was already at the school’s Valentine’s Day Dance. She reached the door and grabbed the handle before pausing.

"If you’re here Asgore,  Im not interested."

"I’ m not Asgore, Ms.Toriel," A voice muffled through the door," I came to give Kris something."

"...Is this who I think it is?"

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She smiled and opened the door. “Hello, Ralsei."

The slightly smaller green dragon smiled at her.”Hello, Ms. Toriel. May I come in?” Toriel oblidge and the small goat monster came in. “Thank you.” He smiled seeing Kris and nervously walking up to him. “ Hi Kris, I I wanted to give you something."

he cocked an eyebrow." ......Did I forget somethin' at school?"

"No. Unless you really did for get something. But I wouldn't know since I wasn't there when you did forget whatever you forgot. That is if you did forget something. In which case-"

"Ralsei. You were sayin'?"

"Oh, yeah! Here!" He thrust something forward. "Happy Valentine's Day, Kris!" he had to quickly lean back from how close the thing was to prevent his face from being hit. he couldn't really blame him though. He was blinded by happiness. Blinking, Kris stared at the thing in his hands before reaching up and taking it from him. It was a heart shaped paper card with sloppily applied glitter and..macaroni. he looked back at him. Ralsei was tapping two of his fingers together, and gave him a nervous smile. ".......Do you like it?"

"It's......somethin' I've never seen before that's for sure......Thanks." Ralsei smiled cutely at him. “...Why did you want to give me this?” "Oh! Well...todays supposed to be about showing love to the one you like, right?"

he stared at him, before looking at the valentine in his hands......then back at him. He was still smiling, waiting for an answer. Kris was....confused to say the least, but behind him Toriel made motions for him to ‘go on’ and he knew how much his mother hated being rude to guests “Oh....Would you-..Like to watch TV with me?”

Ralsei smiled wider. “I’d love to Kris!”

Day 5:

A young male made his way down the road, humming to himself. His destination was just up ahead. A small restaurant by the church area. A couple other people were sitting at tables and talking casually. But, he was looking for someone in particular.

" Ralsei! Over here!," a human called out, waving at him.

He smiled before walking over to the goat monster." Hi, Kris. Sorry I'm late." He sat across from him.

"I-It's alright.” 

“How's your friend? Noelle, right?" he smiled.

"She's doing good. The doctor said her dad might be able to go home in a few days..... To be honest, I wasn't sure if you were coming or not."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. One too many people stood me up I guess." he was surprised when he reached over to gently grab his arm.

"Hey. Don't feel bad. You're not the only one with dating problems Besides...when I make a promise, I intend to keep it."

he felt his cheeks flush a pink color, and a smile graced his face. "Uh....do you want to get food?"

"Ya. That'd be nice."

He smiled before standing up and walking away." Be right back." 10 minutes later he came back carrying a small tray with 2 cheeseburgers, a salad, and drinks. "I..uh..just thought since you were a deer....you wouldn't eat meat." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, it's fine. But.....why did you get two burgers then?'' She pointed at the tray.

"Oh. Heh. I promised Noelle’s dad I'd sneak him in a veggieburger tomorrow. Hospital food sucks." They talked awhile about their lives and past failed romances, until Ralsei stopped. “..hey. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Um..sure, I guess."

"....What did happen between you and Asriel?"

"Oh, him?.......Well, it turns out he just....is too busy with college I guess," he said with a sigh.

"Oh......sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. We're still brothers.'' He suddenly looked up." Whoa. It's getting late. My mom's probably wondering where I am. Here. I'll pay for the food," she offered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wallet.

"N-No. Don't do that. I'll pay."

"But.......I'm kinda used to doing it."

Addison scowled. The nerve of some people. Making him pay for the food and taking advantage of Kris like that. "Tell ya what......I'll pay for the food, and you leave the tip. Ok?"

he hesitated before nodding."......Thanks." She gave a soft smile.

"No problem."

Ounce everything was paid for, they both stood up. Kris holding the extra Veggie burger for Noelle’s Dad. "Do you want me to walk you home?," Ralsei offered.

"Nah. My Mom's picking me up." A honking noise to the left signaled the Mom's arrival. "There she is. Do you want a ride home?"

"No thanks. I don't live far from here. But, thanks for offering." he reached down to hug him, but stopped when he flinched back. “.Sorry."

"No. It's fine....I'm just not used to others touching me...but I can make an acception this time."

Ralsei leaned forward and slowly gave her a hug, which he happily returned. He blushed at the scent of cakes on him. A couple honks though interrupted them. Kris was the first to pull away. "I guess I'd better go."

"Y-Yeah. I better get going, too." He blushed and pulled his scarf up to cover his red cheeks." B-Bye, Kris. See ya later." "Bye, Ralsei. I hope to see you again soon.," he said slowly walking away.

"Thanks. I hope so, too." 

He watched silently as he climbed into the car and waved from the window as it drove by, and he happily waved back. He watched the car until it disappeared from sight before beginning his way home.

Day 6:

Being away from your mother could be a good thing. Especially if your mother was a bit overbearing like his. Ounce again, he was dragged to another grand event just because his mother wanted to get him outta the house. Or as his mother stated:

"Bringing you along to these school dances could benefit you, Kris. I know you don’t like socializing but you can not just remain a shut in for the rest of your life. You need to learn to get along with others.”

Great mom, right? Well, he couldn’t blame her that much. She was only trying to help. Right now he was slowly walking around the other guests. Politely excusing himself. he never really knew what to do in big crows. he didn't really know anyone, so it would be awkward to just start talking to some random stranger.

"Kris!," a voice called out.

Stopping, he turned around to face the person."Ralsei?," he asked. The prince of the dark world himself was making his way over to him. His heart sped up and he felt his face heat up as he stopped in front of him."Hi," he greeted.

"Um...H-Hi." Oh, man. Why couldn't he stop stuttering in front of him?! "Y-Your highness."

"No. None of that fancy stuff, please. We're both friends here."

“R-Right. Um.....How has your night been?"

He shrugged. "Pretty boring. I'm only here because Susie thought it’d be fun. I’ve never been to a lighner party before. What about you?”

"I....My...mother brought me." She looked down.

"Oh." He already knew about how his mother often tried to get him out of his comfort zone. "You....uh..maybe wanna dance?"

"R-Really? With me?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Uh....yeah. I mean..You're the only one here that I know."

O-Ok." 

He offered him his hand and he shakily reached out to take it. He gently pulled him out towards the floor, where others were dancing. He gently pulled him closer to him and pressed his other hand to his back. Together they glided across the floor with him guiding Kris along.

Day 7:

What exactly made up a family? Most would picture a small house with a picket fence, a mom and dad, and a little boy and girl running around. But truth is it's not always that simple. Family is beyond blood or marriage. It's who's always making you smile and there for you....Or in his case a worried goat monster that wouldn't leave him alone for five minutes, but he didn’t mind. He sortof liked the attention since he it’s been so long since he felt this much loved, but right now-...As he snuggled down into the soft fluffy white fur of the sleeping goat monster, he sighed and almost drifted off to sleep if it wasn't for the absolute cute sneeze by the Dark World Prince. Ralsei scrunched his snout in sleep for a moment, making his glasses lopsided, before he relaxed back against Kris whi tensed at the sudden movement against him.....Before also relaxing back and allowing himself vulnerablility this one time.

@krisei-world

#KriseiZodiacWeek #Krisei #Kris #Ralsei #Deltarune

[konohagakurekakashi]

When do you reckon Kakashi signed a pact with his summons? [ Since he didn't use said summons during the Kannabi Bridge mission or any of their other missions, I've always wondered o.o ]

|| OOC: This is a good question, albeit a tricky one. I think in my last ask pertaining the summoning contract, I advised that the ninken summoning scroll was a graduation present from Sakumo, Kakashi as an active Genin finally eligible to continue the Hatake Legacy. That was before our carefully configured timeline and even more intricately fashioned Team Flake Headcanons © however. When considering same it would have been impossible for the summoning scroll to have been passed down to Kakashi during or on his graduation date due to the fact that Hatake Sakumo already committed Sepukkū by then—seeing as the Shinigami came for the elder Hatake while Kakashi was still an academy student. As such in order to keep with that which has already been decided (both by us and canon) I’m thinking the following:-

[Headcanon]

As the relationship between the Hatake clan and their Ninken are a long winding one stretching as far back as the Warring States Period. It was custom for a summoner of the clan to introduce any new offspring to the summoned—as they would most likely add their name (and life essence) to the scroll sooner rather than later. Likewise it was just as much of a tradition for any of the Ninken to present any new pups to the clan head (for blessings in the form of many belly rubs). As such Kakashi first met his father’s Ninken when he was a chubby-faced toddler, his grip already strong enough to clasp onto both downy ears of one of the Bassett Hounds' sniffing at his person, before holding on for dear life, tugging the hound closer with a bemused gurgle (much to Sakumo’s chagrin) every instance the hound attempted to escape with a classic backward paddle.

The second time that Kakashi was introduced to the Ninken was met with a little less fanfare, but was every bit as important. His cheeks were still chubby, but unlike last time he was able to stand on his own two feet and words wafting from his lips instead of gurgles and spit-bubbles. Sakumo proceeded to lead the boy into a clearing behind their house, his pale fingers folding into the familiar hand-signs of the ‘Kuchiyose no Jutsu’, before bellows of smoke receded to reveal a large Akita, a Pug and a Whippet. Kakashi peered at the three nin-dogs, recognizing the Akita’s brindle fur, the Pug that 'was more head than body' and the smooth, solid white of the Whippet on first glance. The boy had the habit of trailing after his parent during his rigorous training excursions and often travelled with him on his lower-ranked missions, thus he had seen his father call and interact with the Inu-spirits before. What stood to question was why the man sought to call on them now, especially since his father had finished his training for the day and how both of them were still within the relative safety of the village walls.

Sakumo offered no immediate explanation for his actions and only went on to unravel an obnoxiously large scroll, all while making small talk with the canines as he went. Getting a little impatient and feeling all but ignored (much like that old scroll seemed to be up until this moment, if the age-spots and dust billows were any an indication) Kakashi exhaled a huff, arms crossing against his puffed chest. “Tou-san…What is this…Are we going on a mission?” At the sound of his son’s trademark annoyance, Sakumo halted-mid laugh (Akitas had a sharp sense of humour, what can he say?) before he finally stood, a hand rising to scratch at a stubbly cheek. “…Iie not exactly, ‘kashi-kun. I thought since you will be starting at the Academy next week, it was about time that you get to meet and bond with our pack.” Kakashi bequeathed his parent with an incredulous raise of his eyebrow, bottom lip jutting out against the fabric of his mask for good measure; yet wholly immune to most of his offspring’s facial quirks, the elder continued without pause. “Kakashi-kun, I want you to meet Shima, Pakkun and Haiyai-san. Why don’t you go ahead and introduce yourself, hm?” Kakashi finally able to catch his father’s crinkled gaze, continued to stare at the man like he had spontaneously sprouted nine heads and that all nine were equal in the measures of stupid---honestly he could be doing better things with his time, like fishing for fresh water Ayu for dinner. “Hn. I already met them loads of times Tou-san. They know who I am…..are you getting old?”

Ah, woe is the man who fathered an undisciplined, haughty youth! Sakumo’s eye-twitched at the boy’s (severely) untrue observation; the amused yips of his summons all but an added punch to his gut. Respect seemed to be served in smaller doses these days. “I-I’m not old at all! Just…just bear with me; you’re about to sign the Hatake summoning pact, it’s all for the sake of formality, okay?” Kakashi hummed still a little pleased with his earlier jab, but also dubious at the prospect of signing a primordial piece of paper, grey hues altering between the scroll itself, his father and the three observing Ninken. It took nine beats too long, but eventually the boy relented with a sigh “Maa…..I’m…Kakashi….” (the introduction droned as if his father was asking him to haggle for his soul with a Water Country ferry man and not to learn an important life skill. Sakumo was dying. Truly). Shima (undemanding, gentle, blessed) shifted to press her muzzle against the boy’s cheek, the unexpectedly tender motion causing the reluctance to seep from his small shoulders in an instant. Haiyai-san, by the grace of all Kami, seemed equally unruffled by what has come to pass, dipping her head in a gesture of acknowledgement, whilst the little Pug (Could it really be considered an actual dog, Tou-san? He’s so small.) Merrily gruffed out in a voice six baritones too deep. “Well I can tell you I’m not some cross-country rabbit…Pleased to meet you, pup.”

The hours that followed saw Kakashi sign his name to the scroll (praised be. Finally. ) right next to that of his father’s, while the man in question went on a tangent about how the scroll was a gift to their clan from the Kuebiko Kami and that Kakashi must take great care of it. Sakumo’s discourse included the uses of Ninken and how to take proper care of them, before he had Kakashi practice the procession of seals. As soon as the Jōnin detected the faintest undulation within the boy’s chakra however, the man’s palms swathed the smaller digits still clasped around the Ram seal, effectively halting any further progress. “Not yet Kakashi….” His smile was patient, dragging yet another ridiculous pout and irate breath from the younger. “We still need to work on those reserves of yours, neh. You’ve signed the contract in blood, in the presence of the Clan Head and three alpha summons, the agreement has been concluded, for now that is enough.”

Time passed, as it so often does and Kakashi worked diligently on trying to hone both his control and stores of chakra. He would be taking the graduation exam soon (Midori-sensei confirmed as much) thus Kakashi was making his way back as fast as his feet could carry him in order to share the news with his father (he would definitely be home, Kakashi lamented as the man hasn’t been going out much. At least, not since his abrupt return from Wind Country). The last few months have seen Hatake Sakumo hunkered down in his study; sometimes pacing, always thinking, but Kakashi was sure (hoping more like) that the good news would bring a pleased smile to his father’s face. His parent has always been a firm believer that honest, hard work should be rewarded and Kakashi would like to meet a shinobi that’s been training harder than him over the past year. Instead of smiling like the young Hatake hoped, his tou-san did the exact opposite, wane features morphing into a prompt frown, while a hand rubbed and pressed at his temples—most likely warding off an on-coming headache. “Where is the summoning scroll, Kakashi? Bring it here; did you sign it like I told you to?” The boy hesitated at the study threshold, his father not having mentioned the scroll or any of the Ninken since his self-imposed, house arrest. Furthermore, Kakashi doubted that reminding his father of the fact that ‘yes, he has indeed signed the scroll—a full 365 days back!’ would be counter-productive and akin to asking for a fight, especially since he seemed to have caught the Jōnin on one of his ‘bad days’. As such Kakashi held his tongue and quickly proceeded to his father’s room to retrieve the scroll from the chest in which it was hidden and sealed.

Sakumo slowly heaved to his feet as soon as his son’s silver tuffs came back into view, leading them once more to the clearing at back of the house. In the light of the setting sun the elder didn’t just look tired, he looked benumbed; his eyes deep set and devoid of their usual mirth. Still the man took a seat on the weathered engawa, feet tucked underneath him as he mentioned for Kakashi to continue. Kakashi to his credit (and deep-rooted eagerness to please. How the tables have turned on the buckets of patience front!) unravelled the covenant, taking a moment to peer down at his name and bloody prints (which was definitely still there, see!) before he started on the motions for the different hand-seals, all five signets still engraved within the folds of his memory. The boy continued to practiced the secession until the wind started to pick up and brought with it the scent of turmeric and the eager chirp of crickets. “Kakashi, gradually start to channel your chakra.” Kakashi startled at the man’s voice, Sakumo having been in a state of silence ever since they inched into the outdoors, afore he recovered long enough to do as instructed; a palm coming down to press against half of the aged parchment and half on the damp clumps of grass, while he funnelled a burst of chakra. “Kuchiyose no Jutsu!” He felt the drain on his reserves, felt the way his muscles spasmed and contracted, yet as the puffs of smoke and dust cleared, there wasn’t a wagging tail in sight.

It should have worked. Why didn’t it work? He did everything right, didn’t he? Chancing a tentative glance back at the engawa, Kakashi noted that Sakumo’s stare was fixed on the paint-peeled fence separating the Hatake grounds from the road leading into Training Ground Five, expression bare and seeing through the boy sagged against the dirt. “…More chakra, Kakashi. Try again.” The child shifted to his knees at his father’s halted coaching, fingers already coiling back into the desired seals. It was pitch black by the time Kakashi pitched forward, hair meshed against his cheeks and forehead in sticky tendrils. His body was quivering as he struggled to suck the crisp evening air into his lungs, a feat which proved immensely difficult with his face pressed firmly into the earth. Taking the last ounce of strength he had, the Hatake rolled his head so his cheek was pressed into the soil and grass instead; teary, burning hues flittering to the engawa to note that his father had long since left his perch in the hours it took for Kakashi to exhaust his chakra.

The man failed to light the Tōrō Lanterns as he normally did, the forgetful action casting the house and surrounding terrain into a deep, ominous shadow. Kakashi’s breath shuddered, goose-bumps dotting his flesh, yet he was incapable of dragging his arms up and under himself. There was movement to his left, signalled by the snap of a twig and the crunch of leaves underfoot, until Kakashi’s drenched brow crumpled at the touch of a wet, warm snout against his neck. “Hn…I’d ask what it was that you were thinking, but clearly you weren’t using your brain at all.” The muzzle was removed and an unimpressed dead-pan came into view, causing Kakashi to whimper at those black, beady hues. If he had more energy to spare, the Hatake would have been aggravated that it took the better part of his afternoon (and most of his stupid, flimsy chakra) to summon the one who was ‘all head and no body’—scarcely a dog at all. Pakkun continued in a circle about him, every once in a while gruffing about over-achieving brats and head-butting his sore, slumped form. “Where is your father, Pup? You’re cold. We need to get you inside and I could do with a bowl of those egg biscuits (the seeing as I was called here for no apparent reason but to babysit left unsaid). Kakashi’s only response was another raspy grunt and the twitch of his thumb—half-lidded hues never leaving the fawn, little body. He idly noted that from this angle, the wrinkled-face and under-bite was kind of cute. Maybe more than kind of…it was safe to admit the Pug’s paws seemed squishy too. Pakkun was speaking again, but Kakashi finally felt his eyes droop, strength wholly leeched from his pores.

Though Pakkun stayed with Kakashi for the remainder of the night and even followed the boy up to the academy gates the next morning, Kakashi didn’t end up summoning him or attempted to summon any other pack member for a long time thereafter. Kakashi doubted that he would even be able to perform the Jutsu successfully, since the only words spoken between him and the (kind of cute) pug with the too-deep voice; was when he informed his summoner that he took the least amount of chakra to breach dimensions. Kakashi had his mind on preparing for his graduation examination, avoiding that weird kid in green spandex and worrying over his father’s constant recession to actively ponder over the workings of the infuriating Summoning Jutsu. And when Hatake Sakumo did end up being swallowed by the depressed layers of himself (the horrible, horrible traitor-did Kakashi mean nothing to him at all?) Kakashi didn’t even think to summon one of the pack to attend the meagre funeral. He didn’t think they would care enough to breach the distance as they didn’t bother to intervene in the first place. His father was always going on and on about the bond between summoner and summons, if that was the case then clearly they should have /known/ how bad the man was doing, should have felt it through the proverbial tether. Kami forbid, Pakkun was privy to it with his own beady eyes that night he had to drag the man outside to tend to his chakra-depleted offspring. Still, none of the pack showed up to help and now Kakashi was alone, the pack aesthetic was a dirty lie.

Kakashi knew deep down that he shouldn’t blame the Ninken, that they just like him, were helpless to the situation as Sakumo didn’t accept or want their help. They all failed him in their own way and in the end, the man failed himself. Yet, they were his last living link to the elder Hatake and it was so much easier to cling to hate and anger, than to drown helplessly in his sorrow and loneliness. As such the boy convinced himself that Sakumo was to blame, that the Ninken was to blame and that he didn’t need either of them to move forward. He would go on to be better…to do things differently, to adhere to the shinobi rules as opposed to the rules of the clan. The clan was no more in any event, its ancient traditions and practices defunct as it couldn’t exist with just one person. Thus when the first opportunity presented itself, the young Hakate sealed up all of their (his) possessions for storage, including the Kuebiko no Kami’s summoning scroll to move out and away from the ghosts of the Hatake Compound. He got a Genin Team and a Jōnin-sensei a few days earlier and would surely be leaving the village on an official mission soon. Once Kakashi could earn his own money, he could save up for an apartment, exempt from the smell of blood, guilt and memories. At least that was the plan.

The sole Hatake should have known better than to wish or look forward to such simple things however, should have known that someone like him would never be able to escape the smell of blood or be free of guilt. His lifeblood was on Kakashi’s clothes and on his skin; he could see it every time he closed his weary lids and he could smell it still, the many sticks of incense he burned within his one-bedroom abode, naught but a cloudy screen for his failure and ineptitude. The sickly waft made him itch and cough and teary-eyed, a headache blooming anew behind his gifted Gekkei Genkai. Outside the clouds gathered, thick and heavy, as if the spirits themselves were mourning the loss of their comrade. Rin would be there any minute, would knock on his door with a somewhat lost (yet eternally benign smile in place) making Kakashi feel like even more of a fraud. He didn’t deserve her kindness; not after what he almost did to her or failed to do for her best friend. The doubts and self-defacement swirled and churned within him, until he couldn’t swallow it back anymore and before he fully grasped what he was doing his trembling digits were already bent into the Ram seal.

Pakkun was there at the first lurch of his chakra; the tiny pug silent and unmoving as Kakashi tried (and failed) to pull himself together. Like Rin he couldn’t really face the Inu-spirit, couldn’t really find or grasp onto the right words after months, years, have come to pass. The Pug didn’t seem in want of a properly worded apology however, fawn-coloured paws moving forward at the first echo of a badly-repressed hiccup, before his wrinkled face quickly pressed against the boy’s bent knees. Kakashi’s finger-pads pulled free from the tatami weave they were anchored to in order to latch about the ninken’s frame instead, promptly pulling the pug onto his lap and against his body proper. It must have been a terrible experience for the summon whom suddenly found himself caught in an emotional death-grip, fur soon matted with a sticky mixture of phlegm and tears. Even so Pakkun never wriggled or barked out his displeasure, only curled himself further into the boy’s juddering midriff. “They’re dead.” Kakashi eventually whispered, his window wet and dotted with drops of rain.

Immediately thinking of the former clan head and the boy Pakkun never got to meet, the spirit’s tone resounded sincere, despite him being helplessly out of his element. “I know…I’m sorry, Pup.” Hitherto, Kakashi wouldn’t accept his condolences, his stuttered whispers continuing to seep into the dog’s fur like he never even heard him at all. “I could have saved them…both of them, if I tried.” Pakkun shifted at this, intent on making some serious eye-contact to get his words of wisdom across. He never was any good with kids, but he at least knew that none of what happened was Kakashi's fault, he needed to make sure the boy knew this as well. It was all just terrible circumstance. “Iie, that’s not true and you know it…Thinking about ‘what if’s’ won’t bring them back either, it will just be like chasing a squirrel up a pine tree—nothing will come of it but regret.” He doesn’t know if the boy heard or took his words to heart, but at least the water-works stopped, replaced by a sceptic frown while pale digits started to rub at an ear almost absently. “I have to go soon…” Avoidance of the Pug’s assurances it was then,  a classic Hatake move. “Hn…Then I’ll go with you…’’.

A hollow laugh, or perhaps a cough? Even this close it was hard to say. “To a Memorial? I don’t have any egg biscuits to give you this time…’’ The pug snorted, yet leaned into the lazy stokes all the same (subtly inching his head this way and that so the boy could scratch at all the good spots). “…Then I’ll still come…if only to escape the heady suffuse of Potpourri, seriously Kakashi your den smells like a Blossom Country gift stall, are you trying to call on a hornet swarm?” A pause before Kakashi blanched, shoving the summons right from his lap, albeit with infinitely more care than he usually would have while being called out. “Shut up. I was trying to—I thought it would…I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? Let’s just go, Rin shouldn’t have to walk all the way here in this weather…We’ll meet her half-way.” Instead of meeting the Kunoichi half-way down the road, the two of them ended up waiting for her outside of her family home. Kakashi still felt a torrent of shame at the first glimpse of her red orbs and nose, though it was more bearable with the surprised (almost happy) hitch of breath at the presence of Pakkun (the smug aura surrounding his summons at all of the rubs and pats he was receiving just a small bonus). He could do this, he thought as the three of them meandered in the direction of the Memorial Stone, pressed tightly together under Rin’s purple umbrella. He just had to endure a little longer, try a little harder. He might not be able to turn back the time, to escape all of his guilt, but perhaps with Pakkun and the others, he could focus on what was ahead instead, whilst trying to keep an important promise that he made.

[End Note]

So I hope this answers your ask, Flake-sensei. This was the best scenario I could come up with keeping in mind our timeline in conjunction with our headcanons. To recap- Kakashi must have signed the contract while his father was still alive, since his father as the clan head and had to go through the workings with him. Kakashi might not have summoned the Ninken during Team Flake’s missions or the Kannabi bridge incident, but Kakashi did have his full pack (with the exception of the cute Akino which was a later addition) at the time of Rin being kidnapped by Hidden Mist to be Jinchūriki-fied. Kakashi ordered them to split up and track her in both the anime and manga and then the pack was seen attempting to lure the Hunter-nin away, so that both Kakashi and Rin could escape. Keeping that in mind it was clear that Kakashi did have the whole pack at his disposal at quite a young age, inciting the idea that he was just remiss/hesitant to use them-- or that their relationship wasn’t as dear/familiar like what we see with the older Kakashi. Chibi-Kakashi was good with the blame game, so this just made sense. It would be the same for the Survivor’s AU (though I reckon Sensei already met a Pack member or two courtesy of Sakumo) of course. As for Icarus AU I reckon the team will finally meet the Pack and bond in a fluffy fashion right after Kannabi when Kakashi-noodle grows a personality and introduces them. Also can I just say—Pakkun ♥

#konohagakurekakashi #Hatake Kakashi [The Scarecrow] #Hatake Kakashi #Headcanon #Hatake Clan Headcanon #Ninken Headcanon #pack aesthetic #Pakkun #Blotched Naruto Timeline #Kakachibi #Hatake Sakumo #Ask Answered #Minaa-Munch

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

Ok, I know I said I wouldn't be posting this until tonight, but surprise lol. Decided it would be a good time to get sick, so I had to cancel my other plans. At least I’m not too out of commission to post this for you guys! hope you enjoy it. Next chapter will be posted soon after the Thanksgiving festivities are over.

Chapter Ten: Storm

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Song: Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain) by Gary Allen

Previous / Next

A few more days of traveling brings you to the outskirts of Kansas City, where the group sets up camp. Everyone is eager to have some much-needed rest, but Natasha is restless and decided to take one of the carts into town to gather supplies for the next leg of the trip. Jarvis, ever the gentleman, goes along with her.

The road will be rough going on the way to St. Louis, and you thought yourselves better to be over-prepared than under. Not to mention that you would be traveling through one of Hydra’s favored stomping grounds, so it would be best to make as few stops as possible between here and there, so you didn’t question their decision.

While bedding the horses down for the night, you recognized there was a tension in the air around the group. Natasha had been uncharacteristically quiet before leaving for town, Jarvis pulling her close as they left. Steve and Bucky were tense about their shoulders, and Tony was downright melancholy. A glance to Bruce had you peering into eyes, clouded with sadness and confusion.

Pepper approached after a moment, placing a hand on your shoulder and whispering to you in a worried tone. “Hey, Y/N? What’s up with everyone? They seem so… off.”

A sigh left your lips as you shook your head. “I’m not sure, Pep. I would expect that they are nervous about our trip through Hydra territory, but Natasha seemed to be more sad than nervous. I’ll ask one of the guys about it later. It’s probably nothing, so don’t go worrying yourself.” You gave her a small smile over your shoulder, not knowing whether your words were meant to convince her our yourself.

_______________________________________________________________________

Camp was set up and tents were pitched when Natasha returned. Jarvis and a cartload of supplies in tow. She smiled and joked with everyone as usual - teasing Bucky and Steve, sharing soft smiles with Bruce and Pepper, and utterly exasperating Tony to no end - but you could tell she was putting on a brave face.

She masked her feelings so well, but you could still see the sadness that swam in her eyes. There was a deep sense of loneliness there. One that spoke of heartbreak and loss so great that it made your chest hurt. You wanted to comfort her, but you didn’t want to overstep boundaries. Your friendship was new, a flower only beginning to bud and you were not willing to ruin that.

As you were cleaning the campsite from dinner, a cold wind blew through the camp, bringing with it the smell of rain and ozone. There was a storm brewing to the east. It was still a few days off, but it would undoubtably cause more headaches along the way.

Hunkering down into the tent you shared with Natasha and Pepper, you fell into a sleep quickly as the tension of the day weighed on your heart. You tossed and turned for a few hours until a rustling outside woke you.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness as you looked around the inside of your tent. Pepper was still asleep, a small smile curling her lips as she dreamed, but a glance to Nat’s side of the tent proved your suspicions. She was gone.

Pulling your blanket around your shoulders, you stepped through the flaps of the tent and out into the night. The air was crisp but, thankfully, much warmer than that of the mountains from before. The sounds of a crackling fire and quiet sniffling pulled your attention to where Natasha sat.

You approached slowly, trying not to startle her with your presence. The yellow firelight illuminated her red-rimmed eyes and you watched with a pained heart as she allowed a multitude of tears to flow down her cheeks.

She never turned. Never acknowledged your approach at all until you took a seat beside her. You wrapped your arm around her shoulders, pulling her into your side in a comforting gesture.

Her voice was strained from crying and her lip quivered as she gazed into your eyes. “Why am I like this, Y/N? I try to be strong, try to forget and move on, but I can’t. I loved him and he’s gone, but I just can’t let go. Why?”

Your heart twisted with pain. You knew all too well how much it hurt to lose someone you loved, but the truth was hard to face. A tear fell from your eye as you pulled her into you, hugging her tight to your chest. “I want to help you, Nat. Really, I do, but the truth is… losing someone you love dearly is one of the hardest to go through and you never truly get over it.

Life goes on. We grow, we change, but we never truly get over that loss because the day we do is the day that we have forgotten that person. But you have me. You have all of us to keep you up and give you a shoulder to cry on whenever you need it.”

Natasha’s body shook with sobs as she collapsed into your chest, fully letting go of the torrent that was her tears. You held her for a long while after she cried herself to sleep. Cradling her head in your lap, you ran your fingers through her hair in a soothing manner, hoping to keep any bad dreams at bay while she slept.

The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon as a rustling from one of the tents pulled your attention from the flames. Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he approached. Reaching his arms above his head, he loosed a yawn before taking up the empty coffeepot to fill and brew the morning coffee.

You sat in silence, waiting for him to take a seat before asking the questions that plagued your mind.

Settling on the ground beside you, Steve handed you a steaming mug of coffee before pouring his own cup. “I expected her to take this part of the trip hard. Especially after what happened the last time we were here.” His voice was quiet and filled with sadness as he settled into his place beside you.

“She lost someone truly important to her. We are alike in more ways than I wished in that regard.” You sighed, staring into the deep brown liquid rippling in your cup. “Who was he?”

Steve’s sigh was heavy and his deep blue eyes were shrouded in unshed tears as the first drops of rain began to fall.. “His name was Clint Barton. He was one of the best men I have ever met and he and Natasha were madly in love.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The sky darkened as inky black clouds rolled in from the south. But rain was the least of their worries.

“We need to split up, take to the trees and run before they catch up to us.”

Steve shook his head as the first blue flash of lightning lit up the sky. “It’s not safe to split up, Clint. They will pick us off, one by one.”

Thunder rumbled in the sky, spooking the horses as they sprinted down the dirt road, racing for higher ground and a place to hide. The baying of hounds weren’t far behind.

“Clint’s right, Steve. If we stay together, it's only a matter of time before they catch up.” Tony shouted over his shoulder. “If we split up, the rain will mask our trail and we will have a better chance of escaping.”

Looking to Bucky, Steve could see the agreement in his eyes and let out a breath. “Fine, but nobody goes alone. Stay in pairs so you have someone to watch your back. We will meet up again as soon as the hounds are gone.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, splitting into groups of two and three before driving their mounts into the trees.

Natasha and Clint rode hard through the woods, sticking close to one another as they jumped fallen trees and swerved through the brush. It would have been an exhilarating ride if they weren’t being pursued.

“Just like old times, Nat.” Clint grinned over his shoulder at her, swiveling in the saddle. His bow was in his hand, quiver of arrows bouncing against his back as they sprinted through the trees together.

She gave him a stern look. “This is no time to be joking, lyubimyy.”

“Love you too, dear.” He smiled lovingly, never seeing the man that emerged from the trees.

“Clint!” Natasha screamed, pulling her gun from its holster. But there was no time. Two shots rang out as Clint’s horse reared up and squealed in pain.

The horse fell to the muddy ground, tossing Clint’s body into a tree as the man with the gun fell to his knees. Dead.

Natasha dismounted quickly, running to Clint as he wheezed in pain. His eyes were glassy and he tried to catch his breath. Clint’s horse had spared him from a bullet, but his loss was a great one.

Clint struggled to his feet with Nat’s help as the baying of hounds began again. Drawn by the sound of gunfire and blood on the wind. Clint and Natasha looked at one another as fear warred with determination. They weren’t going to make it, but they wouldn’t give up easily either.

Natasha’s mare sniffed at her mate’s fallen body as Clint climbed into the saddle. “I’m sorry old girl, but we gotta go.”

Nat’s eyes stung with tears as Clint swung her up behind him and pushed the mare into a full gallop. The hounds were gaining ground on them as thunder growled overhead.

They vaulted over trees and made a mad dash towards a stream, trying to mask their scent in the water, but Hydra was too close and the mare wouldn’t make it much farther.

Clint pulled to a halt and dismounted. Natasha was about to join him when he notched his first arrow and looked at her with sad eyes. “Don’t. You have to let me go.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No. Please, no.”

“It’s okay.” He pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely. “I love you.”

Grasping the mare by the reins, he turned her towards the forest and slapped her on the rear with his bow. The mare screeched a shocked noise and bolted, Natasha crying and screaming in denial as Clint loosed the first arrow and a hound screamed in pain.

_______________________________________________________________________

You cried silently. Regarding the rain fall outside the covered wagon Steve had moved you to. Nat slept on, her head still cradled in your lap.

“We found her a few days later. Alone.” Steve whispered, reaching out to stroke a hand over Natasha’s red hair. “She told us what happened and then… she stopped speaking. It broke her. And no matter what we did, it just wasn’t enough.”

Steve shuddered, breaths coming in heaves as he held back his own tears. Reaching out, you took his hand in yours. “It wasn’t your fault, Steve. Hydra is the only one to blame for what happened.”

He chuckled darkly, gripping your hand tighter as he struggled with the words. “I know, but it's hard to not blame myself. She was such a bright ray of sunshine, always happy smiling and laughing. And singing… she could sing birds out of the trees if she wanted to. But, after Clint…”

“I know what you mean.” You sighed, remembering the sadness from your own loss. “I was the same way when my mother died. I was so lonely and I didn’t know how to talk about it. It’s hard, losing someone you love so much.”

���Let me guess, Bodaway changed that for you?” His smile was brighter when you laughed.

“Yeah, the little heathen was tired of my moping and took me on a ride I will never forget.” You laughed, remembering how much you screamed and yelled on Boda’s wild romp through the countryside. “He scared a few years off my life that day, but it snapped me out of my depression.”

Steve smirked down at you, his eyes sparking with laughter. “It was the same with Natasha. When we came across Krasavitsa, she became a bit obsessed with the little mare. Taming her brought some of the fire back and she smiles a lot more now.”

“She still doesn’t sing though. Does she?” You whispered, sadness swimming in your eyes at the loss of such a beautiful voice.

Steve stared out into the rain as a sad sigh escaped his lips. “No.”

_______________________________________________________________________

A few hours later, you were sitting at the back of the wagon just observing the rain fall when you heard Natasha shift.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Natasha’s voice was strained from sleep and crying prior to that. It made your heart hurt, remembering her sad face and whispered words.

“Not much. A storm rolled in after you fell asleep and Steve helped me move you to the wagon so we could stay dry.” You looked over your shoulder and saw as a bright pink flush travelled up Natasha’s pale skin.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to-” You held up your hand, stopping her apology in its tracks.

“Don’t apologize, Nat. I am happy you felt comfortable enough to open up to me. I know I’ve only known you for a short time, but you are like a sister to me… and being there for each other is what sisters do.”

Grinning at her, you saw the happiness in her eyes as she smirked at you. “As long as I’m the big sister, we have a deal.”

You both laughed as Natasha embraced you in a hug.

Sitting in silence, together you waited as the downpour gradually slowed to a sprinkle. The birds began to sing and nature sprung to life as the sun emerged from the clouds. With a happy sigh, you stood and stretched before reaching out to Natasha.

“Let’s go wake up these lazy bums. What do you say, sis?”

She giggled, taking your hand. “I’m game. As long as I get to wake up, Tony.”

A mischievous glint danced in her eyes and it made your heart swell to see her so happy. “Deal.”

#Dark Horse #cowboy AU #Marvel AU #Marvel MCU #western au #steve x reader x bucky #reader fic #MCU #marvel fanfic

[thiswasinevitableid]

"we sleep together the same night a terrible snowstorm hits the city and everything gets shut down so now i have no way to get home so let’s make it a two night stand?" indruck prompt? (eyes emoji)

This prompt is Not Suitable for Your Workplace

Duck stretches out on the cushy lounge seat at “Woofs,” his favorite gay bar in the city. He’s in a celebratory mood, having scored a promotion (okay, so it’s from “almost full time” to “actually full time” ranger, but that’s still pretty damn good). So he’d fucked off to the big city for a night for as a reward.

He’s not sure if he’ll score in another way just yet. Duck isn’t prone to prowling at these places; if a guy is bear hunting and happens to like the look of him, he’s more than happy to dial up his quiet charm. Maybe growl in the guys ear a little and see if that gets them to a car or apartment or somewhere else where his date can bounce in his lap until he comes in some tight, if forgettable, ass. 

He used to be more proactive, but if he’s honest it feels weird being thirty-two and trying to put the moves on a guy who might be ten years younger than him,

As he sips his beer, a flash of white hair catches his eye. At the end of the bar nearest him, a skinny, gangly man of indeterminate age is drawing a finger around the rim of his glass. He turns for a moment in Ducks direction and he’s struck by how strange he looks. Not bad, but like no one Duck’s ever seen before. He doesn’t seem dressed for the setting, in fact he looks a little disheveled, and not in the scruffy way Duck is trying to pull off. 

Duck keeps an eye on him, looking for signs of interest. What he gets is the man staring at his drink for a solid five minutes, stirring it but never drinking. When he finally glances Ducks way again, he looks sad.

No, no way, Duck is not spending the night he set aside to relax and get laid seeing if someone random guy at a bar is okay. 

The seat next to the mystery man opens up. 

Duck stands. 

“Mind if I sit here?” He gives his most neutral smile.

The pale-haired man stares at him, eyes seeming far away behind the red lenses of his glasses. 

“Oh, no, go right ahead.” He flashes a tight, oddly wide smile, goes back to staring at his drink. Takes the tiniest sip and makes a disgusted face.

“Not an Old-fashioned man, huh?”

“I just like the cherries, the rest is too bitter. I saw too late there was an eggnog cocktail. Really only have money for the one drink.”

Duck’s beer is empty. He signals the bartender, orders an Old-Fashioned. When it arrives, he slides it towards the other man, cherry stem pointed at him. 

The man pauses, and to Duck it looks like he’s calculating odds in his head. Then he plucks the cherry from the glass and tugs it off the stem with his teeth. 

“Thank you.” His smile is shy, and this time he doesn’t turn away. So Duck keeps talking.

“Alright, I gotta know, do you only come to this place for cherries?”

“No. I came here because once again no one listened to me and I am so very tired. I thought I could get past my distaste for alcohol in order to get drunk and enjoy not having to think for awhile. No such luck.”

“So you were plannin just to sulk into your drink all night?”

“It was the probable outcome.” He looks longingly at the jar of maraschino cherries just visible on a back shelf.

“Y’know, if you order a shirley temple it’s got a bunch of those in it and no booze.” When the other man perks up he adds, “could even buy one for you, if that ain’t unwelcome.”

The man cocks his head as he looks at him, “Is this a flirtation?”

“Can be, if you want.” Duck takes a casual sip of his drink. The taller mans eyes trace from his hair down to his toes, widening with appreciation the more he takes him.

“I’m certainly interested.” This comes out in a purr, and Duck feels heat spark through his gut.

He’s delighted to find that he made a remarkably good call coming over here. His new friend is odd, yes, but also pretty damn funny, with a cute, crooked smile a promising shape to his ass. As they talk, he relaxes, his glum look vanishing, and he places soft, teasing touches on Ducks hand, arm, and thigh. 

By the time Duck’s finished his drink, he’s pretty sure where this night is going. 

A cherry is resting on the ice in his glass. He plucks it out, holding it between his thumb and finger. His companions’ eyes flick to the fruit, then to Ducks face, and a mischievous grin spreads across his lips. He leans forward, parting them and taking the cherry before licking along Ducks palm. 

“Mmmm” he purrs again, doesn’t bother to put any distance between them. 

“You got a name, darlin?” Duck whispers, voice husky.

“Indrid. And you’re-”

“Duck.” He replies, though it almost sounds like Indrid says it along with him.

“Duck” Indrid repeats, “huh, I like that name.” 

Duck likes it too. And he’s got a hunch he’s going to like it even more when Indrid is moaning it. 

----------------------------------------

Ducks’ hunch is correct.

“Duck.” Indrid whines, breathy and needy, pressed against the door of the Winnebago that he apparently calls home, “Duck, please, bedroom, now.” Deft, slender fingers are tugging his shirt open and he’s harder than he’s been in months. 

“Don’t want me to fuck you right here?” He grins, cupping Indrids ass and lifting him off the floor with ease (thank you weird powers he doesn’t want).

“Goodness!” Indrid wraps his legs around Ducks waist, “That was a surprise. I don’t get many of those.”

“Got good news for you, sugar.” Duck purrs, making Indrid wiggled excitedly in his arms, “I’m full of ‘em.”

------------------------------------------

Duck wakes up to snow falling in thick sheets beyond the small window in the bedroom. It’s a little later than he meant to wake up, but it’s Sunday and the drive to Kepler isn’t that long so he’s not in that big of a hurry. 

Indrid is curled in his arms, limbs intertwined haphazardly with his own. He makes a small, chirping noise, then cuddles closer.

Duck could probably just get up and go without Indrid noticing. But he’s got manners, and it would be impolite to leave without thanking his host for a lovely time. 

He kisses the top of Indrids’ head, “Mornin, sugar.”

“Nmmmh.” Indrid’s eyes flutter open behind his glasses, then he peers over Ducks shoulder out the window.

“I hate snow. ‘S cold.” He grumbles, burrowing further under the blankets.

“Well, you hunker down for the day then. I gotta get on the road, snow’s liable to make gettin home take way long than I planned.”

“But you’re warm.” He holds Duck tighter, kissing lightly at his neck. 

“And you’re real fuckin cute. But I still gotta go.”

“Very well.” Indrid smiles softly, “I’m glad you decided to celebrate with me last night. Congratulations on being a park ranger. It must be fascinating work. Do you like it?” The sweet, sleepy look on his face makes Duck melt a little.

“I see what you’re tryin to do” he teases, squeezing Indrids ass once for good measure, “you’re tryin to distract me, get me talkin about trees so you can steal my warmth.”

A sly smile this time, “perhaps a little. I won’t really keep you though. If you need to shower, it’s just through there.”

Duck thanks him, slips from the bed and heads into the bathroom. Emerges with a towel around his waist a few minutes later, gathering his clothes from where they were strewn about during last nights activities. Indrid is bundled in a thick, fluffy bathrobe, fiddling with the radio at the front of the trailer. As Duck retrieves his boxers from a lampshade, Indrid murmurs, “oh dear.”

A moment after, the radio informs them that a massive storm is moving through the area, and that travel is inadvisable at best and impossible at worst. 

“Looks like you may be here another night.” Indrid says apologetically, his face lit warmly by the space heaters dotting the Winnebago. 

“Can think of worse things.” He notices Indrid staring, remembers he’s still only in a towel. 

“See somethin you like?”

“I should think that was obvious.”

“I’m tryin to be smooth here, darlin.” 

“Be bold instead.” Indrid licks his lips and Duck shrugs, letting the towel drop to the floor. 

“That bold enough for yAHhhhhnnn, fuck.” Duck is pressed against the kitchen counter, Indrid dropping to his knees and rolling a condom on so swiftly that Duck swears it was like a magic trick, before taking all of Ducks cock in his mouth in one go. 

“Jesus, jesus sugar, oh fuck that feels so good.” He pets his fingers through white hair as Indrid looks up, smug expression clear even as his lips turn shiny with spit and lube.

“That’s, darlin, oh lord have mercy, fuck, your throat is so fuckin tight, feels amazin.” 

Indrid purrs, which makes Duck moan, then guides his other hand down so both a resting in his hair. 

“I’m real close, shit, just a little faster, c’mon, I know you can go faster please.” He whimpers embarrassingly loud when, instead of speeding up, Indrid slows down and blinks up at him with a mockingly innocent expression.

“Oh you fuckin…” Duck growls, orgasm nudged closer by the thought of where this is going. He tangles his fingers in Indrids hair, locks eyes with him.

“Yes?”

Indrid nods. And then Duck is thrusting his hips wild and fast, yanking Indrid back and forth along his cock. The taller man is moaning, blissed-out expression on his face as Duck fucks it. Duck finds filth pouring from his mouth with surprising ease, increasing in gruffness when Indrid moans at the harsher words. 

“Fuckin smartass little tease, oughta keep you on your knees and do this all day so you remember who you’re fuckin with. Oh fuck, Indrid, yes, oh fuck yeah.” He comes hard, forcing Indrids mouth all the way down again.  His hips pulse a few times, but when the man tries to pull away he keeps him trapped.

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna keep suckin til I’m done.”

A high, whimpering purr leaves Indrid, and Duck spies him palming the front of his pajama pants through his robe. Soon, he releases his head and he pulls back with a gasp. He makes a wordless, happy sound, nuzzling along the line of Ducks hips. 

“You want me to take care of that for you, darlin?”

“Yes, please.” 

Duck gathers him up off the floor, sets him on the counter and carefully tugs down his pants. His cock is dripping as Duck closes his hand around it.

“Oh! Oh yes.”

“How do you want it?”

“H-however you wish, but, but please touch the rest of me too.” 

Duck wraps his other arm around him, pulling him close as he steps between his spread legs. He kisses him wherever he can reach, little sighs echoing through trailer when he does. Indrid embraces his, lips trailing along his neck and face, kissing him eagerly. The kisses turn sloppier as Duck tightens his grip, stroking him hard and fast. 

“Kiss me, I want to come while you kiss me.”

“Think I can manage that.” He steadies Indrids head with his free hand, kissing him hard. The other man is making sharp, high noises against his lips and when he comes across Ducks hand and belly the noise changes to something like a trill, muffled as Ducks tongue slips between his lips to meet his own. 

Indrid keeps kissing him dreamily as he comes down from his orgasm. 

“You’re tremendous.” He murmurs under the hum of the space heaters. 

“Right back at you, darlin. Now, let’s go shower and, uh, see where the day takes us.” He says this last part with a grin that suggests they both the answer is “to bed.”

------------------------------------

In the decade that follows, both Indrid and Duck think on that night from time to time. For awhile, neither of them see it as any more than a two-night stand that was particularly excellent, one that they remember fondly.

It takes on irony much sooner for Indrid, but only because he sees what’s coming in a way Duck can’t. Then he nearly forgets about the whole thing because of the Cottonwood and the disasters and the phone calls. 

It’s only when he sees the Pine Guard coming up the trail to his home that realizes Duck Newton is in for quite a surprise. 

#prompt fill #indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck

[team-science-mega-nerds]

Fictober Prompt #19: “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” 

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Danvarias

Warnings: Minor mentions of drug use

Thirteen miles from a bustling city with a designer landscape, quaint eateries, and a baseball team that nearly became the pride of Ohio is a rural blip on the map that is better left ignored. Duntown, which the residents resentfully call Doomstown, is a place that makes you reckon with reality. Ramshackle churches and hate crimes that people struggle to name, the folks of this city fear everything they do not know. For most that means outsiders. They turn up their noses and yell out the windows of their pick-up trucks. Go back where you came from! For some, their greatest fear is the only thing they’ve ever known - church. They drag themselves to Sunday service, seeking forgiveness for the things they cannot control. 

The two most popular places in Duntown are a local bar that serves stale beer and moonshine - if you know how to ask just right - and a weekly flea market that sets up in the parking lot of the local high school. Tents and tables are propped up around potholes that will never be fixed and people banter and barter their mundane little lives away. 

The biggest plight of the city takes everyone by surprise. It happens so fast that people struggle to make time between work - at a fading steel mill - and Sunday’s services to figure out exactly what’s going on. It’s a funeral of all things that sparks the interest of the collective town. Watching their children play in a field that they will probably never grow out of and eating bologna sandwiches and salad that’s nothing but iceberg lettuce and croutons, Sam’s entire life changes. 

“Went to water my plants this morning. That darn water,” Deborah says shaking her head, “looked like someone done pissed in it.” It’s the way she says it, all bite and resolute, apprehension comes to a head. That’s what catches Sam’s attention. It seems like just another thing to fear, another thorn in her side. Sam’s eyes go to Ruby, she’s laughing and playing tag with her friends. Ruby’s at that age where youth slowly starts to crumble and she’ll become aware of the world around her. 

Sam can see Tuffy and John sitting near a makeshift shrine of Kevin. They drink and drink, saluting their dead friend who perished on a normal workday at the mill. To date, Sam had been to seven funerals of people she’d known from high school. They all died in the same place, all had funerals presided over by the same poverty-stricken mourners, and all had after funeral receptions just like this. Tuffy and John smoked meth behind Mrs. Ainsley’s - Kevin’s mother - car. And all this was normal. All this met Sam’s expectations. 

Water that she had to boil before drinking did not. 

Deborah had made the comment about the drinking water six months ago and now, Sam seemed to be the only one brave enough to do something about it. Her bravery was, in fact, an accident. She’d been weaving in and out of her trailer home, trying to carry all of the groceries that she’d purchased at Costco six towns over. Ruby was supposed to be taking a bath and then going right to bed, Sam didn’t want to argue about it. Not today. 

It’d been a long road, getting where they are now. Borrowing from people she despised, working extra shifts at the grocery store, and relying on nosy neighbors to babysit. Sam, you’re a pretty girl. They’ve got some good men at the mill. She’d got a daily reminder of just how cute she was by handsy men, most of whom would go on to live and die at that very mill. Now that Sam and Ruby had a place of their own, things were starting to look up. “Mom. Mom!” Sam grabs four bags at once and rushes inside. She dumps the bags and throws the bathroom door open. 

“Oh, Rubes,” It’s a rash, tiny and probably inconsequential, but Sam has promised herself to always put Ruby first. Yellow water that has been slowly turning brown for months, and a rash, are enough to get Sam to make a call. 

The call itself goes terribly. She doesn’t know who to ask for or how to ask for what she wants. The secretary on the other end uses big words that feel suffocating. All Sam wants is to be safe. “Do you understand? I need you to send someone who can help us feel safe.” Sam feels like she blew it the moment she hangs up. She deeply considers moving. The cost is far outside of her reach but if she asks the right people and is willing to speak to her mother again, then she can make it happen. 

“Someone sent you an email!” Bernice, who everyone just calls Bezza, yells from where she’s seated in front of her trailer. Rocking and knitting like always. Sam approaches with Ruby at her side. “Remember when you showed me how to use the ‘Gmail’? Well, I guess your account is still up. The noise that email made, scared me to hell and back.”

“Who’s it from?” Sam can’t remember the last time she’d gotten an email that wasn’t about her missing a bill. 

“Some law firm.” Sam nearly trips on herself as she runs into Bezza’s trailer. She pushes past mounds of newspapers and boxes of old junk and finds her desktop computer. Sam bites her nails while she waits for the computer to wake up. She listens to Bezza tell Ruby about all of her fantastic finds at the flea market that week. Sam feels nauseous. 

When she finally manages to get to her email, Sam has to rifle through a bunch of spam and late fee notices to get to an email from Danvers & Danvers Law Offices: 

Dear Ms. Arias, 

I’ve received some initial information about Duntown and I am concerned about the lack of progress being made on behalf of your town. I’d like to come and talk to you sometime within the next few weeks. Please send me a list of dates and times that you are available to meet and we will work something out.

Alex Danvers LL.M. 

Sam rereads the email five times before typing out her response. She’s embarrassed that she’s only free to meet after eight most days, but she leaves room for other suggestions like a phone call. She sends the email and immediately gets a response. They’ll meet at The Tipsy Cow at 8:30 the following day. “Mom, you took like fifty years,” Ruby, who is far too aware and mature for a nine-year-old, says as they walk back to their trailer. “Bezza smells like mothballs.” Ruby hops up the steps one by one and they enter and both go in search of something that will pass for dinner. 

“I had to answer an email,” Sam explains. “Don’t comment on how people smell unless it’s nice.” 

“I like moths.” Ruby finds an apple in the fridge and munches on that while Sam gets to work on Hamburger Helper. “Who emailed? Delany’s mom got a new boyfriend. They went to Chicago for the weekend.” Sam wishes she could tell Ruby that Delany’s mom’s new boyfriend is an alcoholic who has questionable world views. Instead, she remains silent. “Can we go to Chicago?” 

“Someday.”

“There’s a giant bean there!” Ruby gets lost in an old Almanac, Sam starts to think that she’s made a grave mistake. Big corporations don’t take too kindly to meddling women. Sam’s a nobody, she knows that and what kind of lawyer travels all the way from National City just to talk? If Sam had a computer of her own, she’d email this Alex Danvers right now, and tell him to forget it. But dinner and bedtime stories get in the way of those thoughts. 

Sam is hunkered down at work just enough to forget all about it until it’s six-thirty and Ruby is asking why she has to stay at Deborah’s house that night. “I have to meet someone and I don’t know how long it’ll take. You like Deborah.”

“I like you more,” Ruby tells her pouting and sulking the whole walk over. The minute they arrive at the ranch house, Ruby sees Scout, an Australian Shepherd mix, and she forgets all of her misgivings. 

“Everything alright?” Deborah asks as they both watch Ruby, and her oversized backpack, bouncing around the yard. “You finally meeting someone?”

“A lawyer. Just to talk about the water situation.”

Deborah turns very serious. “You be careful now,” She warns, echoing the same tone that Sam’s mother had when she told her about this last night. Sam kisses Ruby goodbye and returns home to change into something more presentable. She settles for a turquoise shift dress and white platform sandals. The bar is close which is good for most people in the trailer community but terrible for Sam. On more than one occasion, there have been fights that have broken out right outside of Sam’s window. For now, she considers it a good thing that she lives so close, otherwise, she might have been late. 

The Tipsy Cow represents all the good and bad of the town. Everyone certainly knows everyone but that means that things often boil over and get heated in these very walls. Sam normally wouldn’t be caught dead alone in this place but it’s 8:30 and she doesn’t think she’ll have to wait long. 

Unless this big city lawyer is late. 

Sam orders a club soda and finds a booth in the back. They’ll need a quiet place to talk and there are too many mill workers crowding the bar and watching some baseball game that Sam could care less about. There’s a little bit of a lull, which Sam hardly notices until one of the mill workers barks - yes, barks - at a woman who’s just entered the bar. That kind of ruckus signals outsider, so Sam lifts her head to see what’s going on. The woman is wearing a grandad collar white button-up, mid-wash blue jeans, and a blazer that could probably pay off Sam’s mortgage. The briefcase is the thing that catches Sam’s attention the most. 

Oh, she sits up properly, Alex Danvers is a woman. 

Alex doesn’t notice Sam just yet. She checks her expensive watch, mutters fuck, and orders something from the bar. When Sam sees the bartender going for the tap, Sam rises to her feet and approaches. “I’d advise against that.” Alex turns looks between Sam and the bartender and taps her head as if to say ‘duh’. 

“Long drive. The brain’s on autopilot.” Alex motions to the bartender. “I’ll take a soda.” 

“We say pop around here,” Sam informs the lawyer. Once Alex has her soda, she follows Sam to the booth, and extends her hand. “So, you’re Alex.”

“Yep. And you’re Sam?”

“Yes.” Sam sits first. Alex slides her briefcase into the seat across from Sam and takes off her blazer before sitting. 

“Am I late?”

“Only by a few minutes.” Sam smiles. “I see you got a good Doomstown welcome,”

“Doomstown?”

“This place. It’s a nickname of sorts.” Alex frowns. 

“Doesn’t look doomed from where I’m sitting.” Sam toys with her straw trying not to get distracted by Alex placing her briefcase on the table. Alex pulls out a few documents and sets them on the table. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading. Coores & Phillips Company seems to be the main corp involved. They have the proper ordinances to drill in Cook and Favors county, but as you know, they’ve been drilling near the border here.” Alex goes to take a drink of her soda, but Sam reaches forward and grabs the glass first. “What?” 

“Don’t drink that.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“The bartender put moonshine in that.” Sam quickly lets go of the glass when she realizes that their fingers are touching. Alex laughs, uncomfortably, at the very suggestion that she’d get her drink spiked. “I’m serious.” 

“I can handle my liquor.”

“Don’t be...stupid. We’ve got no-joke moonshine out here.” There’s a competitive drive in Alex. Sam imagines that makes for some magic in the courtroom. “Those papers can tell you plenty but not enough. This place isn’t some cute little town that needs big city saving. It’s been six months, soon people are going to start fighting back.” 

“And how would they? Fight back I mean.” 

“You see those guys?” Sam nods toward the men at the bar, cheering for a homerun. “When they’re not working, they’re drinking. And if they’re drinking and on crank, then guns get involved.”

“We’ll need a town hall meeting. Something to show everyone that the problems are being addressed.” Alex takes a sip of her drink and grimaces. “We did a case in Texas two years ago. A nice settlement too.” 

“How much were the lawyer fees?”

Alex shakes her head. “No, no, nothing like that. This is pro-bono-.”

“I’ll pay. We’ll scrape money together. I’m not a charity case.” Alex seems to recognize Sam’s seriousness, so she lets it go in favor of mulling something over in her mind. 

“Show me.” 

“Show you...what?” 

“This town. Show me what I’m missing.” Alex pays for their drinks and manages to polish off the rest of her soda before following Sam out of the bar. They get another bark on their way to Alex’s car, Sam turns sharply. 

“Fuck off!” She warns. She’s seen these guys before. Heard their poor pickup lines. She won’t let them bully what might be their saving grace. 

“Oh, mommy’s pissed,” One of them says as Alex unlocks her car. Alex looks like she might say something, but Sam grabs her arm and continues to pull her along. When they’re in Alex’s SUV, which is a black Porsche Cayenne, Alex looks over at her sympathetically. 

“You have a kid?” 

“A daughter.” Alex will probably ask more but for now, she drives out of the parking lot and down the road. “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” Alex says a slight smile on her face. 

“I was being sarcastic, you can’t drive this thing around.” Sam points to her trailer which is only a block away. “You need to pull over there. You can park by my place.” Alex follows directions well but seems less than eager when they get out of the car and start walking. “Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried,” Alex lies. They approach the church. Sam hasn’t stepped foot in there in four years and counting. Alex seems to acknowledge her jitters by slowing near the front door. “This the kind of place for you?”

“Girls like me avoid places like that,” Sam tells her. “Didn’t always. Things change.” The streets are quiet on the weeknights. The further you get from the bar, the easier it is to forget what kind of town this is. Sam glances up at the sky, the pollution from the mill has changed the whole world from Sam’s perspective. She doesn’t want Ruby growing up in a place without stars and with rusty water. “You shouldn’t take this case.”

“Why not?”

“I saw the way you looked at those guys. Like you wanted to say something or fight.” Sam stops Alex before they reach the long pathway that leads to the mill. “But you didn’t.”

“I would’ve. Easily. You don’t know me.” Alex sticks her hands in her pockets. “My mom would say that this is a lost cause. That we’ll get buried under big corporate lawyers, but our firm is solid. We’ll get you paid-.”

“If you think any of this is about money, then you don’t understand.”

“I do understand.” Alex touches the small of Sam’s back. She isn’t certain what to make of the gesture but she’ll remember it in case things take a turn for the worst. “Whoa.” Alex bends over with her hands on her knees. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“That moonshine.”

“Oh,” Sam laughs. “Yeah, it takes a bit to bite you like that.” Sam wraps her arm under Alex’s shoulder and guides her back down the road. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I could just use some water, which...I recognize is a problem.” 

“I have bottled water at home.” Even though they’re strangers, Sam feels comfortable enough with Alex to invite her into her trailer. For one, there’s nothing worth stealing in the place. And two, Alex has just decided to put so much on the line to help out. Sam wishes she’d cleaned up more. Or maybe folded up her couch so it would look like there was more space but Alex seems mainly focused on water, so Sam buries her shame. 

“Thanks,” Alex mumbles as she leans against the counter and downs half the bottle. Sam tries not to stare when Alex untucks her shirt and looks around the modest kitchen. 

“I told you not to drink that shit.”

“Okay, yes, I admit it. You were right.” Alex shrugs it off. Sam sits at the tiny wooden table and starts unlatching her sandals. When she’s finished and looks back up at Alex, she’s struck by the fact that Alex’s eyes are already on her. Like she’d been watching her. “Um...I’ll go. You have your kid and everything-.”

“She’s staying at a friend’s place.” Sam doesn’t know why she jumps in to say that but she does know that everything has a cost. If Alex wasn’t accepting payment from her, then she must want something. Sam takes a chance, a small one, and stands shoulder to shoulder with Alex. She’s been here before, giving recklessly. Never with Ruby around but there were times where desperation took hold. “I could repay you…” Sam has never had to say much to anyone, just show casual interest and they would find a way to take control. 

Alex is different, Sam learns right away, taking a step away and putting her water bottle down. “You’re a good person, Sam. I am too.” Alex lets out a breath. “We can work together, can’t we? Probably better when I’m not this drunk.” 

“I wasn’t…” Sam shakes her head. “In this place, things sometimes get warped.”

“It’s okay,” Alex says sincerely. “And in honor of us understanding each other. Would it be possible for me to sleep here tonight? On the couch, on the floor...whichever.” 

“Of course you can.” By the time Sam has gathered a pillow and blanket from the closet, Alex is already snoring softly on the couch. Sam covers her with a blanket, locks the doors, and goes into her own bedroom. Outside of feeling embarrassed by basically offering sex as payment, Sam is remarkably thrilled with her day. Even in her tiny room that often makes her feel like a child, Sam is floored by the possibilities that the future brings. 

Doomstown might not be doomed quite yet and if the fight that Sam has seen crop up in Alex’s eyes is any indication, they might actually have a chance. Sam doesn’t like to get her hopes up. She kneels at her bedside, crosses herself, and prays for the first time since she was in high school. She wants to be safe and for once, someone understands that. 

When she wakes up, Sam finds Deborah and Ruby in the kitchen. They’re both eating cereal and Deborah is boiling the water for the coffee maker. Neither seems all that phased, especially Ruby who points to the other room with her spoon, “Who’s that in there?”

“That’s Alex, she’s a lawyer.” Deborah arches a brow at Sam. Sam peeks into the room and finds Alex exactly where she left her. 

“What’s she doing here?” Ruby whispers as she looks over the couch at Alex. 

“She’s going to help us get clean water.”

“Really?!” Ruby yells. She bolts to where she can get face to face with Alex whose eyes open slowly. She has to blink a few times to remember where she is but when she does she smiles at Ruby and says ‘hi’. “You’re gonna help us?”

Alex looks to Sam and then sits up a little. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you.” On their way to check to see if Alex’s car got stolen Alex observes the town in the light of day. Bezza is rocking away in her chair. The hazy overcast does nothing to deter Alex’s smile. Even shouting from inside a trailer doesn’t seem to frighten her. “I like it here,” Alex tells Sam.

“Really?”

“I like the people at least.” 

The next time Alex Danvers comes into town, it’s to rent an entire building out for her team. They parade in with their fancy cars and nice suits but they immediately get to work. The drilling ceases for a week and after what seems like a standoff - marked by a lot of yelling in and outside of town hall - Alex takes the Coores & Phillips Company to court. The win comes suddenly, after months and months of proceedings. The big corporation senses the uneasiness and after a few men from the mill, high on meth, blow up a drill, it’s fairly obvious that this is a war they won’t win. Alex knocks at Sam’s door, sweaty from jogging over to this side of town, she is elated and Sam knows that finally, everything is right in their little burden of a town. 

Two weeks later, while Ruby, Deborah, and Bezza are playing cards, Sam announces that she’s going to take a shower. Alex looks up from where she’s seated, after losing in the very first round, and follows Sam into the hallway. “Don’t make me get a restraining order,” Sam jokes. 

“This is actually...about that night.” 

“I’ve known you for about a year. There’s been plenty of nights.” The hallway is barely a hallway. Just a sliver of space that leaves only a few inches between their bodies. 

“The first one.” Alex rolls her eyes, knowing that Sam will wait until she says exactly what she means. “We could’ve, you know. Ended up in bed together.”

“You wouldn’t have been very good. From what I remember you were all valiance and moonshine.” 

“That stuff was so strong, I might still be all moonshine.” Alex puts her hand on Sam’s waist, it’s the most direct she’s ever been with something outside of the courtroom. “I’d like to try again. Properly, I mean.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You aren’t interested?” Alex questions sadly. 

“I am interested. But more so in you joining me for a shower.” Sam holds Alex’s face in her hands and smiles. “Show me you belong in this crazy little town. Show me what you’re made of.” 

“We can hear everything you’re saying!” Deborah yells from the kitchen. Alex and Sam crack up laughing, hustling into the bathroom, and taking off their clothes.

#danvarias #sam arias #alex danvers #supergirl #agentreign #gestures casually: yes this is another fucking small town AU #there will be more to come

[raisingsupergirl]

Losing Our Traditions: How Are YOU Handling It?

This past Friday was supposed to be the Simpson Relays—Farmington, MO's annual high school track meet. It's an event that I not only participated in for four years in high school, but I've also covered it as a physical therapist every year since I returned to town in 2011. Because of this, it holds a nostalgic place in my heart. Sure, it rains almost every year, but it's still a chance for me to catch up with all of the Farmington students, coaches, and parents whom I've gotten to know so well over the years. And it's a chance to spend a relaxing afternoon in a place where I spent a large portion of my formative years. In short, it feels a little like coming home. Which is ironic since the very thing that caused this track meet to be cancelled this year is the same thing that's got us all stuck at home. Corona virus: robbing us of our traditions since 2019.

I'm a pretty optimistic person, but I've always had a peculiarly morbid way of looking at yearly traditions—birthdays, Easter, July 4th, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve, rifle season. You know, all the important stuff. For the average human, we'll only experience about 80 of each of these, at most. And we remember an even smaller amount than that. So missing just one is more than 1% of our total life experiences for that event. So "skipping" Easter or baseball season or spring for a year is kind of a big deal. A few weeks ago, I talked about living in the moment, and I stand by that. My point here is that sometimes we don't have a choice. Sometimes we're forced to miss things that we love. We lose 1% of that memory. So my question is this: what do we do about it?

Obviously, everyone is dealing with this pandemic a little differently. Some are really hunkering down, spending hours sanitizing door-dropped groceries and investing in chemical warfare-grade gas masks to wear while checking the mail. Others are ignoring it completely, shaking hands with everyone they see and picking their noses afterward. Most of us are somewhere in the middle, and the same goes with our emotional responses. We're not in complete denial, but we're not having daily breakdowns, either. And that's what makes the whole situation so hard to wrangle. There's no one piece of advice or world-view to recommend. I, for example, am still working full time—about 25 hours in the clinic and 15-ish from home. My wife is a stay-at-home mom, and my two daughters are still too young to miss out on any serious schooling. So, our lives are very much the same as they've always been. And yet, there are still some strange emotional tensions and fears that we're dealing with. They're not the same as yours, or the same as an eighty-year-old asthmatic atheist stuck in a nursing home (yes, religious beliefs are significant when dealing with mortality and fear of death). So, with all of that in mind, how could I possibly give you useable advice on how to deal with the loss of our dearest holidays and traditions?

The obvious answer? I can't. If I tell you to create new traditions on those days, some of you will drown in the sense of loss caused by moving on. If I tell you to spend time reminiscing on the best memories created in years past, some of you will find the bittersweet nostalgia too heavy to bear. But if there's no advice to be given, what are we to do? Well, if you're still reading this, you're already doing what needs to be done—you're thinking about your situation. You're evaluating your own life, your own senses of loss, missing out, and new experiences.

When I sat at home this past rainy Friday, I thought back on all of the Simpson Relays I'd attended in the past—both those while I was in high school and those I've covered as an adult. I reminisced over the track and field events I (mediocrely) participated in, the friends I made, the girlfriends I made (none so beautiful or talented as you, dear), the games I played, the wins, losses, highs, lows, and in-betweens. I'm only thirty-four, but my life has already been long enough that some of my great memories are starting to fade into the mists of time. And it's events such as the corona pandemic (as horrible as they are) that give me the chance to reflect and reevaluate the good times and just how important they have been to me. I'm not saying you have to ruminate over the past like I do. I'm not saying you have to ignore that past and forge ahead. I am saying that you need to take five seconds and figure out what's best for you.

Don't be a victim of circumstance. Don't spend your time blaming and lamenting and throwing a fit. Take control of your situation. And by that, I mean take control of you—not of the president or the World Health Organization or the crazy lady at the grocery store. You. Make the choice of how you're going to respond to these hard times, and then follow through. And if that choice doesn't work out as well as planned, try something different. We're all learning here. We're all going through loss and confinement and uncharted waters. But that’s no excuse to lose our crap.

You know the crazy thing about 1%? It's only 1%. It may seem like a lot at the time, but it's not. And even that 1% hasn't been completely stolen from us. We still got to have Easter, even if it was different. And even though the Simpson Relays were cancelled this year along with all spring sports, that doesn't mean spring was cancelled. Or sports. This afternoon, I watched my daughter play Wii baseball/bowling/golf for like two hours. And yesterday, I sat outside and grilled all the meats. Life isn't cancelled right now. 1% of it just looks a little different. And how you deal with that is 100% your choice.

Have a good one, y'all, and keep living your best life.

#tradition #holidays #covidー19 #coronavirus #accountability #momblr #dadblr #mumblr

[loveinthetimeofcorona]

March 17

I woke up this morning feeling a bit better after sleeping for a full 8 hours and taking meds again. My cough is still persistent but doesn’t hurt as bad anymore, plus, a big bonus that my body doesn’t hurt *everywhere.* However, my nose is running like 45 away from his taxes so that’s been a pleasure to handle.

Bodies are a weird thing. For a long time I had an off-again, on-again relationship with my own around positivity, opinions from lovers, and projection & acceptance of it. I don’t have to tell you the extreme pressure of a woman’s body to be anatomically incorrect and hairless and thin, but in these times of needing to extra listen to your body for health and wellness, I am damn glad my biggest “problem” is my midsection. My arms work for petting cats and my legs function well for standing in the shower. My vision to look at my beautiful yard and my hearing to listen to my partner tell me he loves me is immeasurably valuable.

...which is why I was initially so sad to find a lump underneath my right armpit last night after taking the best hot shower in recent memory. However, before anyone panics, when I was sick in December from my URTI the doctor told me it was normal to have a blocked sweatgland as a side effect. Part of me feels relieved in a weird way to see this old friend again because I know what to do, but another part of me is like:

Toe-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Also, fun fact, while we’re oversharing, I stopped shaving my armpits in December when I got my first blocked sweatgland (you’ll always remember your first) because my doc said it may irritate the area. And I just didn’t pick it back up, 3 months later...

So, where are we in the healthcare game right now so I can tackle getting better? Well...here we go.

Monday:

I attempted to “get seen” by a doctor via virtual waiting room. This means scheduling a video call with a doctor so you can talk to them about what you’re feeling, and they put a visual on your symptoms. I’ve never done this before but considering all the precautions of the coronavirus, it seemed like a good idea (famous last words). Particularly if you think you have COVID-19, you should make arrangements with your health provider to get an initial screen via phone or video call first. If the symptoms persist, the nearest hospital will prep for your arrival. Because I don’t know if I have COVID-19 or a plain ol URTI again, I figured I’d give technology a shot and got my list of symptoms ready to talk with the doc about. But after having the UHC app open for 4+ hours and no bites, I closed it and attempted again this morning.

Tuesday:

Here was my schedule:

10:09am - get an email that “It’s time to join your Virtual Visit” - great! Pick up my phone to open the app and then...

10:10 - get a second email that says “A Teladoc provider was unable to reach you for your visit“ - for real? 60 seconds and then the doc bounced? Even Lyft has better waiting windows than this.

10:11-10:19 - bitch to coworkers about not being able to be seen, our healthcare system is in shambles, and I am running out of Kleenex.

10:20 - after making a cup of tea I re-join the app waiting room and decide to just keep my phone on, with the app open, for the forseeable future since I’m dealing with a REAL LIFE ONE MINUTE MAN (and subsequently go down a Missy Elliott video k-hole, which, always OK).

10:26 - get kicked out of the UHC app with a generic “we’ve experienced an error” in addition to getting completely logged out of the app somehow. At this point I am invested. I’ve been ignoring text messages and avoiding going on Instagram just to have this fucking app open. I log back in.

10:45 -  the app still shows the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. This banner is the Hoover Dam. 11:30 -  the app is still showing the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I also realize the mic and video options on the app have been active this whole time. In a moment of WTF, I mute myself and position the camera to get a good view of the smoke detector on my ceiling. 12pm - I swap to FaceTime to catch up with a friend and lay out I may need to jump if UHC calls me back for the app appointment. It is good to see a face across the country that reminds me my friends are awesome. 12:45 - (in Morgan Freeman voice) "They, in fact, did not join the virtual waiting room." I take more meds in hopes my chest hurts less. I realize I'm out of Cepacol. I contemplate bum rushing Walmart and if my legs in a weakened state could make a run for it. 1:55 - I am going to murder the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I'm bummed that in five minutes, I will be attending a webinar called "Managing Isolation and Loneliness" and not "Managing Community Activism to Overthrow the Government and Rage." I still have my phone literally 6 inches away from my laptop, still open to the dumb app waiting for a human on the other end to validate me being sick. My husband asks me to put a blanket on my lap so I don't get cold. I tell him that if I burn the place down I will stay warm that way. I decide if I still don't get a bite by the end of this webinar, I will venture into no mans land - actually calling the patient support line for my health care provider.

6:43 - work takes precedence, and I tie up everything I can to close out my work day so I can talk to my brother. He describes his Mad Max journey heading back from Tahoe to the Bay Area with his girlfriend, which includes going to BFN for toilet paper and going on an epic search for eggs. After making my umpteenth cup of tea, I finally hunker down and call the 800 number on the back of my insurance card. I opt in for a call back and set a timer to see how long *this* process will take.

6:45 - someone calls me back. I silently yelp in surprise. What black magic is this that a phone call is faster than an app? I ask no questions. I describe my troubles to the admin: I’ve waited around in the app, I feel like shit, somehow the doc didn’t see me for my visit in the morning because I was too “slow” to log into the waiting room. While we talk an “Unknown” caller is on other side but I ignore it because I’m talking to a human. Then I get a text that a doc tried me again and I didn’t answer, so my virtual visit has now been canceled.

It took everything I had to not snap my phone in two and use it as a digital shank. I explain that to the admin who just says “Wow. Let’s just cancel this virtual visit and I’ll sign you up for a phone call consultation tomorrow.”

Hours wasted in an app to be seen: 8. Time on the phone to get scheduled: 3 minutes. Way to go, UHC. But hey! I have to keep remembering that there’s ice cream in the freezer and I don’t have a fever. And that I am flipping fortunate to actually have health insurance. Maybe tomorrow I will try my luck on day three of “I’d really like to know if Satan is going to take me away now.”

Five random thoughts for today:

The dye job for my roots I got 6 weeks ago is hanging on for dear life these days, but I urge all of you - DO NOT BOX DYE.

A friend on the East Coast FaceTimed me out of the blue yesterday, simply because I mentioned on my Instagram I wanted more human interaction. That inspired me to do more of that, too.

Last night when I took a hot shower it occurred to me this was the time I could touch my face *incessantly* without much consequence. It made me wonder if everyone’s skincare routine is gonna be next level lit and we’re all going to be just glowing in the summer.

My friends with kids who are having to stay home with them during this time are some of the fuckin MVPs of the century.

Keep track of when the last time you left the house was. For me, it was 4 days ago and I’ve figured out that is my breaking point. Because I’m sick my plan is to do a mini hike tomorrow far far away from anyone so I can at least feel fresh air.

#coronavirus #loveinthetimeofcorona

[lizacstuff]

The Unfortunate Pumpkin Pie Nudity Incident  

Summary: The week before Thanksgiving Emma Swan finds herself in need of a roommate, however she never bargained for what's about to walk through her door. A Captain Swan modern AU with comedic situations, a wee dash of angst and holiday fluff.

Rating: Teen

Chapter: 1 of 4

Notes: This was originally written for Fall For CS, but I didn’t quite make the deadline. Thanks to @rouhn the generous artist who has allowed me to use the wonderful art she created, and thanks to my dear friend who agreed to beta, the invaluable @counttotwenty who always makes it better.

AO3       Fanfiction.net

“Thanks, we’ll let you know.” Emma opened the door for the departing woman, a fake smile plastered on her face. She tried not to choke on the cloud of patchouli oil that engulfed her as the woman passed. As soon as Emma shut the door on the chilly autumn air, she added softly, “Don’t call us we’ll call you.”

Mary Margaret looked hopefully at Emma.  “She was… nice. She’d make a good roommate.”

Emma grimaced and waved her hand in front of her face as if to clear the woman’s strong scent. “I can’t live with this smell-- I think you better light one of your pumpkin-whatever-spice candles to get rid of it-- plus she asked about a space where she could practice her chanting.  I’m not living with a smelly… chanter,” Emma’s voice didn’t invite opposition. The smelly chanter had been the fourth person they’d interviewed that day, and despite the chanting and the patchouli, probably the most suitable. The first candidate had been a chain smoker, which made her a different, but wholly unacceptable kind of smelly. The second candidate owned a snake and Emma was not about living with any slithering creatures, and the third candidate had potential, but she had only needed a place for three months, and Emma did not want to go through this again in three months.

The last thing she wanted to do was find a new roommate. Well, the second to last thing. The last thing she wanted to do was give up the loft, but she couldn’t quite afford the spacious two-bedroom on her own, thus the necessity of a roommate.  To be accurate, she could technically afford it on her Storybrooke Sheriff Deputy salary, however she had spent the last year saving up in order to attend Storybrooke University and finish her bachelor’s degree. Her classes were scheduled to start in January, so right now every penny counted.  

Emma groaned when she saw that Mary Margaret had taken her up on her joking suggestion and was currently lighting the candle that sat on the coffee table… and the one on the kitchen table.  Emma looked around at the abundance, at least to her, of seasonal decorations, all of it Mary Margaret’s doing. There was a wreath of berries, in all shades of orange, above the fireplace,  a colorful fake leaf garland on the mantle below it, as well as some sort of real tiny pumpkins and gourds on the kitchen table, kitchen counter and assorted other tabletops.  She’d never lived with anyone who decorated like Mary Margaret, and, though, she had yet to admit it to Mary Margaret, she didn’t hate it.

“This is all your fault,” Emma said resolutely.  

At that, Mary Margaret looked up from lighting her third seasonally-scented candle. Her eyes had gone wide, as a look of worry stole across her face.  

“If you hadn’t taken me in all those months ago,” Emma continued now with humor in her voice, “I wouldn’t know how much I liked this place.  I’d be quite content in some one-room hovel on the bad side of town.”

“This is Storybrooke, there is no bad side of town,” Mary Margaret replied automatically, and then with a note of sympathy added, “I don’t need to go, Emma. I could wait until after the wedding to move.”

“Absolutely not.” Emma replied firmly. “I was teasing.  You and David belong together now, you were made for that little farm house of his, there is no reason to wait six months on my account, and I’m so grateful to both of you, and not just because you’re letting me sublet this place.” At that, Emma felt an unexpected bit of heat rise behind her eyes and as cover, busied herself with the stack of applications the owner of the building, Gold’s Property Management, had sent over.

Emma rarely did emotions, and until just a year ago when David Nolan had given her a job and then introduced her to his then girlfriend, now fiancé, she’d never really done friends, or relationships or really anything that had to do with forming connections with other humans. Emma’s life had not been easy. Her childhood spent in and out of foster homes, her adolescence spent in and out of group homes, her late teens spent partly in juvenile detention. A long story that one. However, she’d persevered. She’d turned things around and made a life for herself as a bail bonds person in the city and she’d done it all on her own.  Grudgingly, over the last year, she’d also learned it was nice to have people. Mary Margaret was only moving a few miles away, and she knew she’d still see her, and she’d see David at work almost every day, but it still felt like she was losing something important.

Emma glanced down at the stack of applications in her hands. “We’ll find someone,” she said and then let out an involuntary sigh.  

Mary Margaret eyed her suspiciously. “That was an awfully big sigh, is there anything else wrong?”

“No,” Emma replied quickly. “Nothing.”

“Emma…”  

Emma knew if she admitted that she was feeling a bit blue at the prospect of Mary Margaret moving out her friend would never leave, instead she smiled widely, and her voice took on a teasing lilt. “It’s just that I moved in here last January after all your holiday decorations were down. If this is what you do for fall, I was hoping to see the Mary Margaret Christmas extravaganza I’ve heard so much about.”

“You will!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, as her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’ll come to the farm all the time. Next week for Thanksgiving, though we won’t have the decorations up yet, and then we’ll have a party in mid-December, and you’ll definitely join us on Christmas and basically any other time you want to come over, you’re welcome.” Emma smiled fondly at her, but also immediately regretted bringing up the holidays.  Truth be told Emma didn’t really do… any of it. She preferred to hunker down and ignore it until it was over.  “Oh, and I’ll leave you some decorations. I have more than I ever put up, we’ll make this place super Christmasy, you won’t even recognize it.”

Now Emma was really regretting bringing it up, so instead of agreeing she turned her attention back to the task at hand, choosing a person to share her living space. It had taken her 28 years to find Mary Margaret; she was never going to luck into finding someone she could live with and wanted to be friends with again. Therefore, she was treating the living situation as a pure matter of convenience, seeking someone who could pay a share of the bills and would stay out of her way. However, she was going to stand firm on no smoking, no pets – especially snakes, and no chanting.  

“So, who’s next?” Mary Margaret asked, nodding to the stack of papers in Emma’s hands.

“Last one,” Emma replied, then looked at her soon to be ex-roommate and waved the discarded applications at her. “Who knew there were so many people who would be unsuitable to live with in this town?”

“Maybe she’s the one.” Mary Margaret gestured to the top one.

Emma glanced at the paper and read, “K. Jones.”  She turned the application towards Mary Margaret and showed her the photo of the late-20 something.  An image of a woman with a wide, friendly smile, pale skin, dark red hair and sprinkling of freckles stared back at her.  “What’s your over/under that she’s a drummer in a death metal band and needs to practice for hours every day?” Emma asked sardonically.  

“She looks more like a preschool teacher than a drummer,” Mary Margaret replied, “But you can’t judge on appearance.” Then she leveled her best motherly gaze at Emma and chided, “Keep an open mind.”

Emma was about to protest that she had an open mind, had had an open mind with everyone the landlord’s service had sent over, when a knock sounded. Emma welcomed the interruption by saying with faux enthusiasm, “That must be my new red-headed roommate.”  She quickly made her way to the door and flung it open.

She should have looked through the peephole. That way she could have been prepared. As it stood she was not prepared, in fact she was woefully unprepared.  What’s the word for when one feels like they’ve been stunned into silence?  Dumbstruck. That was the word, and that word described Emma as soon as she laid eyes on what was on her doorstep.

The visage that met her was indeed pale, but not a red head, not a 20-something-- though probably just barely north of 30-- and definitely not a woman. No. It was a man. And not just any man, but six feet of tall, dark, and handsome man. He had perfectly mussed black hair, piercing blue eyes and just enough facial scruff that he looked like he had walked straight out of the pages of GQ.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling at Emma. “I’m Killian Jones, here about the sublet.”

Emma continued to stare at him and tried to process his words, but it was hard. Killian Jones. K. Jones. He couldn’t be her potential roommate, could he?  She was so confused it took much longer than it should have for her to realize he had an accent. A British accent. Oh my.

When Emma didn’t respond, he looked around the door as if searching for the address. “I’m sorry, love, am I in the wrong place? I’m looking for,” he glanced down at a scrap of paper. “Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Emma was still staring at him, still dumbstruck, and didn’t notice that Mary Margaret was now standing right behind her. Mary Margaret directed a sideways glanced at Emma waiting to see if she would respond. When she didn’t, the petite brunette smiled brightly at the stranger and stuck out her hand. “Hi, you’re in the right place. I’m Mary Margaret, and this is Emma. It’s quite chilly out there, won’t you come in?”

He hesitated, clearly wary of Emma’s reaction, but then moved past her into the loft. “Thank you, you’re right I probably should have worn something warmer than this old leather jacket.” Once inside, he looked around.  “This is very nice... spacious and well appointed… not to mention… festive.”

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret replied cheerfully, clearly taking the compliment, after all, most everything was hers. Though, since her fiancé’s house was already furnished, and they were intending to buy new pieces together, she was planning to leave much of the larger furniture in the loft with Emma. “The place will come with most of what you see here.  Do you have your own furniture?”

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Emma finally closed the door, whirled around and charged, “You’re a man.”

Emma had spoken with such fire that Killian was momentarily taken aback. He glanced from Emma to Mary Margaret who still was smiling widely, back to Emma. Tentatively, he said, “Aye.”

“You aren’t supposed to be a man.”

Still confused, Killian studied her for a moment, now struck by how attractive she was. Fine features, slender but athletic form apparent despite her sweater and jeans, long blonde hair that flowed down her back, like she was in motion, but she wasn’t, almost as if the force of her personality was propelling her in place. She was attractive indeed.  

A wolfish grin stole across his face. “Yet, as you see, I am a man.” He wasn’t sure what made him say the next words out of his mouth, perhaps it was a reaction to realizing how beautiful she was, or perhaps it was her challenging tone, aggressive stance, and the fiery way her eyes danced with anger.  “However, I’m happy to provide indisputable proof,” he leaned in, winked at her, and then leaned back and looped his thumb over his belt buckle, “if you require.”

It wasn’t just his words that set Emma off; it was his expression and the tone of his voice. She felt her hackles rise and her defenses go up.  She knew his type; she’d used her wiles on plenty of them back when she was a bail bonds person. All good looks and smarm, disguised as charm, and all of them snakes, though not as nice as the pet she’d refused to live with. “I don’t doubt you’re a man, but you’re supposed to be a woman.”

Killian’s grin slipped and once again he glanced at Mary Margaret for help, however she was studying Emma as though she was observing the situation and not taking part. He looked back to Emma and offered with a shrug, “I’m sorry to... disappoint.” The cocky grin returned as he added, “Though, I must say yours is not the usual reaction I get from women.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Who in the hell did this guy think he was? However, she didn’t doubt what he’d said for a second. He was ridiculously attractive and she couldn’t be the only woman to have noticed.  She was sure that if one were writing sonnets the only way to describe his eyes would be ‘smoldering.’  After a moment, she realized she’d been silent as she stared into those eyes, and forced herself to speak.

“No.” Emma replied in a rougher voice then normal. She shook her head as if to clear it, as if that would clear away how distractingly handsome the guy was. Business, she had to stay focused on business. She was looking for a roommate, and he wasn’t it. She held out the application so he could see. “K. Jones, the applicant to sublease, the applicant to be my new roommate is supposed to be this woman.” She shook the paper emphatically.

Killian glanced at the application, but then his gaze quickly found Emma again. There was an intrigued glint in his eye. “You would be my new flatmate,” he looked her up and down appraisingly before motioning to the other woman, “and not the lovely Mary Margaret?”

“Disappointed?” the word was out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop it. He was distracting her from the point. The point being that he was not the red headed preschool teacher/death metal drummer she had been expecting.

“Not in the slightest, I like a challenge,” Killian winked at her, before continuing, “And you seem an intriguing challenge indeed, but I take it you’re disappointed I’m not this lass.” He motioned to the photo she was still holding out towards him. “She looks a fine prospective flatmate, but I assure you,” he arched one suggestive eyebrow at her, “We would have more fun.”

Who did this flirty bastard think he was?  “Whoa, buddy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. First, I need to figure out who you are and why you don’t match this application. You could be anybody off the street.  I’m going to call the office. Mary Margaret, I knew I should have screened applicants myself instead of letting the property management company have a crack at it.”

If Mary Margaret suddenly seemed a tad nervous, and overly interested in studying her fingernails, Emma didn’t notice.

While Emma walked into the kitchen, cell phone pressed to her ear, Mary Margaret smiled at Killian. “While you’re here, we might as well see the place. Shall I give you the tour?”

“Lead on, milady.” Killian gave a slight bow and followed her down the hall.

xXx

A few minutes later, Emma hung up the phone and walked into the living room, saying as she went, “I spoke to Belle at the-”

She stopped short when she realized the room was empty.  In confusion, she looked around. They had just been there; she’d only been on with Belle for a few minutes, where could they have gone? A shot of adrenalin hit as she pictured the handsome stranger dragging Mary Margaret outside to his van. All murderers had vans, didn’t they? She rushed to the door, ready to leap into danger to save her soon-to-be ex roommate, when she heard voices down the hall.  Moments later, she found a smiling, and safe, Mary Margaret showing Killian Jones the bedroom, specifically *her* bedroom. The flirty bastard was in her bedroom. An involuntary flutter at the thought conflicted with a prickle of irritation at what felt like an invasion of her privacy.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Emma didn’t exactly yell, but her voice was raised and tinged with anger, probably partially fueled from the adrenalin rush of a minute earlier.

Mary Margaret looked startled, and confused. “I was showing your prospective flatmate the bedroom.”

The fact that Mary Margaret had picked up this man’s, Killian’s, vernacular fueled Emma’s already irrational anger. “My bedroom. He doesn’t need to see my bedroom. He won’t be entering my bedroom.” Emma’s voice held finality, but also a bit of a challenge. “For any reason.”

Mary Margaret looked at Killian apologetically before saying, “But Emma, I thought you were planning to switch to my bedroom room when I move out so…”

“Oh,” Emma’s embarrassment was so powerful, that she could almost feel the heat of the blush that stained her cheeks and chest.  Mary Margaret was right.  She did plan to move to the larger bedroom. Which wouldn’t take much; Mary Margaret had already moved many of her things to David’s.  “Right. So...”

“So this would be Killian’s room. I was showing him his room.”

The presumption helped Emma get over her embarrassment. “Again, you’re getting way ahead of things here. This is not going to be his room.”

“Oh?” Mary Margaret inquired, “What did the office say?”

Killian watched them keenly, realizing it was probably in his best interest to stay quiet. Even though this Emma, the woman who would be his flatmate, seemed maddeningly tetchy and excessively defensive, he found himself very much wanting to live here.  The location was great, the place was spacious and inviting and, he had to admit, the fiery Emma intrigued him.

“I talked to Belle. She apologized.  She said she must have attached the wrong photo by accident.  This is the right application, though.  See,” Emma held out the application for Mary Margaret’s inspection.

Mary Margaret took it and flipped the page.  A smile spread across her face, she looked at Killian and said excitedly, “One of your references is Graham Humbert? Look, Emma, one of his references is Graham.”

Emma took the application back and scowled at the paper, studying it carefully.  

“Aye, you know him?” Killian asked hopefully.

“Yes. Well, no, actually. Not really, but he’s very good friends with my boss and Mary Margaret’s fiancé.  He’s why I’m here. He was the Sheriff and when he left, David was promoted and hired me as deputy.”

“Ah.” Recognition flitted past Killian’s eyes and he turned to Mary Margaret.  “Graham mentioned that once I was settled he would introduce me to his successor and his betrothed, which must be you?”

“Well isn’t this a small world,” Mary Margaret guffawed and slapped her knee a little too hard.

Betrothed? Who spoke like that? Emma once again found herself wondering who this guy was. “How do you know Graham?” Emma asked her voice tinged with suspicion for no real reason other than she wanted to be suspicious. “Are you in law enforcement too?”

“I met him not long after I first arrived in this country; he was an instructor when I was getting certified. However, I find it more interesting that you’re in law enforcement. You look like you’ve broken more laws than enforced.” Killian’s tone was once again flirty.

Emma rolled her eyes at him, again, and then leveled a glare that pretty well conveyed she was done with his sass. “Are you here to annoy me or to convince me you would be an excellent roommate?  Because you’re doing a really good job of one of those things.”

Killian swallowed roughly and looked sheepish. “Apologies, lass...” Why did he always do this? Whenever he was a bit off balance in a situation, especially with a woman, he resorted to quips and innuendo. Now he aimed for sincere. “I very much want to convince you that I would make an excellent flatmate. Allow me to do so now.  Despite this,” he held up his left hand, it was shod in a black glove, and clenched, and unclenched, his fist. Emma’s eyes went wide as she recognized the mechanical movement of the fingers. It was a prosthetic. She hadn’t noticed until that moment. She stared for a moment and then realized he had started talking again. Her attention reverted to his face as he continued, “...I’m quite handy and can fix minor plumbing and electrical issues.  I’m a fair cook, and I’m tidy; years in the Royal Navy conditioned me, so you needn’t worry that I will disrupt the orderly home you so clearly keep.”

Mary Margaret snorted at that, and Emma glared at her.  It was true, though. Mary Margaret was the clean one. Emma could get messy, really messy when left to her own devices. However, she wasn’t about to tell this guy that, so she took command of the conversation. “Can you pay the rent?”

“Aye.”

“On time?” she pressed.

“In advance if you prefer.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Do you have pets?”

“Only Robin.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed in confusion and Killian could almost see something change in her. One minute he was winning her over, the next minute it was all gone.

“That’s a joke,” Killian added quickly, in an apologetic tone, clearly this lass was no nonsense. “I’m used to ribbing my mate Robin at every opportunity. You see he’s quite the outdoorsman, sometimes I joke he’s more like a forest creature than a hu... never mind.  Actually, he’s really the only person I know in town. Robin Locksley?” Killian said the name almost as a question. “Perhaps you know him? He owns Hood’s Tavern not far from the docks? He’s my other reference,” Killian gestured to the application that Emma was still holding.

Emma looked thoughtful. “I’ve been there a few times, but I don’t believe I’ve met him.” She glanced at Mary Margaret who was studying the print on Emma’s bedspread very closely. Too closely. “What about you? You know everyone in this town.”

Mary Margaret looked up, before feigning befuddlement. “What?”

Emma shot her a quizzical glance.  “Killian’s... mate,” Emma said the word ‘mate’ in a fairly reasonable approximation of Killian’s accent, then continued in her normal voice, “Robin, who owns the tavern by the docks, do you know him?”

Mary Margaret looked thoughtful and tapped her chin. “I believe David knows him, and I’ve met him before while in there. Nice guy. If I remember correctly he’s got an adorable son, but not old enough to be in my class yet.”

“Mary Margaret is an elementary school teacher.” Emma explained to Killian.

His eyes lit up. “Indeed? His son Roland is...” Killian paused and looked as if he was doing advanced mathematics in his head, “...five.” Killian looked triumphant at coming up with the answer.  “What level is that on this side of the pond? Nursery school?”

“Kindergarten,” Mary Margaret supplied with a smile.

“Ah.” Killian nodded.

“Do you have children?” Emma blurted. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

His eyes went wide at the suggestion and he shook his head quickly.

“Ever been married?” Emma was surprising herself with these questions, but enquiring minds wanted to know. It had nothing to do with how unquestionably handsome he was and the curiosity about his personal status that she felt building deep-down.

“No.”

“Why do you have only one friend in town?” Emma continued her rapid-fire questioning.

Killian chuckled lightly, before venturing to answer. “I don’t know anyone, because I don’t reside here... yet.”

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Emma inquired, though she felt herself softening towards him. The way his eyes lit up when speaking about his friend’s son. It was... appealing. A guy who liked children couldn’t be so bad.

“My work.”

Emma didn’t bother asking, she just gave him a pointed look.

“I’m with the State Marine Patrol, and they’ve decided to station an officer here,” Killian elaborated.

“So you’re in law enforcement?” Now this was interesting.  If he was in law enforcement that probably meant he’d gone through rigorous background checks and was probably an upstanding citizen. Although, she reminded herself, she was in law enforcement and had quite a checkered past.  

“Of a sort.”

“What do you mean?”

Killian slipped into professional mode. When it came to his work, he was serious. “It’s true, the Marine Patrol is tasked with maritime security, search and rescue and to enforce laws and regulations, but we’re also involved in scientific research. That’s really why I’m here. Storybrooke University has received a research endowment and the Marine Patrol has granted use of several vessels.”

“You’re a scientist?” Emma asked; his earnest demeanor intrigued her as much as his words. It was such a change from just a few minutes earlier. She was surprised; she never would have guessed he had such... substance.

He laughed good-naturedly at that. “No, love. I’m here to captain the ship.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully. Despite her first impression of him as conceited and smarmy, it was all sounding pretty dang good.  A profession that required background checks and some sort of standing in the community, multiple references that David knew, handy around the house, clean, could cook, and pay the rent in advance, not to mention, no smoking or pets. Other than the innuendo, and being excessively good looking, he was checking all the right boxes. Well, most of them.

She shot him a penetrating stare and said, “One last question, do you chant and what do you smell like?”

His eyes went wide at the questions, but he sensed he was close to closing the deal, so he answered as best as he could.  “Chant? Uh...I don’t... chant. I’ve been known to sing in the shower, but I needn’t if it bothers you. As far as how I smell,” he tilted his head down timidly as if afraid of what odors he might find there, “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me... is something wrong?”

“No, you smell fine. Good. Fine.” Emma stuttered, newly embarrassed, however that didn’t deter her. “Right now. But I don’t know how you normally smell. Maybe this is just interview smell. What do you put on in the morning?”

Killian’s cheeks turned red and he reached up and itched behind his ear with his index finger; this might be the most difficult interview he’d ever experienced. “Erm... put on? You mean like a bar of soap? I don’t remember what brand it is, but it’s just regular... soap.”

“So you don’t wear Patchouli oil?”

Killian looked at her in confusion. “I’m not familiar...”

“So you don’t plan on smelling weird?”

Killian glanced to Mary Margaret, clearly looking for help and this time she finally came to his rescue. She smiled kindly at him and explained, “You’ll have to humor Emma. You see the last applicant was very... earthy and she had quite a... pungent, self-inflicted, odor. I’m afraid Emma was traumatized by it.”

His eyes went wide in understanding. “Well... I wouldn’t describe myself as earthy, but the research is to do with fish and other sea creatures. I can’t promise... I mean it’s possible that I could come home smelling of... the sea.”

She lived in a fishing village; everything smelled of the sea, so she could live with that. Emma glanced at Mary Margaret. She gave her a small nod of approval and it was the last bit of confidence Emma needed to make the decision. “The room is yours if you want it, Killian.”

A wide grin broke out across his face. Emma was glad she didn’t have to say anything more. Because a smile like that, on a man who looked like that, it was... trouble.

This might be a very bad idea.

Xxx

To be continued

Chapter 2

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs mafia #cs modern au #my fic #the unfortunate pumpkin pie nudity incident