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#Tropetember
tropetember · 9 months
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Enemies / Friends / Strangers To Lovers
Police / Detective / (Super)Hero // Crime / Mafia / (Super)Villain
Hurt/Comfort / Sickfic / Whump
Coffee Shop / Tattoo Parlour / Flower Shop / Other Retail AU
Rockstar / Actor / Model / Famous AU
High School / College / University AU / 80’s Teen Movie AU
Historical (Regency, Ancient Greece/Rome, Prehistory, etc) / Modern / Futuristic AU
Time Travel / Time Loop (eg. Groundhog Day) / Amnesia / Coma
5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time)
Accidental Confession / In Vino Veritas (Drunk Confession/Drunk Dial)
Business Partners To Friends To Lovers / Competitor Businesses / Office AU
Huddling For Warmth / Sharing A Bed / Touch Starvation
Slice Of Life / Domestic / Found Family
Monstrous (Human/Monster Romance) / Cultural Differences / Language Barrier
Marriage Of Convenience / Arranged Marriage / Matchmaking / Blind Dates
Future Fic / Reunion / Childhood Friends / Friendship Centric
Getting Together / Love Confession / First Kiss / Break Up/Make Up
Body Swap / Psychic Link / Soulmates / Bonding (eg. ABO, Sentinel AU, etc)
Apocalypse / Zombie / Locked In Together / (Natural) Disaster
Science Fiction / Fantasy / Space Opera / Horror
Genderswap / Rule 63 / De-Aging / Age Changes AU
Canon Rewrite / Fix-It / Everybody Lives / Everybody Dies / Major Character Death
Mythology / Supernatural / Fairytale / Wingfic
Accidental Baby Acquisition / (Single) Parent AU / Babysitting
Mutual Pining / Requited/Unrequited Love / Angst With A Happy Ending
Fake Dating / Didn’t Know They Were Dating / Accidental Dating / Accidental Marriage
Repression / Emotional Constipation / Sexuality Crisis (Gay Panic)
Holidays & Celebrations / Proposals / Prom
Fusion / Crossover / Harlequin / Rom-Com (eg: Hogwarts, Pacific Rim, Daemons, Hunger Games, The Princess Bride, Pride & Prejudice, Love Actually, 10 Things I Hate About You, etc)
FREE SPACE
Link to Hard Mode Prompt List
Link to Rules & FAQ
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fanarts-manga · 6 months
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Loid and Yor from Spy × Family for my Tropetember 2023 contribution for the prompt : Proposal.​
@tropetember
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the-fluff-piece · 7 months
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Tropetember 11
Modern day restaurant - enemy colleagues to lovers
You work at baratie - for some reason, Sanji hates you.
But when you meet outside of the restaurant, things change
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Sanji looked like a literal popstar: handsome face, great physique. But he was your worst nightmare. He was the collegue that hated your guts.
You salted too much or too little, you weren't fast enough, he even nagged you about how you cut tomatoes for a simple salad. A real ass. He had adored you for a full two minutes before learning that Zeff had hired you to bring innovation to Baratie, pushing Sanji from his throne as the restaurants golden boy.
Every day was a fight against him. Zeff hired you because you graduated top of your class in one of the best schools for gastronomy. Learning from the best had made you confident that you could survive in this kitchen. Both regarding the work and the tough tone, but Sanji got to you.
You were just preparing fish as the hair on you neck raised - Sanji alarm.
As you cut the Filet, you heard a "tssk", already setting you off.
"This is a gourmet restaurant, not a butcher shop" He hissed.
"Oh really? Than why do you act like this was a cheap speed dating event every night, you pervert?" Your little burn earned you a chuckle from the other cooks.
In a second, Sanji was behind you, his hand on yours, grabbing the knife with your hand. In seconds, he had perfectly prepared the filet, the movements of his hands were precise and practiced.
"That's how you do it" He said and swaggered away again.
"I could have done it by myself, you stuck up jerk" you shouted behind him, gesturing with the knife.
"It's a long time until you can dance with the big boys, little girl" He answered as he vanished into the dining area, doubtlessly planning to chat up some poor woman.
Your heart was pounding hard. You would show him. Somehow.
Sanji
When he first saw her, she looked like any other girl. Cute, pretty. But now, she made his skin crawl. New shooting star at the restaurant? From some fancy school? And Zeff loved her every idea. But Sanji knew her kind - only a great career in mind but no respect for food, no character. No heart. He couldn't respect her as a cook.
But she was good, if he didn't watch out, he'd stay behind. He couldn't deny that she brought exciting ideas and techniques to the table, but he didn't have to openly admit it, either. He had learned his trade the hard way, from Zeff. He would take over the restaurant one day, not her.
He had sworn to himself to never treat a lady badly, but she got to him. Little miss perfect. She was a great cook, she had a quick mouth and a drive that was hard to ignore. He loved their little shit talking duels more than he would want to admit. It was exciting him more than a new lady guest these days.
Zeff tried to keep them separate, to minimise fighting, and for a few busy hours he forgot she was there. Almost. He more than once turned around, having heard adorable little sighs - only to see that they belonged to her.
When it got late and the restaurant emptied, he went outside for a smoke. Enjoying the cool air, having a moment of silence.
"Psspss!" He heard.
Carefully, he peered into the dark alley behind the restaurant. Was that y/n? Did she feed...stray cats?
You
What a shift. It was a hard job, but it made you proud. Time for a break.
The night before you had seen a group of stray cats in the streets. You took the cuts from the fish and chicken, that would be thrown away, and waited in the alley.
Soon, a big, burly red tabby cat, one eyed and dirty, approached you.
"Psspss!" You held your hand out. The stray came cautiously nearer and sniffed your hand. You put a plate with the leftovers on the pavement in front of him, and after a short inspection he began to eat the scraps.
"Good little tigger!" You scratched his ear carefully. You have decided to call him tigger, like the one from winnie the pooh!
"What's that?" A harsh voice asked. It was Sanji, his chef's attire was unbuttoned and a cigarette smouldered in the corner of his mouth.
Fuck, not that guy!
He took the scene in with scrutiny, no doubt thinking how to report to Zeff that you were feeding vermin behind the restaurant.
"It's not what it looks like!" You tried to defend the situation. "It's...uhm" But you couldn't think of anything.
"You're wrong, lady!" He looked angry, intense.
"His name is Garfield!" Sanji passionately petted the cat.
"What?"
"Garfield. He likes lasagna." Sanji smiled now, a relaxed, happy smile. To Die for.
"Didn't know you were into stray cats" He said, still running his hand through the cats thick fur.
"They're poor things, I can't ignore them" you said, still unsure what to think.
For a while, you Two just watch the little feline devour his dinner. He snorted and spewed like a little pig,.it made you giggle.
You hadn't expected that a posh guy like Sanji would even touch a dirty stray.
"You know, I've been feeding him, too. He has a few friends as well, but they're shy." He said, looking at you with an new softness in his eyes.
"I gotta say, didn't think you liked animals." He muttered more to himself than you.
"Of course. They need help, so I help them" it was a simple fact. You watched as garfield/ tigger finished his meal and vanished into the night again.
"Well, break is over." You collected the plate and turned to go back into the kitchen.
"Stay a little" Sanji said, his voice sounded genuinely charming, promising that he would make it worth your while.
So you stayed while he smoked.
"You know, when I was small I would cook for the Rats in my parents house" He said, making you chuckle.
"Rats?" You asked, unbelieving.
"Yeah, it's true" He winked at you, suddenly a full gentleman, "vermin in our house."
"Did they like it?" You asked, imagining him cooking little meals.
"They didn't complain" he looked sheepishly at you.
"That sounds so sweet" you said. He laughed.
"Normally, people call it disgusting" he sounded a bit sad.
"Well, I think it's cute. Rats are cute" you stated.
"They are!" He agreed.
A conversation about rat paws ensued, about their little button eyes and how intelligent they where.
When Zeff called you inside from your break, you both returned to the kitchen for cleaning the place up.
When everything was done and it was time to go home, he waited for you.
"Need a lift home?" He asked, standing in front of his car. It was old, used and bruised.
"Why not" you rounded the vehicle and sat in the passenger seat. After cleaning out a bag, empty bottles and some perfume.
"Yeah, sorry about that, didn't think I'd drive a lady home" He said, looking embarrassed.
"I'm used to it. You should see my dad's car - it's full of straw and smells like dog." You said.
"Good man!" He laughed.
The drive home was a bit awkward, you were still getting used to him being nice.
"Sanji, why are you so nice all of a sudden?" You asked.
"There we are" you said as the car pulled into youe road.
"If garfield likes you, you must be OK." He said, as if a cat could explain his sudden change in demeanor. Leaving out the part that his anger had partly been because of the sheer need to kiss her that he couldn't explain. Or his need, right now, to reach over and grab her thigh.
"That's my house" you pointed to a grey apartment building.
"I'll bring you to your door."
_____
And that's it for today because life has a way of happening and I have no time to continue at this point, I am so sorry.
My own little cat needs to go to the vet and I hope it turns out OK 😔
Taglist
@yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @livwritesfics @violetmatcha
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sofya-fanfics · 6 months
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His Daughter's Wedding
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Fandom : Spy x Family
Characters : Loid & Anya
My Tropetember 2023 contribution for the prompt : Reunion.
I’m sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language. I hope you like it.
Summary : Loid went to sit at the back of the room. From where he was, he had an overview of the entire ceremony. The music started and Anya appeared. Her wedding dress was both simple and elegant. He felt a pang in his heart. If things had been different, he would have been there to take her down the aisle. But he had to disappear from her life, he thought bitterly.
Disclaimer : Spy x Family belongs to Tatsuya Endo.
@tropetember
AO3 / FF.NET
Loid rearranged his mask. He looked at himself one last time in the mirror. The disguise he wore was perfect. No one would recognize him as a seventy year old man. It had been two days since he returned to Ostania and reserved a hotel room. He would leave in the evening.
Even though he had not come back for ten years, he had to be careful that no one knew he was there. After all, everyone thought he was dead. His mission ended ten years ago. War had been averted and Loid Forger had to disappear. To avoid arousing suspicion, Loid had to die in a serious car accident. By killing Loid the family father, he once again became Twilight the spy who had to carry out a new mission. Because even if the war had not happened, peace was a fragile thing that had to be preserved at all costs.
He was used to this situation. Execute a mission, disappear when it was completed, then execute a new one. But this mission to Ostania had lasted several years. It had lasted eight years and he had done the only thing he was forbidden to do. He had come to love Anya as his daughter and he had fallen in love with Yor. The fake family he had created had become his real family. For the first time in years, he had been happy. But reality had finally caught up with him and his mission was over.
Separating from Anya and Yor had broken him. But he had to do everything to protect them and ensure that they lived in a peaceful world. He knew Franky was watching them from afar. He had tried several times to tell him what had become of them, but Loid had never wanted to listen. It was too hard. Franky was the only one who knew what Yor and Anya really meant to him.
Then, two weeks ago, Loid came across a newspaper article announcing the wedding of businessman Damian Desmond and Anya Forger. How ironic, Loid had thought, that Anya would marry Desmond's son. By reading this article, all the decisions he had made to that point, all his resolutions, everything had disappeared. He had to go to the wedding and be there for Anya.
He left the hotel and got into the car he had rented. He arrived at the place where the wedding was to take place. It was a beautiful hotel on the outskirts of town. It was an exceptional place for an exceptional wedding. He entered the room where the ceremony was to take place. He looked around the room. He recognized several political figures as well as businessmen. Since it was Damian Desmond's wedding, it was not surprising to see this kind of guest. In the distance, he could see Yuri taking a seat in the front row. Next to him was :
“Yor,” Loid whispered.
His heart increased. He knew he would see her, it was inevitable. But he had not expected to feel something so strong. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She smiled, happy to be at Anya's wedding. Loid took his eyes off her. He had to be careful not to let her notice him. She would be suspicious if she saw a stranger watching her.
He went to sit at the back of the room. From where he was, he had an overview of the entire ceremony. The music started and Anya appeared. Her wedding dress was both simple and elegant. She looked like a princess. Loid felt a pang in his heart. If things had been different, he would have been there to take her down the aisle. He could not help thinking of the time when she was still a little girl that he had adopted to accomplish his mission. He had not expected that she would find a place in his heart and that he would come to love her as his true daughter. But he had to disappear from her life, he thought bitterly.
Anya walked past him and her eyes met his. She opened her eyes wide and froze for a second before she pulled herself together and walked towards Damian. Nobody noticed anything. Did she recognize him ? It was impossible. He had always been a master of disguise and no one could recognize him. However, it was not the first time that Anya understood things that no one else could. The ceremony began and after saying their vows, Damian and Anya were declared husband and wife. All the guests stood up and applauded them.
******
Loid had been at the wedding reception for almost an hour. It was time for him to leave. He had taken enough risks. He had managed to avoid Yor. He knew that if he spoke to her, he would risk revealing everything to her and never wanting to part with her. He left the room and headed towards his car.
“Chichi !”
His heart gave a leap in his chest. He should not stop, he thought. He had to keep moving and pretend he had not heard her.
“Chichi, stop !”
Loid stopped walking. He looked at Anya and smiled at her.
“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person.”
Anya shook her head violently and looked at him intensely.
“Stop lying. I know it's you.”
Loid was about to answer her but Anya cut him off.
“Why did you leave ? Why did you abandon us ? I knew you weren't dead. I always knew it. I've been looking for you for so long. Everyone thought I was in denial.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Loid's heart broke. It was because of him that she was crying. He could not bear to see her like this. He could not continue lying to her. He approached her and took her in his arms. After a while, she finally calmed down.
“I’m sorry Anya. I wish things were different.”
“I know you had no choice. And I know why you had to leave. But the last few years have been so hard without you.”
Loid opened his eyes wide. She knew ? Did she know about everything ? He had always known she was special and he had once again had confirmation of it. Anya snuggled up a little more into her father's arms. She felt safe, something she had always felt with him since the day he took her from the orphanage. She felt like she was going back ten years ago when they were a family. Chichi, Haha and her.
“I would like you to stay with us.”
“I would like that too. But it's impossible.”
Loid pulled away slightly and looked at her tenderly.
“I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Anya smiled. Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching them.
“Anya !”
Anya wiped away her tears and looked at Damian.
“Here you are. I was looking for you everywhere.”
Anya moved away from Loid and went to join her husband.
“I was saying goodbye to my father’s friend.”
Damian greeted him and thanked him for coming to the wedding. He knew this meeting was important for Anya.
“Maybe we’ll see each other again someday ?” Anya asked.
“Maybe.”
Loid smiled one last time and continued on his way. He could hear Damian asking Anya if she was okay after meeting her father's friend. Attending the wedding, even if he knew there was always a risk, he had not expected such a turn of events. But even though his reunion with Anya had been short-lived, he was happy. For a few minutes, it felt like everything was back to normal. He held his daughter in his arms and he was able to tell her that he was proud of her.
During that day, he was able to see the two people he loved and knowing that they lived in a world in peace and in security was what gave him the strength to move forward.
The end
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dolcezzzza · 7 months
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TROPETEMBER 2: "Second Chance at Love"
♡ 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
pov : second person, no specified pronouns, no physical description; ~modern AU Attack on Titan ☆ rating + tags: SFW: rated PG13 for implied mature situations and alcohol; second chances, fluff, mild angst, mild hurt / comfort, mild friends to lovers ☆ word count: ~2.9k ☆ ao3
After the breakup, you spent much of your time thinking not of your ex, but of Reiner Braun. Maybe so precisely because he wasn’t your ex, he never could be. It wasn’t only because you’d never dated. Rather, the “never dating” was so peculiar that unlike any other situationship that would still be given the “ex” label out of convenience, it felt almost sacrilegious to mar Reiner with the title.
“We just… had a weird thing,” is the best way you can explain it to friends made in years past, ever since you’d been the one to abruptly sever ties when the new relationship began.
They bat their lashes across cafe tables or send exclamation points through the text messages hovering on your screen as you wind through the story.
“But did you…” they inevitably say. “You know.”
“Not – no,” you say reluctantly. “But – almost. Several times.”
The anniversary of one of those almost times has just passed. You were acutely aware of it, in a way that came more innocuously than the daily dance your fingers take across Instagram to check his profile for new posts, to check any stories you’d shared, to check if he’d viewed. Those actions are intentional. In contrast, you hadn’t initially meant to remember this particular story. You’d just come across that one song when you shuffled through your playlists, the song that made you stop in your tracks as, rather than your front door on your way out of the home, a highway rose in front of your eyes.
Reiner was driving, fingers thick on the steering wheel, eyes honey-colored as he squinted into the sunset. The passenger seat was uncomfortably plush, your knees drawn together and one foot bouncing against the floor. He was going a little fast, his shoulder muscles curved carvings in the dim light that pushed his posture further. He was sitting up, higher, closer and closer to the wheel.
And he was younger, as you were; a good seven years younger than in the present moment your hand paused on your headphones.
The song changed.
“This is a great one,” Reiner had just said, and it was because you had been talking about the artist already.
“But have you heard  the last one on the album? With, uh…”
Reiner’s eyebrows jumped, golden wires knit across his forehead, and he interrupted you with the name of the featured artist. “Sorry,” he added.
“Yes,” you said with a purr in your voice, not even minding the interruption.
“It’s good,” Reiner said in his diplomatic, thoughtful way. “But it’s not my favorite. I don’t think it’s either of them at their best.”
“No way,” you said. You remember that drive to your home, and the part of that conversation where you insisted that this song was “really good, actually.” And you’d kept that opinion, and through the years, when that song popped up, you kept thinking of what else you’d say to Reiner if you could go back to that moment. In the last few months, you’ve noticed that if you link songs to your social media posts, and you later check his streaming music, he’s listened to those artists and added those songs to the playlists. You wonder, when you post that artist from that discussion, if he holds the memory the same way you do.
But more than the memory of the music is the subsequent memory. Reiner hadn’t driven you straight home. There was a parking lot behind the local ballet studio, where he had pulled off, and where you two had sat for a moment without words.
The car filled with the earthy smell of him, the sour smell of alcohol still beating from your mouth, and when his eyes turned to you, your gaze must have been glassy back at him. The two of you had unbuckled at some point, must have, because you leaned into each other so easily. His hand cupped at the back of your head. The kiss had the remnants of the tipsy afternoon, something still giving enough courage for you to twist your fingers into his shirt and pull him closer.
“You’re still drunk,” Reiner said softly, kissing the side of your cheek.
“No,” you said, and meant it. “If I’m drunk, then you are too, and you shouldn’t have driven.”
“Stop arguing. I’m trying to think of reasons to be a good person right now,” Reiner said, and his thumb stroked under your ear.
“I don’t want you to be a good person,” you’d said in petulance.
“Someone has to be,” Reiner said.
His fidgeting betrayed his words.
“But what about this is bad?”
“The location,” Reiner said, and as you rolled your shoulders back, opening your body to him, his hand skated down your neck, over your chest, further down. “People could come out.”
“Where else is there?”
“I don’t know,” Reiner admitted in a thick voice.
“Can we go to your house?”
“Can’t,” Reiner said as his fingers roamed. “My cousin’s family’s visiting.”
His hand turned on the fabric, your skin waiting and beating beneath for him to touch you, and that’s when the back door to the studio opened and two instructors came out. They were barking at each other, not noticing the car stalled so close with two hot-blooded young adults palming each other’s bodies, but it lurched you into panic.
“Stop,” you hissed at Reiner, and sat up in a frenzy. His hand took a moment to draw away, and his breath was labored as he started the car.
“What if they saw?”
“They didn’t,” Reiner had insisted, and he reached to cup his hand around your thigh as he drove out of the lot. You’d muttered something, mollified enough, and turned your hips into the seat as he kept massaging his grip higher. But you were left burning and touchless when he dropped you off, the two of you unable to find another place to park and give into desire.
This happened time and time again.
You especially think of that late summer night behind the ballet studio, and the other close encounters peppered across your hometown, whenever you pass it on a weekend trip to see your family.
“I’m worried about you,” your best friend says slowly through the speakerphone as you drive into the town this evening.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you dated anyone since the breakup?”
“I’m fine,” you say, rolling eyes unseen.
“Stalking Reiner’s accounts doesn’t count, you know. As seeing someone.”
“I’m not interested in seeing anyone,” you say, flicking the turn signal with irritation.
“Yeah, because you’re only interested in Reiner.”
It smarts, somehow, to hear out loud from another voice. “I’m not,” you say. The lie feels instinctual and wrong at the same time – because that’s how you realize it is a lie. “It’s just – I mean, I’ve told you, right?”
Of course you have. All of your friends know, either as updates to the Reiner story, or as earnest details shared in the first telling, that he’s been viewing your posts, interacting with them just shy of personal comments. That he streams the songs you share – “the exact same.”
“Am I – like, am I being delusional?” you always check, and they always give an emphatic no that could just be kind.
“Do you even know where he is?” the voice on the phone continues. “Is he in town?”
“I think at some point over the last year he went back to Marley. For his family, his mom’s side is all there. At least that’s what I think, that’s what I saw over summer.”
Reiner had said four or five years ago that you, and, as a sidenote, a handful of friends, were the only reasons he ever came back. If you go to another social media website, something abandoned for years by yourself and your generation, and scroll through messages reaching back near to a decade, you’d find the sentiment memorialized among other sweetnesses too painful to read now.
“I’m going to stop,” you’ve said to yourself before at night, when the camera angles have been exhausted and no lighting is flattering or natural enough to add a personal touch to some screenshot shared to the close friends story really meant for Reiner’s eyes. “I’m going to take him off the close friends list, I’m going to stop posting for him. I’m going to stop looking at his music. I’m stopping.”
And in the morning, there’s the notification that Reiner has liked your post.
“Should I try actually reaching out to him again?” you say again and again to your friends, and echo it now.
“What’s the last thing you sent him, again?”
You drum your fingers anxiously. “I said ‘happy birthday.’ And that was it, I just remembered it was his birthday. But he read it and didn’t respond.”
There’s always a pursed lip, a sad shake of the head, a sympathy in the eyes. “I wouldn’t. I think the ball is in his court.”
You know this. It’s a knowledge that burns even as the conversation shifts, as you head up the hill and eventually hang up the phone before turning into the driveway. You’ve known this since you first reached out with hesitance after this breakup, and sent the first message to mend the bridge.
“I’m sorry I cut you out of my life when I was in that relationship,” you’d written to Reiner when you unblocked him. “You’ve been someone so important to me for years and years, regardless of how that’s looked or where you’ve been or where I’ve been. I understand if you’d rather leave things as they are now. I just hope you’ve been well.”
And I miss you, you wish you’d clearly added, because for all the views and likes, Reiner has only ever said one thing to you in these months since the breakup, one sentence to haunt you:
“I guess I was important enough to get blocked.”
Of course he was important enough to get blocked so that you could focus desperately on the relationship at hand. It was a relationship you’d tried to make yourself believe was meant to be forever, was worth more than the chance of Reiner. The months since have proven it a lie.
“You hurt him,” is what one friend said once, and you hadn’t expected that harsh truth to cut so much.
You pace in your parents’ house for the afternoon and the following morning, the hallways small and closing in. The steps don’t shake Reiner from your mind.
“I’m going to get coffee,” you say to your mother, who waves her hand absently.
You park further away in the lot, the ballet studio innocuous at the end of the shopping plaza. Pulling in here, by the post office and gym, a casual visitor wouldn’t even know that there were more parking spaces hidden beyond, where you and Reiner had parked before.
“Cut it out,” you mutter in self-admonishment.
There are a few cars looping around the lot this lazy morning. You cut across the asphalt as you make your way to the concrete island where the coffee shop hums with mild activity. A black Jeep turns, lurches slowly over the speedbump, and jerks again as it stops to let you pass. You raise your hand, a brief glance to your right in grateful apology.
And your stomach drops as you recognize the face behind the windshield.
You were wrong. Reiner isn’t with his family in Marley anymore.
Reiner is beautiful. It’s something you’ve always thought over the years, a beauty that chiseled firmer into his features rather than hardening over as he grew into the structure of his firm jaw and arched nose. Something in his blonde hair is darkening, silvers creeping in at the roots. And as you freeze with a foot on the curb, every shadow painted across his face as he stares back through the window, you can see the gaunt age starting to pull below his cheekbones and press crow’s feet into the side of his eyes. He looks older than the last time you’d seen him in person three years ago, and the palm muscles of your hands cramp as you wonder how he views you in turn.
He’s still beautiful.
Your blood is ice, even as your breath is too hot. Your head is dizzy. It feels like minutes have passed, but it’s been mere moments, all simultaneous and infinite. His car keeps rolling forward. You step up on the curb. Your feet are still heading towards the coffee shop as if relying on autopilot, but your hands have jumped up, hovering over your phone screen. You need to document this moment, to tell your friends a new chapter in this aching, never-ending saga of yearning for Reiner as he ignores you.
And then your name comes across the lot.
You turn, looking for that black car, and Reiner’s pulled it at an angle into a spot. He’s clambering out of the driver’s seat, his eyes wide.
He isn’t ignoring you now.
“Oh my god,” you say with a slacked jaw.
Reiner must have come from the gym. He’s wearing long shorts and a navy blue shirt dappled with sweat. It strings through his hair and shines on his throat.
The two of you stare at each other. You want to reach for him, and his hands waver in turn, forearms tense as he holds his car keys.
You’re afraid that if you touch him, he’ll vanish.
“Hi,” you say, and the word is thick with a waterfall of tangled emotion.
“Hi,” Reiner echoes.
He’s taller than you remembered seeing him before, on the last hike you’d taken together before you moved out of town and immediately met the person who is now your ex. Maybe he’s carrying himself with more confidence, maybe he’s worked on his posture. You straighten your spine in subconscious response.
“What are you doing here?” you ask. “I – um. I thought I saw some…”
Reiner watches you as your lips twist, as you try not to say, “I’ve remembered everything you’ve posted and I remember the location your cousin tagged you in for this parade a few months ago...”
“Didn’t you go back to Marley?” you say at last.
“My mom’s back here,” Reiner says. “We’re taking care of my younger cousin, she’s going to go to high school here. And I always liked it better here than Marley.”
You remember the words he’d said about you being the reason to stay in this town, and say silent.
“But anywhere’s better than Marley,” Reiner says, as if he’s reading your mind. God, you want to cry at how naturally you two fall back into this instinctual dynamic. “I don’t know how long I plan on staying around, but I don’t think I’ll move back there.”
“Going to travel the world again?”
You remember that too, the summer his best friend died, and he dropped out of the college he had been attending to go find himself abroad two continents away. How he had called you in forests and bars. And how you had moved the opposite direction for a while, and your phone conversations stretched for hours across foreign time zones.
“Maybe. I could say all the same for you,” Reiner says. “What are you doing back?”
“I see my parents sometimes. I’m not too far.”
Both of you hesitate. The small talk is painful.
“I was going to head in,” you continue at last, gesturing with your still-unlocked phone gleaming in your hand. “Do you want to get a coffee? I… I would love the chance to catch up with you.”
Reiner’s eyes are warm, comforting, like tea, and your words keep spilling.
“I think I have a lot I’d like to say to you.”
I’m sorry. That’s all that’s important.
“I know,” Reiner says. His lips waver, as if he’s struggling with the same entanglement you are. “I have a lot I’ve been wanting to tell you, too.”
“You could have texted back,” you say, trying not to sound bitter.
“I know,” Reiner says again. He smiles, and it looks crooked and sad. “I think you’ve always had more of a way with words than I have, though.”
“You could have called,” you say and wonder if he’s thinking of the times you are, when you were a continent away and in a different relationship where you and Reiner would still talk on the phone until it was four in your morning.
“I wanted to,” Reiner says slowly. “But, you know. It’s been a while.”
“It has been.”
There’s so much to say in those years of silence. You want to grab his hands and tell him you love him, that you’ve always loved him, for years and years and across oceans and cities. Even when it came in platonic waves, even when it was familial – you have always loved Reiner Braun.
“There’s a lot to say. But I have the time,” you say, half-turning your body again to the coffee shop, half-leaning into him, so afraid that if you look away, he’ll disappear.
Reiner nods.
“Okay,” he says, and his eyes break in that new pattern of crow’s feet as he smiles. You recognize this smile, a smile you’ve seen for years, and years, and years – years to come.
It’s what makes you open your arms, as he steps closer at last. Each slight shadow of freckle across his cheekbones is real, the familiar earthy smell of him, and his body is firm, warm, when you wrap your arms around him. Reiner’s hug back encloses your body into his. It’s a perfect fit. You’ve known it always has been.
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sofya-creations · 7 months
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Buffy and Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer for my Tropetember 2023 contribution for the prompt : Enemies To Lovers.​
@tropetember
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my-meadowlark · 6 months
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Fic: Thermodynamics [Barbie/Gloria]
Title: Thermodynamics Fandom: Barbie (2023) Characters/Pairing: Barbie/Gloria Rating: T Word Count: 9,043 Summary:
Barbie has some serious trouble grasping the finer points of weather and humidity, which leads to her very first encounter with human illness. Gloria takes care of her, and some very confusing feelings accidentally come to the surface. Written for prompt #3 "Sickfic" of @tropetember
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Water is extremely complicated.
Barbie honestly doesn't think humans realize just how complicated it truly is. And she's not even just talking about its fluidity and how infuriatingly hard it can be to contain it once it's decided to go everywhere at once (she's working on her accuracy when eyeballing the volume of liquid she can pour into a glass). Oh, no. That's, like, beginner level water-handling. It's the way water affects... everything else that keeps tripping her up.
Sometimes there'll be a day when the heat is so oppressive Barbie feels like she's trying to breathe with plastic lungs. And Gloria will nod sagely and simply say "it's the humidity" right before suggesting she take a quick cool shower like that won't just add even more humidity to the mix. But it works, somehow, until it doesn't because she's out of the shower and her damp hair has gone from keeping her scalp cool to weighing her entire body down until she feels absolutely, indescribably gross.
"Yeah. It's the humidity," Sasha will say when Barbie mentions how she can't even tell where the dampness from the shower ends and her own sweat begins and are they sure she's not melting? It's the humidity but if you add more humidity by hanging a wet towel in front of the fan it helps. Yeah. Okay.
Eventually, by the end of her first Summer in the Real World, Barbie thinks she has somewhat grasped the basics of water when it comes to temperature. Water can cool you down if you drink it or pour it over yourself or blow air through it (the bowl of ice trick Sasha saw on TikTok worked even better than the wet towel one). But it will warm you up if it's naturally in the air (humidity is her least favorite word).
She can work with that.
"If you go out later you may want to wear a jacket," Gloria says over breakfast one late October morning, "it's a bit nippy outside."
Barbie likes the sound of that. Nippy. It sounds fun. Playful, even. She's nowhere near bored of the Real World yet, but she'll admit some things have become so routine by now she barely even notices them anymore, and that makes her a little sad. She misses the feeling of absolutely every experience being brand new and exciting. So, nippy weather, huh? Sounds like a good time to her!
As it turns out, she enjoys nippy. The cooler air feels so different on her skin. She gets goosebumps like when she takes too long drying off after a shower, but they're not exactly the same kind. She doesn't notice when she breathes anymore because she's been doing it for several months now, but she does notice when she breathes in the colder air. She feels it going all the way into her lungs. Through her trachea and into her bronchi and bronchioles and filling up her alveoli like tiny little balloons.
She loves Sasha's Bio textbook.
So, when a couple months later, she hears the words 'cold snap' while watching the weather report, Barbie is nothing short of delighted. Nippy was fun, so she's sure a snap can only be even better, right? A snap. Fun!
"Do you think we'll get any snow?" Sasha circles the coffee table for the third time, open backpack in her hand, like she's expecting whatever she can't find to magically appear if she looks at the exact same spot the correct number of times. "Like, not downtown obviously, but nearby? Hey Barbie, where'd you put my Chem book?"
"Oh, I left it on your desk. Thanks for letting me borrow it! I loved reading the little intro about water's specific heat capacity but I need way more information than that so I think I'll go to the library later." She feels like she's found the path to understanding water and its weird behaviors, and she can't wait to pay a visit to her favorite librarian. Sasha insists she should just Wikipedia stuff, but Barbie likes the face-to-face interaction and the fun of going from book to book like she's on a scavenger hunt.
"Okay, Nerd Barbie."
"Tone," Gloria warns, one finger pointing in Sasha's general direction in a slight sweeping motion that means she's not really in any trouble at all. You can tell a lot from the exact way Gloria points a finger at you, especially when you pay as much attention as Barbie does.
"Sorry," Sasha lies (Barbie can tell when that happens, too), already on her way to her bedroom, "but you gotta admit it is kinda nerdy."
Gloria chooses to ignore that particular comment and focus on the earlier part of the conversation instead. "I don't know about snow. Maybe. We got some nearby last year."
Barbie's been in the Real World for long enough to know even the things they do have back home, like snow, are completely different here. Because they're real. "Gloria? What does snow feel like?"
"It's like—" Gloria stops pouring coffee into her thermos to think for a moment. She can answer easy questions while doing other stuff, Barbie's found, but when it's a hard one, or when she really cares about giving a thoughtful answer, she has to fully focus on her thoughts. Watching it happen makes a very particular warmth start somewhere in the vicinity of where Barbie's heart is and then spread out towards her lungs and down to her lower abdomen where it pools like... like something both warm and fizzy, somehow. Like warm soda pop, but not nearly as disgusting as that sounds. She hasn't found an explanation to that particular phenomenon in any of the human biology books she's read so far.
"It's like a snow cone, but like, without the syrup obviously." Sasha's voice travels through the open door of her bedroom and snaps Barbie back to reality, pulling her focus away from the mysterious Gloria-related effervescence in her belly. "And it's cold. And wet. It doesn't look like it should get your clothes wet, but it totally does."
See? Water. Doing unexpected things once again, even in solid form.
"I'd love to see it. Do you think it'll happen soon?"
"Maybe, yeah! You heard the weather guy." Gloria grabs Barbie's house keys instead of her own car keys, like she does nearly every morning. And like nearly every morning, Barbie notices before Gloria does and picks up the forgotten car keys, jiggling them to bring Gloria's attention to her mistake. "Shoot, thank you, Barbie. Sasha! We're gonna be late!"
"And, you know," Gloria continues, her voice down to a conversational tone once again, "even if it doesn't snow right here, we can plan a weekend getaway some time. Do some sledding, maybe skiing or even snowb—"
"I vote Switzerland," Sasha interrupts, walking past her mother towards the front door, "for the chocolate. And the cheese. Wait, do you have a passport? Can you even get a passport?"
"Right," Gloria says, "let's aim for Big Bear Lake or even Tahoe this year. I don't think we're at the international travel level just yet."
Gloria winks at Barbie like she's in on some kind of joke. Like they've just told someone Barbie's spent most of her life in Australia and that's why she's not fully confident with American money yet, and it's funny because they both know that's not the reason but it's a completely harmless fib. Barbie has no idea why Gloria is winking right now (international travel does sound complicated, and Sasha brought up a valid point about passports, whatever those are) but she smiles anyway, the kind of smile that's so wide she can feel it on her cheeks and in the crinkle of her eyes. She may not know exactly what the joke is, but whatever it is is between her and Gloria, and that's good enough for her.
"See you at lunch time?" Gloria is already halfway through the front door when she asks, like Barbie hasn't had lunch with her every single day since she arrived in the Real World. She even has a favorite taco truck that stops near the Mattel headquarters every other day.
So Barbie just lets her smile answer for her.
Later, Barbie finds out the cold snap is not fun. At all. As it turns out, there is a drastic difference between nippy and cold (Sasha's insistence that it doesn't even get really cold in LA does not help Barbie feel any better about it), and Barbie is firmly against cold as a weather concept, thank you very much.
It's interesting at first. It's like nippy, but more. Sharper against her skin and in her lungs and on the tip of her nose. But soon enough it becomes uncomfortable. Just like the heat in the Summer, it seems to permeate her clothes and then her skin and all its layers until she feels like it's inside her and there's no getting rid of it. Gloria recommends a warm shower, which helps just like the cool ones in the Summer did. Barbie figures she can let her damp hair do what it did back then and become warmer with time, but Gloria already has the blow dryer in her hand when she steps out of the bathroom, and Barbie is more than happy to let her play with her hair for as long as Gloria wants.
On the second day of the cold snap, the weather guy informs there's a low-pressure system bringing in higher humidity, and Barbie breathes a sigh of relief. Humidity makes things hotter. It makes you sweat. If heat plus humidity equals being slowly cooked in your own juices, then cold plus humidity should equal something between pleasant and slightly nippy, right?
See, she's been reading about thermodynamics. It's all about equilibrium, as it turns out.
So you can imagine her surprise (and, frankly, outrage) when she goes out in a light cardigan and finds herself standing in what can only be described as an outdoors fridge. Ridiculous. It's ridiculous and wrong and downright unfair, because the air is cold and the humidity is in there and she's been reading those books that say the heat will go from the hotter substance into the cooler one until they reach thermodynamic equilibrium so why is the moisture not heating up the cold air? Why is the air somehow even colder than yesterday?
Barbie feels her eyes sting with tears and she's not sure if they're from the sheer frustration of feeling like the laws of Physics keep tricking her, or from the cold air hitting her eyeballs. She figures it's a combination of both of those things.
All she wants is to go back into the warmth of their home, but it feels like letting the humidity win, somehow. Like going back inside is admitting defeat. And Barbara Millicent Handler may be many things (she's still figuring out which things she is, as a matter of fact) but she's absolutely not the kind of woman who gets defeated by moisture, of all things.
No way.
So, frown in place and arms tightly wrapped around herself and her puny cardigan, she marches towards the library determined to figure out this humidity nonsense before lunchtime. It can't be this hard. Everyone else seems to get it. There has to be something she's missing.
Her favorite librarian is helpful as always, even offering Barbie a cup of hot cocoa from the coffee machine when she notices the way her teeth chatter as she asks for another book on thermodynamics.
"Is there anything in particular you want to research?" She asks, and is kind enough not to mention the way Barbie's eyes water all over again when her nearly numb fingers wrap around the warm paper cup. "We may have better luck finding exactly what you're looking for if we narrow the field a bit more."
Fifteen minutes later, Barbie's sitting at her usual table with a book about weather that has her feeling so giddy she's no longer thinking about the cold. Well, she's thinking about cold as a concept. Just not about how cold she was just a moment ago. Sasha can insist all she wants: there's no way her beloved Wikipedia would've provided not only the perfect book, but also the perfect hot beverage.
Once she's finished her cocoa, Barbie opens the book and immediately realizes she's found a whole area of knowledge she didn't even know existed. Weather seems simple enough on the surface, but the more she reads, the more she realizes just how much there is to learn about it. By page four she's feeling so full of excitement about all the things she's about to discover that she actually giggles out loud. By page ten, she's wondering why the weather segment is always so short when there's so much to talk about.
"Barbara?" The librarian's soft voice pulls Barbie's attention from a two-page illustrated guide to cloud shapes. She's got to tell Gloria about lenticular clouds. "I hate to interrupt your reading, but you always leave at eleven, so—"
"Oh?" Eleven. Gloria. Lunch. "Oh! Thank you so much, Evelyn."
She rushes out of the library with the reassurance that Evelyn will make sure nobody checks out the book before tomorrow and makes it to the bus stop with six minutes to spare (running helps with the cold, she finds) according to the clock on her phone. And she has only been waiting for a minute when she feels a drop of water on the very cold tip of her nose.
"Oh, no."
It doesn't rain often in Los Angeles, but she's already experienced a couple of rainy days and she can recognize the first sign. Rain is a lot like crying, in that you get one drop first and then a whole bunch of them with no warning at all.
By the time the bus stops in front of her, she feels like she's spent the last five minutes taking a cold shower with her clothes on.
The bus ride to the Mattel headquarters is not very long, but when she gets off at her stop Barbie feels like even her bones are soaked through. Her clothes stick to her skin, cold and heavy and wet, and (thermodynamic equilibrium!) seem to be sapping every last kilojoule of body heat out of her. She feels like there isn't an amount of hot cocoa in the world that could possibly warm her back up.
"Barbie! Oh, honey, didn't you bring— I should've told you to grab an umbrella. Why aren't you wearing your coat?" Gloria is waiting at the bus stop like always, dry under her umbrella and toasty warm inside her fleece-lined rain coat. "Why aren't you wearing your boots!?" Gloria looks at Barbie's soaked tennis shoes like the sight of wet feet is something out of her wildest nightmares.
"I just—" Barbie feels her chin tremble. It's half shivers and half wanting to cry from just how uncomfortable she feels standing in the cold (at least Gloria's pulled her under her umbrella so she's not getting rained on anymore) in soaking wet clothes. And shoes. And socks. "I just thought—" Barbie shakes her head just as the first tear falls, "I just don't get humidity, okay!?"
"Humidit—?" Gloria shakes her head slightly, like she's decided halfway through her question that she's not actually going to focus on that right now. "Oh, look at you," Gloria's fingers feel soft and warm against her skin when she gently brushes strands of wet blond hair away from her forehead, "why didn't you go back inside when you saw it was raining?"
Barbie shrugs and sniffles slightly. Sometimes being a real person is a bit much for her. There are too many things to feel all at once. And she was already close to the point of being overwhelmed by all the terrible feelings from before — cold and uncomfortable and wet and sad and confused and frustrated — but now there are all these new things added to the mix, and she doesn't even have a name for most of them. The feeling of being very close to someone under an umbrella while it rains. Is there a name for that feeling? The feeling when someone's voice is so soothing it feels like you're being wrapped up in the softest blanket in the world. The feeling when being near someone makes all the bad feelings fade into the background until they barely register anymore.
The feeling of someone catching one of your tears with the pad of her thumb and then pressing her warm palm against your cheek. Is there a name for that? Because it spreads from the point of contact between Gloria's hand and her face, filling her up with whatever the feeling is called until there's simply no room for cold anymore and all she can feel is that.
"I didn't want to miss lunch," she finally says, leaning into Gloria's touch and adding another feeling to the mix when Gloria smiles.
And for a handful of heartbeats they just stand there, Gloria's hand on her cheek, thumb brushing softly against her skin, like they're both a bit too busy feeling to do anything else.
"Let's get you home," Gloria finally says. She moves her hand away from Barbie's cheek and holds the umbrella in her direction. "Here, hold this for me for a second." And when Barbie does, Gloria quickly unbuttons her raincoat and slides it off to wrap it around Barbie's shoulders instead. "Better?"
Barbie nods. The fleece lining is warm from being wrapped around Gloria and it smells faintly of her perfume, and "home" is the closest she can get to finding a name for the feeling in her chest.
"Come on," Gloria lets Barbie hold the umbrella and loops one arm through Barbie's so they can walk close together towards the car, "I don't want you to get sick."
—-
Gloria practically shoves her into the hot shower the second they walk through the door. And if her brain felt even just a bit less foggy, Barbie would've had a thought or two about one kind of water being the cure for another kind of water, but she can't focus on that right now. She's never felt worse in all her months as a human woman. She's cold even if her skin gets warmed up by the hot water. She keeps shivering but she can feel herself sweat. She keeps sneezing, and every sneeze makes her head hurt.
"This is the worst day ever." Barbie pouts, sitting on the couch with a flannel blanket wrapped tightly around her body. The words scratch against her throat as they come out in the most annoying way.
"I know," Gloria says, tone sympathetic from the kitchen area, "I'm sorry, honey."
They've been home for a few hours now — Gloria decided Barbie's first brush with sickness was more important than the rest of her work day, and Mattel agreed — and Barbie keeps feeling steadily worse with every passing minute. At first she was just cold and wet. Now she feels like she's been run over by a cold, wet truck.
"Here," Gloria hands her a bowl of hot chicken soup and sits next to her, "it'll make you feel better. I promise."
It doesn't work right away, but it's delicious and it soothes her throat as it goes down so Barbie can't complain at all.
"How are your feet?" Gloria slips one hand under the blanket to feel around for one of Barbie's feet, both of them safely wrapped in the warmest, fluffiest socks she's ever worn. Barbie doesn't think she's ever seen Gloria look as horrified as she did when she saw Barbie's drenched socks before.
"Warm," Barbie offers, even if she's sure Gloria can tell when she lightly squeezes one of them.
"Good. That's good." Gloria lets go of her foot and fixes the blanket, tightly tucking it under Barbie's legs. "That's good," she repeats, softer this time, like she's talking to herself. She doesn't speak again until Barbie's left the nearly empty bowl on the coffee table.
"I'm sorry you're not feeling well." In her time in the Real World, Barbie's learned people often say things like 'I'm sorry' without really meaning them. Just because it's polite. But she can tell Gloria means it in the most literal, true sense of the words. She can see the sorrow in dark brown eyes, in the worry lines on her face, in the way she moves around Barbie, like she used to be made of the most delicate porcelain instead of plastic. "I wish I had a magic cure."
Barbie can tell she means that, too.
What Barbie can't do is understand why the thought of Gloria snapping her fingers and making it all go back to normal doesn't sound nearly as appealing as it probably should. She wouldn't miss the shivers or the sneezing, but she thinks she'd miss the way Gloria's stayed close all afternoon, making sure she's okay.
"You should go to bed. Chicken soup and rest is the best remedy for the sniffles."
Barbie nods. She's not exactly tired, but she doesn't feel like being awake either. Being sick, unsurprisingly, is no fun at all.
"Shouldn't Sasha be home already?" Barbie stands up from the couch, bringing the blanket along like a long, fluffy dress. "It's Wednesday so she doesn't have practice."
Gloria smiles the specific smile she reserves for moments when Barbie remembers details about her or Sasha. She's noticed.
"She's staying over at Mei's to finish a project. She asked for permission in the car this morning." Gloria watches Barbie take the first few steps away from the couch like she's not sure she'll manage without falling over, and breathes a sigh that sounds a lot like relief when Barbie manages to stay upright. "I'm here if you need me, okay?"
Barbie smiles, because she already knows.
—-
"Hey." Gloria's voice is barely above a whisper. Barbie's bedroom is dark except for the warm light sneaking in from the hallway through the halfway open door. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
Barbie has never had as much trouble figuring out whether she's awake or still fast asleep as she does right now, with Gloria sitting on the edge of her bed and tucking Barbie's hair behind her ear.
"How are you feeling?"
Barbie wants to answer. She wants to say she's not sure, because she isn't even sure this is really real or just a warm, hazy dream. But Gloria's fingertips brush against Barbie's warm skin as she moves her hand from Barbie's ear to her temple, and then Gloria's slightly cooler palm presses against Barbie's forehead, and all she can do is breathe.
"Oh, that's too warm." Gloria sighs, and Barbie feels the soft whoosh of the air leaving Gloria's lungs and hitting her skin as Gloria leans in to press her lips against her forehead.
It's not a kiss. It's just a press. The softest ghost of a touch. And Barbie realizes in that very moment that she's forgotten how to breathe, but her heart seems to have decided to beat twice as fast to make up for it so she figures she'll be fine.
Gloria remains so close when she pulls away that Barbie can't really tell if she's hearing her or just feeling the words against her skin when she speaks again. "Family trick. You can tell if there's a fever easier with your lips than with your hand."
Barbie nods, maybe a little dumbly. She's never had a fever, but she knows the concept of it. And she definitely feels like her body temperature is much higher than just a few seconds ago.
"Can you sit up?" Gloria turns towards the side table while Barbie rearranges herself against the headboard. The light from the hallway is enough for Barbie to make out a water bottle and a glass, and she watches with fascination as Gloria carefully pours some water and then shakes a little packet of something and adds its contents to the glass. "Here. Take this. If the fever hasn't budged by tomorrow we'll call the doctor, okay?"
Barbie nods again. She's never tried drinking water in bed — that seems, frankly, like the sort of advanced fluid dynamics she should not be trusted with just yet — but Gloria seems very sure of this whole process and Barbie doesn't think she can speak right now, let alone argue with Gloria's instructions.
As it turns out, she shouldn't have worried at all. Because Gloria's hands don't leave hers when she hands Barbie the glass. One warm hand remains covering Barbie's, steadying her fingers around the cool glass, and the other rests gently on the back of her head. It feels like a reminder that Gloria will catch her if she falls.
"I'm not gonna lie to you, it doesn't taste good at all, but I don't think this is the time to learn how to swallow pills," Gloria says, and Barbie looks into the glass even if she can't really see what the liquid looks like with such little light. She can hear it fizzling, louder and faster than any soda she's tried so far (and she's tried a few). It smells oddly... synthetic. Like it doesn't belong in the Real World. "It'll make you feel better. I promise."
It tastes even worse than she imagined. It tastes like nothing she's ever tasted in her short human life. It tastes like something not meant to go inside or even near a human body at all. It tastes so bad she lets out a horrified gasp at the end because she's honestly a bit surprised the awful taste didn't kill her.
"That was—" Barbie struggles to form the words around the lingering taste coating her tongue.
"I know." There's the slightest bit of amusement in Gloria's voice, even if she still mostly sounds concerned. "I know, honey, I'm sorry. Here, have some water. Wash off the taste."
Water only really helps a little bit. The aftertaste remains, gross and bitter and metallic— no. Not metallic. Plasticky. She wonders if her face will ever go back to normal again or it will simply remain in a slight grimace forever.
Barbie rests against her pillow once again with a sigh. She's oddly tired but in a nebulous sort of way, not in the same way she's tired after a long day or after a trip to the mall with Sasha.
"I hate being sick," she says, bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. She hates that it makes everything she's slowly gotten used to about being human feel just off enough to keep her constantly uncomfortable. She hates that her thoughts feel fuzzy (not in a good way) and slow. She hates everything about it.
"That's a very human emotion, if it helps you feel better at all."
Barbie's never been to the desert. She doesn't know what a glass of water may feel like under those circumstances. But she thinks it must feel similar to hearing Gloria's soft voice right now. Like the one thing that feels good when everything else sucks.
"You help me feel better."
It's not the first time she's said something similar to Gloria. Barbie appreciates everything Gloria's done for her since coming to live in the Real World, and she makes sure to be very vocal with that appreciation. But it feels a little different when she says it right now. Like there's something extra weighing down the words.
"Yeah?" Gloria smiles, Barbie thinks, but there's not enough light to be sure. She thinks she hears it in her voice anyway.
Barbie nods and reaches for Gloria's hand. It's warm against her own even if it felt cool against her forehead before, and Barbie briefly wonders whether Gloria's lips would feel different against her hand, too. What they'd feel against her—
"That's good," Gloria says, soft and quiet like a secret, fingers squeezing Barbie's, "I want you to feel good."
And it feels like there's a weight to Gloria's words, too. It feels like the air around them is thick with things they both mean but neither say. And then Gloria leans in and Barbie thinks maybe she's going to check her temperature with her lips again, or maybe she's going to do something else entirely, and maybe Barbie's human body picks up on things her brain can't quite grasp just yet because she feels herself... react. Her skin tingles and her stomach flip-flops and her lips part because her breaths are just a little bit shallower and her heart beats just a little bit faster and she's fairly sure her entire nervous system has been rerouted to her hand and her fingers as they slot in the spaces between Gloria's and whatever Gloria is going to do Barbie just knows she wants it to happen, and then—
Nothing.
Nothing happens.
Gloria sits up straight once again and Barbie can tell what she feels is loss even if she still doesn't know what was going to happen.
"You should go back to sleep," Gloria says, a little breathless, fingers still tangled with Barbie's, "get some rest."
But Gloria doesn't stand up or let go of Barbie's hand, and honestly the thought of that happening — the thought of Gloria leaving her right now — makes something twist uncomfortably in Barbie's chest, so she decides to say something before Gloria can change her mind.
"Can you stay with me?"
Gloria doesn't answer right away. Her thumb rubs gently against Barbie's knuckles, and the air fills up with unsaid things once again, only this time it's uncomfortable and a little oppressive. It reminds Barbie of the humidity on hot summer days.
"I don't—"
"You don't have to." Barbie quickly clarifies, because something about this situation has clearly made Gloria uncomfortable, and that's the last thing Barbie wants. "Of course you don't have to, I'm sorry." But when she lets go and pulls her hand away, Gloria's hand chases it and holds it once again.
"It's not— that."
Is this conversation particularly cryptic and heavy on subtext, or is it normal and Barbie's cold-impaired brain is just a bit too slow to follow it like it normally would?
"I want to stay with you. I just wonder—" Barbie hears a sigh, and it's not an exasperated one or a tired one or even a sad one. It's a different kind of sigh. Barbie doesn't think she's ever heard Gloria let out that kind of sigh before. "Because you don't have all the context for this stuff, right?"
Barbie feels herself nod even if she honestly, truly has no idea what Gloria is even referring to. Maybe that's the lack of context she means.
"So I'm not sure if we're looking at things the same way or if you even— if you know what's happening sometimes. You know?"
Barbie is nearly sure this has something to do with before. With the moment Gloria leaned in and something almost happened but didn't.
"The last thing I want to do is hurt you. And if I cross a line and then you didn't want to or— God, or you didn't even know there was a line, I just—" Gloria shakes her head and squeezes Barbie's fingers for just a second, and Barbie still doesn't know exactly what they're talking about but she knows she wants Gloria to not be upset.
"I trust you."
Barbie's words are soft and quiet but there's nothing unsure or tentative about them and she thinks maybe that's why Gloria seems to snap out of her previous thoughts as quickly as she does.
"What? What do you—?"
"I trust you," she says again, "so I'm not worried."
It's not that simple, she knows. She knows almost nothing in the Real World is ever simple or easy, and especially not things involving feelings and worries and potential hurt. But she thinks maybe knowing Barbie feels like she's in excellent hands, like she has nothing to worry about as long as Gloria is with her, will help. Maybe it can be enough for now.
And it looks like it may be, for a while. Gloria doesn't speak for a few moments, and the silence that settles around them is comfortable and light to the point where Barbie feels herself relax into the pillows as her body grows heavier with sleep. She's tired but she's not as achy anymore, and the room is mostly dark and her hand is warm and safe in Gloria's. It would be so easy to just fall asleep.
"I just—" Gloria's voice is softer than before. So soft, actually, that Barbie doesn't feel like she's expected to make an effort to stay awake. "I don't want to ruin things. I don't want this to change."
Barbie isn't sure Gloria is actually talking to her. She sounds a bit like she's talking to herself, like when she's going through the shopping list in her head to make sure it's all in there before she leaves the house. But Barbie feels like maybe this is a rare moment where she knows something Gloria doesn't. Or, more accurately, she knows something Gloria knows, but isn't thinking about right now.
"But that's life," Barbie says, and even she can tell her words sound a bit muffled by sleep, "it's all change."
Her eyelids are so heavy. The room is mostly dark anyway, so she can't see Gloria but she hears a huff of something that sounds almost like laughter, but not quite.
"You were right, you know," Gloria whispers, like it's a secret, "it is terrifying."
It could be the disgusting powder in the water from before muddling her thoughts. It could be the fever, or the cold, or really just being so close to asleep that her brain isn't working right. But Barbie feels like it's been years and decades and centuries since she was sitting on that patch of plastic grass, fighting against the notion of change and imperfection and the unknown.
She was right, like Gloria says, in some ways. The cold is awful. She could do without humidity as a concept. Being sick? She would not recommend it. Pockets weren't really a thing in Barbieland but they're a basic necessity in the Real World and there seems to be a global plot to not put any in clothes marketed towards women. And you do not want to know what happens to milk when you forget it on the counter overnight in the Summer.
But now she knows what it feels like to drink a glass of water when you wake up parched in the middle of the night. She knows what it feels like to bite into a blueberry muffin and get that perfect spot of soft, warm, blueberry-infused cake. She knows the feeling of freshly washed sheets against her skin after a long day. She knows the smell of Gloria's hair when it's late at night and they stay up too late watching old films Barbie's never even heard of but Gloria insists they are a 'must watch' but then she falls asleep halfway through and Barbie pays more attention to the weight of Gloria's head on her shoulder than whatever cinematic masterpiece is playing in front of her.
"Yeah," she finally agrees, because she'd be lying if she said she's not scared at all about all the bad feelings she's sure she'll inevitably discover in her years as a human woman, "but it's worth it."
She thinks she sees Gloria nod right before she finally gives in and closes her eyes. A little later, she thinks she feels Gloria's lips against her temple once again, but she's nearly sure it was the start of a dream.
—-
Barbie's cold lasts less than twenty-four hours.
She's fine the next morning. A little groggy from sleeping twelve hours straight, but all her body parts feel fine and free from aches, there isn't a shiver in sight, and if Gloria hadn't made her promise she'd stay in the house just to make sure she's fully recovered, she would have happily taken the bus and joined her for lunch.
It's one of the most boring days she remembers, but she's fine.
She's fine the day after that, too, when she returns to the library and to her Weather Encyclopedia. She's fine when the cold snap officially ends and the weather goes back to a very boring yet pleasant "mild". She's fine! She's fine.
It's just—
Sometimes she thinks about those few hours between getting home soaking wet and miserable after her mishap in the rain and feeling (or imagining?) Gloria's lips against her temple. And the memories are just hazy enough that she wouldn't be able to say what exactly she and Gloria said, or what she did beyond sleeping and drinking the most vile — yet effective — medicine in the world, but the feelings.
The feelings are so clear in her mind she feels like her brain is taunting her by interrupting her normal thoughts with flashes of Gloria's hand around hers and Gloria's lips against her skin and a moment when Gloria leaned in and then nothing happened. And that moment haunts her in a way that has her unable to fully focus on things like dew point and wet bulb temperature and tsunamis. Her brain keeps circling back to it over and over and over again and she keeps hearing Gloria's words — words about missing context and lines that may or may not exist — and it's driving her a little insane.
She could ask Evelyn, of course. The librarian is so smart, Barbie's sure she could explain or at least point her in the direction of the right book to research it, but it feels... it feels...
It feels hers. Theirs, maybe. Hers and Gloria's. It feels like something she doesn't want to share with anyone else. And a few times she considers asking Gloria herself. Asking her for context or an explanation or even just asking her if she's aware that something almost happened, too. But it's scary in a way she can't exactly pinpoint, and though so far all the risks she's taken since this whole humanity adventure started have worked out for her, there's something about this particular one that gives her pause.
So she doesn't ask. And she's fine. Kind of. Mostly.
Until she suddenly has an epiphany. She's watching daytime television, which may not be the pinnacle of cinematic arts but has its charm. Soap operas feel like crash courses in human emotions, and Barbie likes to indulge from time to time. And she's doing just that when she witnesses a scene that makes her understand why light bulbs are used as metaphors for having ideas. Because she sees a very beautiful woman about to die in a hospital bed, and she sees the Ken-like man standing by her with tastefully glistening eyes, and she sees him confess his secret love for her. And it all makes sense.
This isn't her first 'deathbed confessions' scene, but she hadn't made the connection until now: people say things when other people are dying. Things they may not say when nobody is about to die. And it doesn't even have to be something as drastic as dying, actually. When she was sick, Gloria talked about lines and context, about changes and being terrified. Barbie didn't have to ask, Gloria just talked about them on her own.
Clearly, the way to get the answers she desperately needs is to recreate the exact situation once again. It's a foolproof plan.
So she... lies.
Okay, calling it a lie may be a bit of an exaggeration. It's playing pretend. A fib, at most. It's nothing, in the grand scheme of things. She feels suitably guilty, if that helps her case at all. And when she calls Gloria to tell her she won't be joining her for lunch because she has a bit of a cold, she makes sure Gloria understands it's nothing serious and she doesn't need to take the afternoon off.
She thinks that's just about as ethically sound as she can make this whole plan.
"Hey," Gloria says when she walks into Barbie's room, quiet and soft like last time, "how are you feeling?"
And then Gloria does it again. She presses her palm against Barbie's forehead, and Barbie's eyes flutter closed because when you don't actually have a cold everything feels a little crisper and sharper than when you do.
"I don't think you have a fever. You don't feel too warm."
Barbie's not proud of herself for what she does next. She just wants to make that clear. She's not proud at all but she does it anyway because there are some weaknesses that come with being a human, and this is clearly hers.
"Are you sure?" Did she just infuse her voice with just a hint of a pained tone? Perhaps.
"Well, I don't know," Gloria concedes, and then she leans in and presses her lips against Barbie's forehead and her hair smells like her conditioner but not exactly like it does when it's in the bottle (Barbie's smelled it). It's an entirely different, unique smell that's a mixture of conditioner and Gloria filling Barbie's lungs, and she decides a fib can be worth it sometimes.
"No fever." Barbie can hear the smile in Gloria's voice. "Looks like you're already on the mend. I'll make you some soup for dinner and you'll be just fine in the morning."
And Gloria is already turning to walk out of the room, clearly relieved and happy to see Barbie's sickness was nothing serious. And it's not that Barbie wants her to worry. She doesn't. Not at all. She just feels like she's missing her chance to finally know the answers to all the questions in her head.
"Wait! Wait, I—" She what? She's not going to fake a serious illness, that would be just plain mean. But she needs Gloria to stay. "I think you need to double check."
Barbie sees the second Gloria figures it out, because her entire stance changes. She flicks the light on and looks at Barbie with a slightly raised eyebrow that reminds her of the look she gives Sasha when she says there is no homework on a Friday afternoon.
"Are you faking a cold?"
Barbie feels her blood immediately rush to her cheeks. They feel so warm she's sure Gloria would believe she has a fever if she checked right now. And she's bracing herself for a lecture like the ones Sasha gets when she's far from honest about her school obligations, but Gloria sighs and comes closer instead.
"Why are you faking a cold?" Gloria sits on the edge of the bed, close to Barbie, both hands resting on her lap.
Barbie shrugs. This is a new feeling, actually. She doesn't think she's ever felt it, but it's one of those she's heard about enough to be able to name it. She thinks it's shame. It makes her eyes prickle with tears that fall as soon as she blinks twice.
"Hey. Honey, I'm not mad. Please don't—" Gloria brushes tears away with her thumbs and Barbie doesn't know what she's feeling anymore. Shame and something else, something warm, something big. Shame and too many things at the same time. "What is it?"
"I just—" Barbie's chin trembles, and she's trying not to let this turn into actual crying because she's really not very good at sobbing and talking at the same time, but she's a bit overwhelmed by it all. By her feelings and the things she doesn't know and doesn't even know how to ask about. "I just wanted you to talk to me again."
"But we talk all the time," Gloria says, brows furrowed even if her voice remains gentle, "like, literally all the time I'm not at work."
Barbie shakes her head. "Not like that. Not like— like the other night. When I had the cold."
"I don't know—"
"When you said I didn't have the context." Barbie watches as realization washes over Gloria. As brown eyes round and cheeks darken and she stands a little straighter. "When you said there were lines. That you might cross."
Gloria nods, slowly. Barbie lets the silence settle between them for a few moments, because she figures maybe Gloria needs some time to figure out what to say. But she doesn't. And Barbie's not about to let this conversation end here so she can go back to thinking about it constantly for another week, so she decides to press on herself.
"You leaned in, and then nothing happened." The moment is so vivid in her mind she doesn't feel the need to clarify further. Surely Gloria knows exactly what she's talking about. "Was that a line you didn't cross?"
"Yeah, I—" Gloria looks down at her hands, and then at the coffee table, and Barbie wonders if she's just doing whatever she can to avoid looking at her, "I'd say that's right."
Barbie sighs, relieved to finally have at least one answer. That moment did happen, and it was significant, and it wasn't just her own inexperienced human brain making it bigger than it actually was.
"What was the context?"
"What?"
"The context," Barbie folds her legs under the covers and wraps her arms around her knees, settling in for what she hopes will be an enlightening lesson, "you said I don't have all the context, so I want to know what it is. What the line was and why you didn't cross it. You know. Context."
"Well, I just—" Gloria looks at one of the flowers on Barbie's bedding, and then at her left foot, and at one of the pictures on Barbie's wall, and the more she looks away the more flushed her cheeks look. "There was— I mean I—" Eventually after a few more failed attempts to get out a full sentence, Gloria shakes her head and looks at Barbie once again. "You can't just ask that. I can't just answer that. That's not—"
"See? That's why I had to fake a cold!" Barbie just cannot believe Gloria would simply refuse to answer a question. She doesn't think that's ever happened before. And it really only serves to fuel her belief that whatever it was had a lot to do with her being sick and a milder version of deathbed confessions. "You talked about it then, kind of, so why won't you just tell me now?"
"Because!"
"That's not a real answer!"
"Well, it's the only answer I have!"
Barbie could just cry again from the sheer frustration of knowing there's this apparently essential bit of knowledge she doesn't have and is also not allowed to learn. It's like the freaking humidity all over again. Obvious for everyone except for her. Because she doesn't have the context. And for the first time since she met her, Gloria is not willing to help.
She's watched enough movies (and soap opera episodes) by now to know she probably should say something right now. It's an emotionally charged moment. An argument. She's angry at Gloria for the first time in her life. But she can't come up with anything to say, so instead Barbie shifts under the covers and slips out of her bed. Gloria can stay seated on it for as long as she wants. She just needs to not be with her right now.
But when she's walking around the bed to leave the room, she feels Gloria's fingers wrapping around her wrist. Lightly. Light enough that Barbie could easily keep walking and they would do nothing to stop her. The touch feels like being asked to stay.
"Wait," Gloria finally says when Barbie stops walking, and her voice sounds quiet and almost small and Barbie feels the anger melting away, "I'm sorry."
Barbie has already forgiven Gloria by the time she looks at her. Because she knows she really is sorry, and she knows she never wants to hurt her. Because Gloria's fingers are so soft and warm around her wrist, and there's something in Gloria's eyes that feels nearly as big as the feeling that lodges itself between her ribcage and her heart when she thinks about whatever almost happened when Gloria leaned in.
"I'll tell you. I just need to—" Gloria stands up without letting go of Barbie's wrist, and she reaches for the light switch to make the room mostly dark once again. "It's easier like this."
Barbie nods. Maybe it wasn't her illness making Gloria want to open up. Maybe it was just the lack of light.
"There was a line." Gloria's thumb presses against Barbie's pulse and Barbie doesn't tell her she's read you're not supposed to take someone's pulse with your thumb because you'll feel your own pulse instead. She just stays quiet and imagines the sound of both of their heartbeats at the same time. "When I leaned in." Gloria moves her hand, thumb sliding from Barbie's wrist to her palm, and Barbie's fingers wrap around Gloria's almost on instinct. "And what I nearly did— what I wanted to do," Gloria swallows and squeezes Barbie's fingers like she's keeping herself from running away, "was kiss you."
"Oh."
Barbie knows what a kiss is. She's never experienced a kiss — not a real kiss — but she knows what they are. And she wants one. It surprises even herself because if she's perfectly honest she doesn't know exactly what a kiss entails beyond lips touching lips (which really doesn't sound appealing at all out of context) but right now she wants Gloria to kiss her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. It's a want that comes from somewhere she doesn't control, somewhere that's definitely not her brain because there's nothing rational about what she's feeling right now. All she knows is she wants the kiss that nearly happened that other night.
"I'm sorry if you—"
"Kiss me now."
"What?"
Barbie takes one step forward, closer to Gloria, and she feels like maybe she's stepped over one of those invisible lines herself. Because they've been physically close a million times before. They've hugged and held hands and fell asleep on each other's shoulders while watching movies. But this feels different. This jump-starts something, makes her feel like one of those magic balls that make your hair stand up when you touch them, gives name to a bunch of different feelings she hadn't been able to categorize before.
"Please," Barbie says, and she's so close now she can feel Gloria's breath against her lips, "kiss me now."
Gloria's lips feel soft and gentle and real. Barbie doesn't think she's ever felt anything as real as a kiss. It's short but it lingers, and when Barbie thinks it's over Gloria presses another, quicker, softer kiss to her lips that makes Barbie smile around a sigh.
"Good?" Gloria asks, still so close and so warm and making Barbie feel all kinds of things she now thinks are different flavors of want.
"Mhmm," Barbie manages, licking her lips and feeling a sudden urge to do the same to Gloria's, "again?"
She feels Gloria's silent chuckle against her skin just before she feels Gloria's lips again. And this time it lasts longer. Barbie's free hand moves to rest on Gloria's waist, to keep her close, and Gloria's lips part to suck on her bottom lip as Gloria's fingers slide into Barbie's hair, and Barbie feels like her world has changed completely once again and there's no going back from this.
She doesn't ever want to go back from this.
"Still good?" Gloria's whispered words come out muffled against Barbie's lips, and all Barbie can manage is an affirmative (she hopes) sound as she chases Gloria's mouth to kiss her once again, bolder this time, tongue nudging Gloria's lips apart and then sliding inside her mouth and feeling a new wave of want build up low in her belly at the sound of Gloria's moan.
They kiss for a long time. Barbie doesn't know how much time passes. She knows they go back to the bed eventually, sitting first and then Gloria is on her back and Barbie is on top of her and their bodies are pressed together, legs tangled and hands exploring warm skin under a work blouse and a sleep shirt and Barbie can't remember ever pondering the actual meaning of life, but she's pretty sure this is it.
Hours or days or weeks (under an hour, realistically) later, their kisses become less hurried. Less hungry. There's less urgency and more warmth, and they're back to just soft lips meeting soft lips until they're both smiling a bit too much to go on.
"Are you okay?" Gloria reaches up and tucks a wisp of blond hair behind Barbie's ear, her other hand still busy under Barbie's night shirt as her fingertips slowly trace the line of Barbie's spine.
"Yeah," Barbie's voice comes out low and breaks halfway through the word, and it makes her smile even more. "I'm very okay."
"We'll have to talk about all this," Gloria says, thumb brushing against Barbie's tingling bottom lip, "about—"
"The context?" Barbie offers right before she presses a kiss to the pad of Gloria's thumb. She's not sure whether Gloria laughs at the kiss or at Barbie's suggestion, and she's not sure she cares.
"Yeah. The context. We'll have to talk about that."
Barbie nods. She has a feeling kisses are like water, in that they're seemingly straightforward but there's a lot going on under the surface. She wonders, briefly, if there's an encyclopedia of kisses at the library, but then decides she'd rather learn from Gloria than read about it anyway.
"Will I have to fake a cold again so you'll talk to me about it?" She teases, and she feels Gloria's laughter under the hand she has pressed against Gloria's ribcage.
"No more faking, please."
Barbie nods and kisses her again. Just because there's nothing less fake than that.
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siriusly-writes · 4 months
Text
try and convince me I’m wrong I DARE YOU
ENEMIES TO LOVERS IN THE REAL WORLD ONLY WORKS IF ITS GAY OR SAPPHIC
again
ENEMIES 👏TO 👏LOVERS 👏ONLY 👏WORKS 👏IN 👏THE 👏REAL 👏WORLD👏 IF 👏ITS👏 GAY 👏OR 👏SAPPHIC👏
When it’s hetero in the real world with no outside influence and it’s proper enemies to lovers not academic rivals or like you annoy me but we banter like there is no intellectual war it becomes PETTY IMMATURE PATHETIC AND TOXIC
And more than often ends up with one of them literally abusing the other.
In this essay I will-
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a-mushroom-wizard · 6 months
Text
ok guys, I need a list of book tropes, so far I have
Hero x villan
Enemies to lovers
Friends to lovers
Morally grey
The villian was right
One bed
Arranged marriage
Force proximity
"Who did this to you"
"Id kill for you"
Bad hero, good villian
Wizard thays shit at magic untill near the end
Redemption arc
Recovering from trauma
Reunited childhood friends
I need more for a thing, please help
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xxsksxxx · 7 months
Text
Movable Forces
Summary:
After a traumatic accident, Scully realizes that she can’t remember the events of the past few days. With Mulder’s help, she tries to piece together the fragments of her memory.
But something is not as it seems – and Mulder might have a secret.
Notes:
This is my little contribution to #tropetember – a yearly event that celebrates all the tropes that we love to read again and again.
I’ve chosen the amnesia trope and hope you’ll have as much fun reading this short fic as I had writing it.
Thank you so much for reading. And if you want to comment, please feel free. You'd make my year – just be kind.
AO3 | @today-in-fic
Chapter 1: Hits and Misses
The sunlight was unforgiving, its bright beams piercing her eyes like needles into her brain. She groaned and turned her head to the side to avoid the light. And that brought a new kind of torment. What had been sharp and piercing had now turned into a dull ache all over her body. Panic started to make her heart pound, and she gasped for air. Something was pressing onto her rib cage and pinning her down. And it was heavy—she could barely breathe.
She cautiously drew in some air, careful to not aggravate the stabbing pain in her side.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Don’t panic, her inner voice told her. Is anything broken? What are your symptoms?
She meticulously took stock of her body. Everything ached. She carefully moved first her feet and legs and then her hands. Thankfully, that only caused some minor discomfort. Probably only some cuts, nothing seems broken, she thought.
But that insistent, constant stabbing on her right side couldn’t be ignored. Something was piercing her rips and holding her down. She felt around and touched warm, unmoving metal.
She took another steadying breath and carefully opened her eyes. Slowly, the world around her came into focus.
Metal. Plastic. Pieces of torn fabric stuck to a dark oily liquid next to her. Car accident, she thought. She slowly turned her head to her side and groaned. Some part of the dashboard had bent in half and was pinning her to her seat. Unmovable. A sharp piece of plastic stood out like a spear and was poking into her ribs now every time she took a breath.
She blinked and felt something running down her face and into her right eye. She quickly closed her eyes again. Blood. That explains the headache, she thought. Not good. Definitely not good at all. She needed to get out of here.
Carefully, she tried to turn her head towards what once had been the driver’s side window and tried to focus. The regret hit her immediately, and she nearly threw up from the pain.
Her head was bad. She couldn’t move it more than a few inches without feeling like someone was squeezing her brain out of her ears. Possible skull fracture, her inner voice supplied helpfully. Undoubtedly at least a concussion.
Suddenly, she registered the surrounding noises. People were shouting, somebody was screaming for someone named Joe to get there fast. “Hello? I need help!” she shouted, but it came out more like a whimper, and the effort made her dizzy.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?” She sighed in relief. Someone was here.
"Hello? Ma'am?" A voice called right next to her, and she winced at the stab of pain it caused. She groaned and tried to nod. “Mmm… yeah. C’n hear you. Need assistance. Possible skull and rib fracture.”
“Don’t move. Help is on the way. You were in a car accident. Just try to stay calm,” the voice continued, but she was already drifting in and out of consciousness again. She tried to focus on the surrounding sounds, but it was a losing battle.
“We’re going to get you out of here. Don’t worry, ma’am,” a new voice said determinedly. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She opened her mouth to answer. And closed it again. She had no idea. What had happened? She questioned herself frantically before the darkness pulled her under again, and she lost consciousness.
Scully was swimming. But she wasn’t moving. She was submerged in an inky black darkness, and every move pulled her further down. The syrupy, sluggish water surrounded her like tar. She tried to swim to the surface, but the dark ocean fought her every move, and she felt the strength drain out of her.
Just when she decided to allow herself to drift back down to wherever she’d been, a familiar voice called her name. It was like a shot of pure energy, and she refocused her efforts.
“Scully! Scully, can you hear me?”
Mulder. That was Mulder. What was he doing here? Was he in the ocean as well?
She strained to turn in the direction of his voice, but her arms and legs felt like lead. It took forever to just move her head.
“Slow, Scully. Careful,” Mulder whispered right next to her ear, and then she felt her hand in his.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she looked right into his concerned face.
“Where am I? What time is it?“ she croaked, her voice rough from not having been used in a while.
“You were in a car accident,“ Mulder explained, his grip on her hand tightening. “A man in his car ran a red light and slammed right into the side of your car. How are you feeling?”
Scully assessed her body methodically. First, she slowly moved her fingers, her toes, and legs and finally her arms. Her side was still throbbing, but it was a dull pain now. Nothing like she’d felt while still trapped in her car. Probably the pain medication, her mind supplied. That explained why Mulder looked a bit blurry around the edges.
“Like a car hit me,” she quipped, a smirk forming on her lips. Mulder gave her the relieved smile she’d been aiming for.
“The doctor said you were very lucky. Nothing’s broken, and you’ve only got a few scrapes and bruises. You got a nasty cut on your right side, but what had us worried was you being unconscious for so long,” he said and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
For so long? “What do you mean? How long was I unconscious? What day is it?” Scully’s brow furrowed, and she immediately winced when the pain in her head increased again.
“It’s Wednesday afternoon. You’ve been in the hospital since early Monday morning.” He gave her a concerned look. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Scully tried to concentrate but all her thoughts seemed to drift in various directions and suddenly the sluggish darkness seemed to reach for her again. She tried to focus.
“Let’s see. I remember us walking to the parking garage together on Friday evening.“ She paused for a moment. Mulder gave her an encouraging smile.
“You mentioned something about basketball? A pick-up game you wanted to play on the weekend?” she continued and Mulder nodded.
When she didn‘t say more, Mulder frowned. “Okay. All of that happened. Do you remember anything else?”
She tried to concentrate, and make sense of the quick memory flashes behind her eyelids. Every thought hurt.
She let out a frustrated sigh. “No. Not really. Some flashes of things. The staircase. Dropping my car keys, just unconnected moments,” she paused again. “Rain… did it rain over the weekend?”
Mulder‘s frown deepened, but he nodded. “Yes, there was some rain on Sunday,“ he answered, his face an inscrutable mask.
“I… I think I remember picking you up after your game,” Scully added thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in concentration. “You were drenched and mentioned something about… wanting to show me something?” She threw a questioning look at Mulder, and he gave her an encouraging smile. “After that… nothing. The next thing I remember is gaining consciousness in the car. Sorry,” she added, frustrated.
Mulder kept studying her face, his gaze darting between her eyes and her mouth. She could tell he was waiting for something. She wanted to tell him she remembered what he wanted her to say, but there was nothing except a black void.
Her head was pounding steadily now again, and her eyes scratched like there was sand in them. She warily closed her eyes.
That seemed to snap Mulder out of his trance, and he turned to the little side table. He picked up a carafe and filled a glass with water. “You should try to get some fluids into you, Scully.”
He moved the glass closer and gently placed the straw on her lips. Scully drank gratefully and immediately felt some of her awareness return. Even the dull throbbing seemed to retreat a bit again.
“Thanks. So, what was it that I should remember? Did we get a new case?”
Mulder avoided her gaze, his unease barely concealed. “No, nothing important. Don't worry about it. I’m sure it’ll all come back to you in time.”
Scully watched him closely, her suspicion growing. She knew Mulder well enough to recognize when he was hiding something—especially from her.
“Are you sure, Mulder?” she probed, her eyes fixed on his face.
Mulder gave her a big smile and nodded. She internally rolled her eyes. He was a horrible liar. At least when he was lying to her. These days, she could tell immediately when he planned any nightly trespassing activities he tried to keep from her. The days of secretly ditching her were long past.
Mulder forced another smile. “Absolutely sure. Now I need to get back to the office. Skinner cut me some slack when I skipped the quarterly department meeting to sit with you. But now that you’re awake and feeling better, I’m going to check into the office for a few hours.”
He got up, leaning in as if to kiss her cheek but hesitated midway through and straightened up again.
“Um… let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m willing to pick out new underwear for you any time.“ He waggled his eyebrows and Scully rolled her eyes for real this time.
Mulder spotted a proud grin, pleased with himself. “Well, I got to go, Scully. You listen to all the doctors and do what they say, okay?“ He squeezed her hand one final time before letting go.
“I’ll be fine, Mulder. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to the doctor, and I’m sure I’ll be okay.“
With the smile lingering on his face and still avoiding her gaze, Mulder casually waved before exiting the room without a backward glance.
Scully continued to look at the closed door long after Mulder’s departure, her thoughts racing. Why was he acting so strange? All her instincts were screaming that something wasn‘t right but she couldn‘t quite put her finger on it.
I’m going to find out what is going on, she thought before finally succumbing to a deep restless sleep, plagued by visions of cars crashing and chasing Mulder through rainy dark streets.
*****
It had felt like an eternity of testing, prodding and confirming that there weren’t any lasting effects until the doctors finally agreed that she could go home. Not one moment too soon, Scully thought. She could’ve told them that she was fine after the first full day uselessly lying around in her hospital bed. She was a medical doctor, after all, and had studied her patient record thoroughly.
But now, finally, she was going to get out of there, and she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed as soon as the doctors had left the room.
She was mentally calculating how long it would take for Mulder to arrive. He’d promised to pick her up and take her home, and she was going to use that opportunity to find out what he had been keeping from her!
They’d been talking on the phone every night for the last two days. Bit by bit, her memories had started to come back, thanks to him helping her to distinguish between real memories and her vivid dreams from the pain medication.
She’d slowly worked her way closer to what he’d tried to keep from her. And the investigator in her had come out full force, strategizing and questioning to draw the answers out of him.
He’d confirmed that she’d picked him up after his basketball game on Sunday. She had a vivid memory of him towel-drying his hair in her car while telling her about a mysterious light that had been mentioned in a regional newspaper in southern Wyoming.
She smiled fondly at the memory, slowly putting on her shoes. Mulder was just too charming for his own good and even though she’d never tell him that, she loved listening to him passionately trying to convince her that his outrageous claims were true.
Her smile fell, thinking about the rest of the conversation. If only she were able to consider his cagey behavior when it came to sharing information just as charming.
From what she could piece together, she’d looked at a newspaper clipping at his place while he had taken a shower. Mulder had confirmed that they’d discussed it, only to quickly shift the conversation away from her fragmented recollections.
Any attempts from her to get back to that night had been met with one-syllable answers and more topic changes. She’d finally given up on getting anything out of him.
But that was about to change, she thought, eyeing the door. Where was he anyway? Hopefully, he hadn‘t forgotten to pick her up, her brows furrowing for a whole different reason now. She stretched her right arm carefully, trying not to strain her still tender side. The woolen sweater and sweatpants she’d picked up in the hospital store downstairs, at least gave her some room to move in.
Just then, the door opened slowly, and a familiar head squeezed through the crack.
“Are you decent?” he asked.
Scully just slid off the bed and bent down to grab the small bag, filled with more hospital-bought essentials. She couldn’t wait to have her own things again.
“I’m out of here, decent or not,“ she said while Mulder tried to hide his smirk.
He moved closer and gently took her bag from her hand. She made a move as if to protest, but he didn‘t let go. “Come on, Scully. You’ve just spent a week in a hospital bed. Let me carry this for you at least,“ he told her with a hangdog expression and wide, sad eyes. Scully sighed. There was no winning with him like that, she thought. Not that she would admit that. Sometimes she wondered if he didn’t know anyway that this look always worked on her.
“Alright, Mulder. Thank you. Even though I’m perfectly capable of carrying this bag by myself.“
Mulder chose not to respond, and they slowly made their way out of the hospital and towards his car. Scully carefully got into the passenger’s side and hid a wince. Even if she wasn’t going to admit it, her neck and side were still hurting quite a bit. She looked to check if Mulder had caught her quick flash of pain, but he was busy at the back of the car.
He placed her bag in the trunk and made his way around the car, his long wool coat billowing around his legs.
She watched him for a moment, wondering again how she could start a conversation that would get him to tell her what he was hiding.
The door closed with a loud bang, and Mulder turned to her with a big grin. “Ready to go home?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,“ she answered while putting on her seatbelt.
Mulder was opening his mouth to make one of his quips, and she was already preparing her reply.
But he didn‘t say anything and just turned around and started the car instead. “Okay, here we go.”
Scully stared at his profile, her frustration growing. She was tired of being treated like a raw egg. She wanted her Mulder back, quirks and all. The one that tried to make her laugh even if she was fighting it all the way. She wanted to see his proud look when she couldn‘t hide her smiles any longer, happy he’d succeeded again.
But this Mulder was obnoxious for a whole different reason. She wasn‘t an invalid. And she didn‘t need to be safeguarded from whatever he was trying to protect her from.
With a scowl, she turned her head towards the window, watching the houses and streets pass them by.
The longer she stayed silent, the more sideways glances Mulder gave her.
“Are you okay, Scully?”
“I’m fine, Mulder,” she answered sharply.
Mulder gave her another searching look but remained quiet.
They continued driving in complete silence, and Scully was glad when he finally parked the car in front of her apartment.
She exited the car as quickly as possible, but not fast enough for Mulder, who’d already circled the car to offer assistance.
She had no intention of encouraging a hovering Mulder, though. She was a medical doctor and a few scrapes and headaches were to be expected and nothing unusual. She didn‘t need help walking into her own apartment.
“I’m fine, Mulder. I just need to get upstairs, take a shower and sleep for a few hours. I’ll be ready to get back to work on Monday.”
She walked to the trunk and grabbed her bag. Mulder watched her with an unreadable expression on his face.
As she passed him again on her way back, confidently striding towards the door, he followed her quietly.
Chapter 2: Collisions
“Mulder, stop hovering,” she snapped, her voice tinged with irritation. She was finally seated on her couch, glaring at Mulder. “I’ve told you I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Mulder turned his head towards her while kneeling on the floor in front of her VHS player, a Blockbuster bag with several tapes propped up against his thigh. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re entertained, Scully. I’ll just pop in a movie, and you won’t have to move from the couch for at least two hours. How about Playing by Heart? I heard it’s a real chick flick,“ he waggled his eyebrows. “One of the characters even looks a bit like you,” he added, eyeing the cover. “See?” He held up the tape and pointed, grinning widely.
Scully sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. How could she stay angry when Mulder behaved like this? This was the Mulder she’d hoped to get back in the last few days in the hospital. Even if he annoyingly liked to keep things from her. She scowled.
“Oh, come on, Scully! Is it really that difficult for you to acknowledge you’re still recuperating? You were in a car accident! A pretty bad one! Your car’s a wreck at the junkyard,” he said, exasperated. “When I got that call about you being in the hospital, they told me it was pretty serious. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to overdo it. Maybe taking it easy would be wise.”
Scully looked down at her lap and started to play with a piece of lint, avoiding his eyes. He did have a point, even if she hated to admit it. “I really appreciate your concern and your help, Mulder,” she said softly, raising her head again and looking at him. He was watching her with a concerned look. “I just want to get back to normal as soon as possible,” she continued, her eyes pleading with him to understand. It was the wrong thing to say. Mulder wordlessly got off the floor and put the tape down on the coffee table in front of her.
“Ok. If that’s what you want,” he said without looking at her. “I’m going to get you some plates and glasses out of the cupboards, so you don’t have to move around too much, and then I’m out of your hair. Let you rest for a bit.”
He walked briskly into her kitchen and swiftly began to open the cupboards. Scully followed him with her eyes, her mind working frantically. What was that? She thought. Did I say something wrong? She tried to go over the conversation again, but nothing stood out.
She carefully hived herself off the couch, careful not to strain her side too much, and followed him into the kitchen. She gingerly sat down in one of her chairs, watching as he pulled out several things from her cupboards. Mulder pulled plates and cups out with great efficiency and put everything down on her counter. Scully felt like she could’ve cut the tension with a knife.
Bending down, Mulder set a saltshaker on the table, and their eyes met. His face was only inches away. Time seemed to freeze for a second before it hit Scully like a flash of lightning. Mulder’s face right in front of her. Mulder bending over towards her. His face only inches away.
The memories flooded her mind like a cascade of pictures, and she closed her eyes against the sudden headache.
Mulder bending over his living room table. Mulder smiling at her and laughing at something. Her trying not to laugh and failing. Mulder giving her a smug grin for having made her laugh. Her trying to grab the file that was lying between them on the table, and Mulder reaching for it at the same time. His face inches from hers and his breath tickling her lips.
She grabbed her head with both hands, cradling her face, her eyes tightly shut.
And then they’d been kissing. She’d grabbed his hair and pulled him closer. He’d moaned into her mouth and pushed her back into the couch. She’d felt her heart thundering in her ears.
As soon as the memories had come, they were gone again. Scully carefully opened her eyes and turned her head towards Mulder.
He’d moved around her chair when she’d grabbed her head and was now nervously grabbing her wrist. “Scully? Scully, are you okay?” he asked nervously.
Scully stared open-mouthed, the memories still vivid in her mind. Mulder’s gaze locked onto hers, and she could tell the moment he realized what had happened.
He immediately let go of her wrist and got up from his crouch next to her chair. With a last long look at her lips, he finally turned around and walked back to the counter.
“Is there anything else you need me to get you? I could go out and…” he rambled without looking at her.
“Mulder…” she began, uncertainty clouding her thoughts about what had happened and its implications. Her heart was pounding like a drum against her ribs.
Mulder kept banging doors open and closed. “Or do you want me to order you some food? We could watch one of the movies and eat pizza. Maybe skip on the beer, though.”
“Mulder!” she called loudly, and Mulder stopped with a resigned sigh and slowly turned around. His eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her shiver.
“You remember, don’t you?”
*****
Scully didn’t drop her eyes from his intense gaze. “Did that really happen, Mulder?” she asked softly, feeling vulnerable and afraid. “We kissed, didn’t we?”
Mulder nodded, his eyes roaming her face. “We did. Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked carefully, her voice tinged with a hint of hurt. “Did you want me to forget it happened?”
His eyes widened, and he shook his head almost violently. “NO! No, of course not. I just didn’t want to bring it up while you were still lying in a hospital bed after barely getting out of that accident!”
“I’m no longer in the hospital,” she said softly, her pulse quickening. She willed herself to not look away and started nervously gnawing on her lower lip. Mulder’s eyes darted immediately to her mouth, watching transfixed, before letting his gaze return to her eyes.
He scratched the back of his neck nervously and took a deep breath.“I know. Well, what did you expect me to say? ‘Hey Scully, by the way, there’s something else you might have forgotten. We shared some kisses the other night. And we ended up passionately making out on my couch until the sun came up. And we were considering continuing it later’? Don’t try to tell me that wouldn’t have prompted you to crawl out of that hospital bed, trying to get as far away from me as possible!” he nearly shouted, his voice tinged with frustration. He spread his arms helplessly.
Made out until the sun came up? Considering continuing it later? Scully repeated in her head, staring at him. Her mind helpfully filled in the images to his words, and she flushed. She gripped the armrest of her chair and started tracing nervous patterns with her thumb.
Mulder bending over her, pressing her into the arm of his couch. Him holding her face and gripping her hair.
She shook her head to not lose track of the conversation. She knew her face was flushed, and she was pretty sure her pupils were dilated. Mulder had to be able to notice, she panicked.
Mulder was watching her intently, his eyes not missing a thing. She felt like time had stopped once again as they were watching each other. Suddenly he closed his eyes tiredly and all the tension seemed to leave his body. He dropped his arms and leaned back against the counter.
“You were on your way home when you got in that accident, Scully,” he added softly, his eyes returning to hers.
“If we hadn’t kissed, maybe you wouldn’t have been distracted and would’ve seen that driver coming. Perhaps nothing would have happened,” he said, tightly balling his hands into fists. “You could’ve died!”
Scully carefully got up and walked over to where he was leaning against the counter. She grabbed his forearm softly and whispered, knowing he’d be able to hear her.
“Mulder, that could’ve happened a million other times as well. And as much as I enjoyed our little make-out session, your kisses weren’t so distracting that I’d drive into oncoming traffic.“
Mulder looked down at her hand on his forearm, and she squeezed it to get his attention.
“In fact, I remember being quite focused on getting home in one piece, so I could call you before bed,“ she continued, her voice now firm. He lifted his eyes to her quickly and searched her face. Slowly, a grin spread over her face.
“Your memory has come back, hasn’t it?” he asked, his voice cracking from relief.
Scully nodded, her grin turning into a gentle smile. “And I especially remember that I enjoyed kissing you very much.”
Mulder's face stretched into a huge grin, the tension in the room dissipating, only to be replaced with anticipation. “Well, I'm willing to repeat any kissing as soon as you’re ready,“ he offered with a suggestive wink.
Scully’s laughter removed the final traces of uncertainty, and Mulder carefully cradled her cheek in his hand.
“How about now,“ she smiled and moved her hand from his forearm to his neck to pull him in. “I want to make sure my memory didn't play any tricks on me,“ she whispered right next to his ear.
Mulder didn't need to be told twice. He quickly closed the gap between their lips and kissed her softly, then more intensely, while the soft, warm light of the setting sun warmed their faces through Scully’s kitchen window.
The End ***
Thank you so much for reading. You can also find this fic on AO3.
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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 7 months
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Secret Identity: Characters A & B have secret alter egos- they’re both in love with the wrong identity.
Special thanks to @shantismurf and @ponycactus who were exceptionally insistent on this prompt. I might have gone a bit overboard.😅
Remember, I’m utilizing this prompt list. I probably won’t hit all, but I am trying to get to the highest voted ones in my polls. Trying to use different ships, but feel free to shoot me an ask or DM if there’s a specific ship you would like to see for any of the prompts.
I Didn't Know I Loved You
Ship: Bagginshield
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Words: 5515
Bilbo had learned by now that he didn’t have much of a role at White Council meetings other than to stand at Gandalf’s side and remain unseen. It was a task made all the easier by his handy little golden ring that turned him invisible. Still, it was dreadfully boring to have to listen to petitions from leaders across Arda, considering he might be sent out to help ‘rectify’ certain situations, yet he did not get a voice to give his own opinions. He had tried to sneak out a few times thinking no one would even notice, and it was true that only Lady Galadriel was ever aware of his departure. At least until Saruman had tried to engage with him. The white wizard was definitely displeased with Gandalf’s pet Burglar that day. To make things easier for his godfather, Bilbo refrained from wandering after that.
“It seems next we have King Thorin of Erebor.” Elrond addressed, ever the diplomat. 
Despite being invisible, Bilbo felt himself straighten at the announcement. This was the fifth time King Thorin had appeared before the Council, and his striking figure cut quite the impression into the hobbit. Even now as he strode up so regally, his black hair curling down his shoulders, his piercing blue eyes somehow simultaneously commanding respect as well as giving it. Bilbo wished for just a small moment that he could be visible so Thorin could notice him. Just once.
“Your Majesty.” Saruman addressed. “I would spare you the breath and deny your request, again, if I didn’t fear it would be an insult to your person.”
Thorin’s eyes hardened, and Bilbo found himself slipping another blackberry into Saruman’s pocket. Mostly just a bit of fun on his part, but he couldn’t help taking a small amount of satisfaction when the wizard discovered his white robes were stained with berry juices. Last week, it was elderberry.
“The White Council has been most gracious in allowing me the freedom to waste their time yet again.” Thorin replied coolly, making Bilbo hide his giggles. “However, my petition has changed slightly.”
“Oh? How so?” Gandalf questioned curiously.
“We found it.”
Everyone pressed forward. The Arkenstone. The Crown Gem of the dwarves, untapped source of magical potential, lost in the deep caverns of Erebor thanks to a dragon invading the mountain. After the dragon had run the dwarves out of their mountain, Thorin had sought aid from the White Council only to be turned down. He rallied their armies, along with help from the Men of Dale to kill the beast which accidentally locked them out of their mountain home. He asked at that point for a faster way to remove the stones blocking the main entrance, he was denied again. Thorin found a secret entrance unlocked by a key left to him by his deceased father, opening Erebor for the refugees just in time for war to find them from the Gundabad orcs in the north.
Thorin petitioned for help a third time, this time actually receiving aid, but only in the form of Radagast the Brown, a handful of the Eagles of Manwe, and Beorn the Shapeshifter. That particular slight was the loudest Bilbo had ever heard Gandalf argue with Saruman, and he was fully prepared to run off with the grey wizard the moment he gave the order. Instead, Bilbo had plenty of time to sneak all sorts of things in Saruman’s pockets within the time they remained safe and sound in Rivendell. Against all odds though, Thorin and his allies had pushed the orcs back. That led to sorting out the gold tainted by the dragon. Thorin had pressed the White Council for aid at that point citing the dangers of goldsickness to his subjects. Galadriel had made Thorin a special blend that when mixed with water would wash the dragon’s essence from the treasury. But that had been all they could do for him.
Perhaps it would be prevalent to make note at this point that the White Council wasn’t being particularly obtuse. Well, Bilbo was fairly certain Saruman was, but that was what the berries were for. Thorin’s predecessor, Thror son of Dain, was the one who had first discovered the Arkenstone. So overcome with the beauty of the gem and the desire of any who laid eyes on it, he purposely teased the White Council with it by decreeing they could only treat with ‘he who held the Arkenstone’. When the Arkenstone was lost to the dragon, the White Council became unable to help Thorin in his plight for his people. However, if he had the stone now…
“Show it to us, and we may proceed there.” Saruman demanded.
Thorin shifted in place, looking briefly at his advisor who gave a subtle shake of his head. Thorin heaved a deep breath from his nose, his eyes resigned as he spoke.
“It is being held deep in the caverns beneath the city by an unknown creature.”
Silence sat over the council before Elrond chose to break it first, his face grim.
“Your Majesty, you know that our hands are tied in this matter…”
“I know the agreement that stands between us, no matter how much I, Erebor’s current king, wish the terms abolished. I merely thought…after all we have suffered, you might grant us this when we were so close. You would lend us your…Burglar.”
Bilbo perked up as Thorin’s eyes roamed right over him as if attempting to seek him out personally to make his appeal. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the idea of actually being about to do something for Thorin and the poor dwarves of Erebor. He didn’t even care about the potential danger of some unknown creature. Bilbo had done plenty of dangerous missions at the behest of the council already. It would be nice to do a mission that he actually agreed with. However, before he could make his agreement known, Saruman stepped in.
“The members of this council are not available for you to pick and choose for whatever you perceive to suit your needs. And let’s not gloss over the fact that you still do not possess the Arkenstone. While sympathetic we may be, we will not go against the direct wishes of the former King of Erebor. After all, there are laws by which we govern even ourselves or we would be no better than the most base of creatures…”
Gandalf interrupted Saruman’s monologuing thanks to Bilbo’s insistent yanking on his grey robes, catching more than a few stray eyes. 
“Now, my dear Saruman, you seem to forget that Bil-our Burglar,” Gandalf corrected after an insistent kick from Bilbo. “Is not a member of the council proper. If he were to offer his services freely…”
“Oh and there’s an idea! Let the invisible hobbit galavant wherever he wishes. You seem to forget Gandalf, that he is governed by the same rules that we all are and when he uses those services for the White Council, he is seen as a tool of our interest, not an individual person.”
Bilbo aggressively stuffed as many blackberries as he could, not just in the pockets but in the hood and billowing sleeves of the arrogant wizard as well. Galadriel, who could somehow see him while invisible, tried to hide her laughter. Thorin, on the other hand, was not amused in the slightest. 
“So that’s it then.” He spat. “I’ve appealed to this council time and time again in our greatest need, and you cannot even grant this one favor after all we have suffered?! Then what use are you? A governing body that adheres to outdated laws rather than the needs of the people who seek you out. Rukhstulkh muha barkmêzu! (An orc-smith made your axe!)”
Without even a ‘by your leave’, Thorin turned on his heels marching back the way he came, the spluttering Saruman following him. 
“He’s…not wrong.” Gandalf muttered under his breath.
Elrond gave him a pointed look but couldn’t bring himself to argue.
“Hot tempered fool! He expects the world to run at his pace!” Saruman snapped.
“The world does run at his pace.” Galadriel reminded gently. “He’s mortal. A fate none of us can properly appreciate.”
Bilbo felt her eyes upon him even as she spoke. 
“Impatience is not a trait of all mortals! However, a legendary warrior falls into his lap to slay a dragon, and he suddenly thinks he is above it all!”
Bilbo was quite done with Saruman’s nonsense by that point. With a tap to Gandalf’s arm and a nod to the fair lady, Bilbo immediately gave chase to the dwarven party. He wasn’t quite sure which hallway to head down when he heard Thorin’s unmistakable voice giving air to his disgruntlement. 
“It’s a waste of time and slight to my dignity every time you force me to come here! I’ve had to do everything myself, why did I think this would be any different?”
“Technically Oakenshield has done all the hard work for us, but I understand your point, my King.” The older dwarf with him pointed out.
Thorin rolled his eyes. “In any case, we will have to think of another solution. I can’t very well send Oakenshield down into the bowels of my kingdom after this thing. It’s already proved itself to be quite slippery. It’ll hear him coming a mile away.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best. No one knows anything about this Burglar of the council. It may prove to be more insular than Saruman.”
“I take offense to that.” Bilbo spoke up.
The reactions were instantaneous as the dwarves spun around, hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes gliding right over the top of Bilbo’s head. His short stature having saved his life many a time while invisible, especially when dealing with the Menfolk.
“Are you the Burglar?” Thorin asked warily.
“I am.” Bilbo answered.
“Unless the council has changed their minds, I have no desire to talk.” Thorin snorted.
Bilbo swallowed thickly, suddenly able to admire the dwarf so much more now that they were feet apart. He bet he could feel the natural warmth dwarves exuded if he took just a couple more steps…
“The council may have made their decision, but I have yet to make mine.”
“I thought you were but a tool of the council’s will?” Thorin mocked.
Bilbo winced, shifting from foot to foot. It wasn’t Thorin’s fault that Saruman had made him cynical.
“Despite what Saruman seems to think, my will is my own. I find it’ll be rather difficult to stop me when I’m invisible anyways.”
Thorin and the older dwarf shared a look.
“That’s a tempting offer, Master Burglar.” The older dwarf stated. “But we wouldn’t be able to handle the fallout with the White Council when it was made apparent you went behind their wishes.”
“And yet if you had the Arkenstone, they would be forced to hear you out properly.”
Another shared look between the dwarves.
“Think it over privately.” Bilbo conceded. “You can let me know your decision before you leave.”
Thorin reached out a hand as if expecting Bilbo to walk away suddenly.
“Wait! How would we find you?” 
Bilbo thought carefully on his next words. He wanted to be seen by Thorin, and he might have a way to accomplish such a feat without jeopardizing his alternate identity.
“There is an oak tree in the center of the main courtyard. A hobbit gardener tends to the garden there. He will pass your message along to me.”
Thorin hesitated before nodding. “Very well, we will be there in two days.”
Two days. Bilbo repeated before finally allowing himself to skip away. He would actually get to meet Thorin. The heroic dwarf king of Erebor would know he existed beyond “the Burglar”. Bilbo hurried along to his rooms. After all, he had to decide on what outfit to wear for his meeting with Thorin.
***
The day King Thorin was to meet him, Bilbo could not be dragged out of the garden for any reason. Even Gandalf asking after tea was quickly sent away after making a request for him to drop off a picnic basket. Not that Bilbo had any sort of appetite as he breezed from his azaleas to his daffodils, always returning to the bluebells at the base of the oak tree. He personally transposed the tree from Bag End after losing his parents in the Fell Winter. Bilbo would never be more thankful to the wizard, rescuing him half-starved and frozen, to bring him to Rivendell to live with him. However, Bilbo felt less like a hobbit some days and more like…well, a Burglar. So it was nice to have something with roots to hold him to his own.
The sun rose and fell, and as the fireflies began to dance, Bilbo began to wonder if Thorin was coming at all. He hung his head with a sigh. He can’t say that he blamed him. He would be reluctant to trust someone invisible, someone who’s methods aren’t exactly honorable. He just thought that maybe if Thorin could see the real him…but even that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? After all, love didn’t work like that. Bilbo spun around only to stop short at the tall, burly figure wearing a mask. Bilbo clutched his heart when he realized he recognized the raven beak on the wooden mask. This was Oakenshield.
Oakenshield was the masked dwarven warrior who practically stepped out of legend to defend Erebor at its most dire. Oakenshield was the one to stand before Smaug single-handedly providing enough distraction for Bard Bowman to fire the black arrow that slay the beast. Oakenshield also risked life and limb after Azog had Thorin pinned to drive his blade into the Pale Orc, silencing the threat to Durin’s line forever. 
Bilbo had actually met Oakenshield a few times. He learned the warrior had a terrible sense of direction, and he had led him to the White Council’s balcony when Thorin first came to appeal for help. Any time a dwarven entourage came from Erebor, Oakenshield usually traveled with them. His great deeds were enough to see them over the Misties with relative ease. And while the warrior was often uncomfortably quiet, he seemed to have no problem with listening to Bilbo prattle on about anything he could think of to fill the silence. 
“You gave me a start!” Bilbo accused when he felt his heart slow back to a normal rhythm. “I suppose you were sent by your king?”
Oakenshield gave a single nod, and Bilbo tried not to display his disappointment too thoroughly.
“Of course. That makes sense. Your king is a busy individual after all. He wouldn’t have time for silly little gardeners like myself. Although you’re a grand warrior! I suppose you have far better things to do than run messages here and there.”
Oakenshield quite vehemently shook his head, making Bilbo tilt his own to the side in question. 
“I am always happy to serve my king.” Oakenshield stated in his deep grunt before giving a short bow.
“Oh! Well that’s very admirable of you! You must care for King Thorin greatly to show him so much loyalty.” 
Oakenshield seemed to shift from foot to foot before nodding. Bilbo smiled softly, thinking of all the loyalty he would show King Thorin if given the chance. However, this was neither the time or the place for such thoughts.
“Please, sit down. Unless you must return to your lord soon?”
Oakenshield hesitated before gingerly settling himself on the nearby bench. Bilbo plopped himself beside the dwarf having engaged in his company enough to be comfortable. He immediately started talking about all of the flowers and plants he had changed since Oakenshield had last visited. He wasn’t sure if the warrior was actually interested in such things, but Bilbo’s apologies for rambling were always met with insistent head shakes and quiet urges for him to continue. Bilbo figured it must be very lonely when everyone treated you like a legend. He was quite pleased to discover this softer side to Oakenshield and felt very privileged to be able to experience it. He hoped he was becoming a dear friend to him even if his request to maintain correspondence was denied. 
“Listen to me rambling on when you had a message to deliver. My apologies.” 
The warrior nodded even as his deep voice grumbled. “It was no problem. I like hearing you speak.”
Bilbo gave him a warm smile as he began to dig out his pipe for a nice evening smoke.
“But first, my King has a question about this…Burglar. What can you tell me about him?”
Bilbo chose the wrong time to inhale as he choked on the smoke accidentally filling his lungs.
“The Burglar?” Bilbo repeated. “What makes you think I know anything…?”
Bilbo trailed off at the pointed look he could feel coming from behind that mask. Right, both hobbits and Bilbo was supposed to pass a message to him. 
“Well…” Bilbo started, blowing a perfect smoke ring in the air. “He’s had a hard life. The Fell Winter was unkind, to both of us really. I suppose I hadn’t really told you about that, but in any case. Because of his…special ability, Gandalf asked him to serve on the White Council. He was told he would get the chance to help people.”
Bilbo fell quiet after remembering his first mission. He had been so eager to prove himself. So eager to do good. He was going to free some dwarves held captive in the prisons of Tharbad. He had snuck the keys right out from under the guards’ noses, somehow managed to keep the dwarves with their obnoxious boots from making too much noise. Got them all the way to the forest where he was supposed to meet Gandalf, only to find the dwarven guards from Ered Luin awaiting them. Bilbo had literally led them from one prison to a harsher one all because the Firebeards felt it necessary to dispense justice themselves. Bilbo still could hear the howls of ‘Burglar!’ from the betrayed dwarves in his nightmares. It mattered little when Gandalf tried to placate him with their crimes and how he did the right thing. It never stopped him from feeling…dirty.
Oakenshield cleared his throat. “It sounds like you two are very close.”
More than you realize. Bilbo just smiled and nodded. Things certainly got better, and Bilbo could see how what he did was for the greater good. But perhaps that’s why he wanted this job in particular. Retrieving a sacred gem for the one person in Arda who has earned the right at least tenfold. Oakenshield growled suddenly, jumping to his feet. Bilbo gave him a perplexed look as he seemed to pace in his agitation.
“Oakenshield? Have I misspoken?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, unsure of what exactly that would be.
“No! It’s not your fault. I came here because…” The warrior suddenly stopped, retrieving a small trinket from his pocket. “I confess I had an ulterior motive for meeting with you tonight. I wanted to present you with this.”
He fell to one knee in front of Bilbo presenting the object in his hand. It was a dwarven braid bead. Golden with dwarven runes etched on one side and an acorn on the other, it was not lost on Bilbo what this was. What Oakenshield meant to offer. He felt his ears burning as he carefully looked up into the raven mask of the warrior, barely making out his eyes shining in their sincerity. Bilbo swallowed thickly. Certainly, he has come to appreciate Oakenshield, but he didn’t feel the same way for the quiet dwarf as he did for his passionate king. It wouldn’t be fair. Even if Bilbo never actually got to meet King Thorin.
“Master Oakenshield, this is…”
Without waiting for an answer, he dipped the little bead from his palm into Bilbo’s. The hobbit furrowed his brow as the dwarf closed his fingers over it, but his words placated his ire.
“Please. It’s for you. I now know that your heart belongs to another, but all the same. I hope that you will keep it and remember me fondly even if I never get to braid it in your hair.”
Bilbo felt his heart tearing apart at the seams. He never wanted this. The poor lonely dwarf misinterpreting his regards for friendship as something more. He clutched the bead tightly in his fist, feeling it leave indentions in his palm.
“I’m so sorry.” Bilbo choked out.
Oakenshield’s hands hovered as if wanting to touch but feeling such a thing would be unwarranted. 
“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I’ll treasure your companionship if nothing else.”
Bilbo nodded, unable to lift his eyes past his toes. He didn’t want to see the heartbreak he was causing. 
“I’ll go.” Oakenshield stated softly. “Thank you, Bilbo. For your honesty if nothing else.”
Bilbo remained frozen in his curled up state around the burning bead in his palm, listening to Oakenshield’s footsteps fade away. Before he completely left though, the dwarf paused.
“I suppose tell your Burglar,” He stated, venom leaking into his tone. “That my king will expect him at dawn.”
Tears sprang into Bilbo’s eyes after the dwarf’s departure. What had he done? He didn’t mean for Oakenshield to fall in love with him. To gift him a gorgeous bead to court him. In all his years, Bilbo had never felt more like a Burglar than he did tonight. Stealing someone’s heart unintentionally. What made it worse was the wedge it would place between warrior and king. Bilbo never wanted to come between them, and yet Oakenshield’s departure somehow made that more than obvious that he had. This trip was about to be uncomfortable, but he could be thankful for one thing at least. At least he would be completely invisible. 
***
Thorin felt sick. His One, the being his heart sang for was in love with someone else. A Burglar in every sense of the word, and now he was having to travel with said hobbit. Thorin knew deep in his heart, it was his own fault. He could have confessed who he truly was to Bilbo. 
Many times he meant to. However, the separation of “king” and “hero” had allowed Thorin to operate around many of the council’s so-called “rules”. For while they had no problem turning down King Thorin of Erebor, when he petitioned as the warrior, Oakenshield, they were quick to give him what he needed. Well maybe not exactly what he needed, but a few extra hands in a war and a basket of herbs were certainly nothing to sneer at. 
So he adopted the ruse with very few knowing the truth, and when Oakenshield met Bilbo and felt the Longing, Oakenshield was the one who had to continue pursuing the hobbit. Only to learn, it wasn’t requited. Bilbo was just truly a kind and compassionate being in love with another. A hobbit who escaped the perils of the Fell Winter with him. There was absolutely no other way to interpret the wistful longing in his voice when he spoke of the Burglar’s plight. And when Thorin, in a panic, rushed to present him with his courting bead, Bilbo all but confessed there was another. Someone Thorin now had to travel with as he was the only being who could solve his latest problem. The Burglar was fortunate he was invisible and not subjected to the envy he could feel burning within him.
The hobbit had tried to engage him early in the journey, even asking after Oakenshield. It took everything Thorin had not to bite his head off, and explain that Oakenshield was clearing their way ahead. How dare the little rat! Wanting to rub his victory in Thorin’s face. Balin had to remind him many times to remain cordial considering the Burglar was offering his services freely. The best Thorin could manage were single syllable answers when the painfully inquisitive creature asked about something. Otherwise Balin was left to engage politely with the other being. Something made all the more difficult by his invisibility as they never knew where to look. It put Thorin on edge! And he could honestly say he was never more relieved to see their mountain home.
He left Balin to escort their guest to his own chambers while Thorin marched his way straight to his private study. Blueprints for a garden littered his desk, and it took everything he had not to rip them to shreds. His heart let out a fierce and sudden ache as he sank into his chair, putting his face in his hands. It wasn’t fair. A knock at his door had him back on his feet, his body turned towards the fire the staff had prepared upon his arrival. His quiet ‘enter’ had his sister marching right into the room making herself at home on his divan. 
“I take it your petition was a success then?”
Thorin rolled his eyes. Not by any definition of the word. When he expressed this sentiment, Dis pried further forcing him to spill the truth not only about his disastrous meeting with the Council, but also his rejection at the hands of a hobbit gardener. She picked up one of his doodles with a pained grimace.
“I’m so sorry, Thorin.” 
He shrugged. 
“But you are being pig-headed, I’ll have you know.”
Thorin whirled around, his nostrils flaring. “What did you say?”
She scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll. “This Burglar is risking his standing with his superiors all to help us out of the kindness of his heart, and because your One is in love with him, you’re going to treat him like this? Balin told me that after every attempt at conversation with you on the journey here, the Burglar was left more subdued. You are not painting yourself or our people in a very positive light.”
He wanted to argue, to defend himself and his actions, but he knew deep down she was right. She always was. 
“I think you should express your gratitude to him, maybe before he goes down to deal with a dangerous creature that could possibly kill him.”
Was it bad that Thorin kind of hoped he would die? Then Bilbo would be free to love him. His expression must have said it all, because Dis’ dark eyes somehow became softer as well as her tone of voice.
“Nadad.” 
Thorin shut his eyes tightly against that soft reprimand. So maybe he didn’t want the Burglar to die, and not just because he was their only chance to retrieve the Arkenstone. Maybe in spite of all he did to keep the invisible being at a distance, he had endeared himself to Thorin. His animated curiosity, his jovial stories at the campfire, his warm tone when he spoke. Maybe Thorin could understand exactly how Bilbo fell in love with such a being, and maybe that made it hurt all the worse.
“I will speak to him. Tomorrow as I lead him to the path below the mines. I promise.”
Dis quietly got up, making her way towards him as she gently bumped their foreheads together. 
“I love you, and I am so, so sorry things didn’t work out with your gardener.”
“Me too.”
True to his word, Thorin personally went to fetch the Burglar from his room the next day. He kept himself busy by explaining where this creature they had dubbed ‘the Gollum’ seemed to be most active, what he looked like, and advice for how best to deal with it. The Burglar was a silent companion all the while, so much so that Thorin truly feared he was literally talking to himself like the fool he was. However, stopped outside the tunnel entrance, the Burglar finally chose to address him.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do what I can to bring back your gem and restore your power amongst the Council.”
Thorin sighed. Dis’ words from the previous night were even more of an echo alongside the guilt he felt.
“No. Thank you. You are doing me and my kingdom a great service. I’m sorry that I’ve been…unable to express my gratitude properly. I do hope that you succeed not just on behalf of Erebor, but for…those that rely on you as well.”
Thorin really hoped that would be the end of it, already finding it painful to talk about Bilbo even if indirectly. However, before he could take more than a couple of steps away, the Burglar called out once more.
“Can you pass a message to Oakenshield? In case…well in case I don’t see him again?”
Thorin grit his teeth as he felt his body go rigid. 
“What could that possibly be?”
The Burglar hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was much softer.
“Please tell him…that Bilbo is sorry. He greatly valued their friendship, and he hates…the rift it’s now formed. Between…the two of you, especially.”
Thorin froze. How did he know? How did Bilbo know? Who knew first and told the other, the Burglar or Bilbo? Thorin spun around to meet the gaze of the hobbit who knew his secret only to huff at the sudden remembrance that the Burglar was invisible. Then that was it then. Bilbo somehow must have learned Thorin was Oakenshield, and he still rejected him. Clearly, there was nothing more that he could offer him. Thorin searched the torchlight for any sign that the Burglar was still there, but found none. Perhaps that’s why he allowed himself to speak freely about it for once.
“I valued our friendship too. More than he can possibly know.”
Thorin waited, breath held, for perhaps some sign that his confession was heard, but when there was none, he gave a huff and continued on his way. He had two guards stationed at the entrance to listen for the Burglar and assist him if needed. There was a tug that seemed to be urging Thorin to stay, but unable to figure out why the dwarf could only shake his head and continue on his way. 
He waited for three days for the Burglar to emerge from the caverns below. Each day had him more anxious and agitated. In fact, after a particularly obtuse guild meeting had him snapping even more than normal, Balin called an end to the meeting early. With extra hours to now pace in his worry, Thorin stomped back to his study only to be drawn short at the sight that awaited him. 
There, sitting on his desk was the Arkenstone. A gem he hadn’t seen in so long, but could never forget its beauty. Yet, that somehow wasn’t what held his attention. Next to it…was his raven mask. The one he wore as Oakenshield.
“You were right about him being a slippery one. Threatened to eat me more than once. I actually had to best him in a game of riddles to get away if you can believe it.”
Thorin whirled around trying to seek out the source of the voice, but finding no one.
“Burglar?”
“I thought you were two different people. You and Oakenshield. I thought I was creating a rift between you and him. That’s what I meant by my words.”
Thorin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Ah. Well, he certainly gave himself away there then. Except…why would the Burglar possibly think he had anything to do with the situation if he were separate from Oakenshield?
“You see, I thought you…well, I thought Oakenshield had realized that, I’m in love with you.”
Something deep inside Thorin sang at these words even as his brain struggled to unravel this confusing puzzle. So…the Burglar thought Bilbo created a rift between him and Oakenshield because the Burglar loved him? Well that wouldn’t make any sense unless…
“You’re not the only one who was keeping secrets, Thorin.”
With that, the hobbit suddenly became visible, standing much closer than Thorin had anticipated. His eyes, just as familiar and bright as Thorin saw in his dreams, were shining as he looked up at Thorin. Gauging his reaction. And something in Thorin settled with a feeling of rightness at the golden bead braided to the end of his bronze curls. Thorin realized a bark of laughter, for truly what else could he do in such a situation before grabbing Bilbo by the waist and spinning him in a circle. 
“You’re the Burglar.” He stated the obvious.
“You’re Oakenshield.” Bilbo confirmed instead.
“You’re wearing my bead.”
“I would have woven it in sooner had I known.” 
“I wish to court you, Bilbo Baggins, Burglar of my heart.”
“I had gathered as much.”
Well, there honestly wasn’t anything else to be said after that. So Thorin held him tight, and kissed him as he had always imagined doing, never realizing there could be a more wondrous feeling as Bilbo slid his hands around his neck returning the gesture just as strongly.
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tropetember · 9 months
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Friends To Lovers - Two characters have been friends for years and value their friendship above everything. Unfortunately, they’ve both also secretly fallen in love with each other - but are both too scared to confess because it feels like a betrayal of their friendship.
Secret Identity - Characters A & B have secret alter egos- they’re both in love with the wrong identity.
Whump - A character is comforted/cared for in the aftermath of torture, but the mental wounds take longer to heal than the physical damage.
Coffee Shop/Restaurant AU - Character A is waiting for a blind date and is stood up. Character B is just finishing up their shift at the establishment and, seeing the looks that A is getting, offers to stay and eat with them despite their own exhaustion.
Famous AU - Character A meets Character B for the first time and recognizes their voice as A’s favourite podcaster/radio host/voice actor.
Teacher AU - Character A is a single parent and Character B is their child’s teacher.
Historical AU - The characters are living through a historical war (WWI, WWII, etc). Their main means of communication is through letter-writing. (Epistolary fic with optional in-person scenes between/after letters.)
Time Loop/Coma - Character A is in a coma and keeps reliving the last day before they lost consciousness. There’s something they have to realise before they can wake up.
5 + 1 - 5 times Character A’s kid calls Character B Mom/Dad + 1 time Character B acknowledges they’re their kid.
Drunk Dial - Character A is obsessed with Character B and gets black-out drunk to deal with it. Someone should definitely have taken away their phone.
Business Partners To Friends To Lovers - Character A and Character B meet by chance and, realising they have compatible skills, decide to embark on a business venture together. However, they are not prepared for all the ramifications that come with working alongside each other.
Touch Starvation - A character has spent years building up a tough, strong, untouchable persona. What happens when someone finally touches them gently? (Can be romantic or platonic.)
Slice Of Life - The story of two characters written through scenes only happening in one room of their house. (A number of scenes of domestic life happening in the same room of the house).
Human/Monster Romance - Character A is a human and Character B is a sapient sea creature, and a storm washes them both up and leaves them stranded on a tiny, remote, uninhabited island.
Dating App - Character A’s friends sign them up for a no-faces dating app. Reluctantly, Character A meets someone. Character B is a bit worried about them meeting strangers so they tell their own dating-app friend all about it.  (Or: the Bantr app fic)
Reunions - Two characters reunite many years after a traumatic parting, but new information is revealed that puts everything into a different light.
Love Confession - Character A has been in love with Character B for a long time, and they’ve been trying to confess ever since, but Character B is oblivious to their attempts (or doesn’t believe they are serious). This leads to Character A making increasingly more elaborate and even ridiculous plans to prove their feelings.
Mind Reading - Character A is involved in an incident and can suddenly hear the thoughts of people around them - but only when those people are thinking about Character A. That’s unfortunately bad news for Character B.
Disaster AU - Character(s) get trapped under a collapsing building and have to wait for help without knowing if it’s coming.
Horror - Characters A & B reunite, but slowly Character B realises that Character A’s body is being controlled by… something else.
Age Changes/Future Fic - Characters A & B are old together. Some things change but some things always stay the same.
Major Character Death (maybe!) - Character A is dead. Everything reminds Character B of them. (Character death doesn’t need to be permanent.)
Mythology - Character A is an immortal being/god and Character B is the only mortal who’s interacted with them in centuries.
Accidental Baby Acquisition - Character A rescues a baby/kid, and is then made responsible for the child. Character B is unprepared when they bring them home.
Not Actually Unrequited Love - Character A is trying to move on from Character B by setting B up on a date. Unfortunately, Character B takes this as confirmation that their own feelings for A are not returned.
Fake Dating - Character B pretends to be Character A’s partner so they can stay together while A is sick/injured. The charade goes on far longer than either of them expect. Finally being apart should be a relief, so why does it feel more like a real breakup?
Sexuality Crisis - A repressed character in a homophobic society finds themselves thrust into a city’s underground gay scene, where they meet someone they never expected.
Holidays - Character A’s family is expecting them to bring a date to the annual holiday family reunion. They choose to bring Character B (dating optional).
Regency Style Romance - ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse.’ (Feel free to change gender as needed.)
Optional:
Hanahaki Disease - Character A is not good at expressing their emotions - this time it might just kill them.
Cowboy/Wild West AU - Character A wants to leave the city. They answer to a newspaper ad for a spouse/farm hand to live on a remote homestead owned by Character B.
Free Space - write the wildest thing you can think of!
Link to main Prompt List
Link to Rules & FAQ
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fanarts-manga · 7 months
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Loid and Yor from Spy × Family for my Tropetember 2023 contribution for the prompt : Slice Of Life.​
@tropetember
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the-fluff-piece · 7 months
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Tropetember 8
Law's Amnesia
Also check out my stories and headcanon masterlists
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Law gets knocked out and gets - AMNESIA! But not the boring medical kind, the fun quirky kind of tropes. He shows the crew a different side as he forgets who he is and what hardships he had to endure
"Kind of sucks when your doc is the one who would need help..." Shachi mused as he and Bepo monitored Law's condition.
He got a massive hit in the head from Luffy - by accident, the other captain swore. Now he was out and sleeping it off.
Bepo put his paw on Law's forehead, patting his captain for comfort.
You've offered to take over so the others could get some sleep. Taking a book and some tea with you, you prepared for an uneventful night.
Law had a light bruise in his head but it didn't make him any less handsome. His face looked stern, even when he was unconscious. His fine features were heartbreaking as always and you allowed yourself to let your fingers trail down his cheek - only to check his temperature and general condition of course.
When you felt his groomed goatee under your fingers, he twitched lightly, making you jump.
He grimaced in pain and groaned, opening his eyes slowly and lifting his head.
"Law, you're awake!" You stated the obvious as you tried to keep him down. Of course, your captain had to wear a half open shirt and of course, you happened to touch his bare chest.
"You need to stay in bed or you'll get dizzy!" You warned him.
"What?" He asked, his eyes looking at you with a confused expression.
With soft force, you pressed him into the bed again, while his eyes were fixed on your face.
"Who are you? Where am I?" He asked, the softness and higher pitch of his voice sounded unfamiliar to you.
"Captain that's not funny, it's me, y/n" you still had to press him down, he was surprisingly strong for just waking up.
"Captain? Who?" He pushed against you and sat up, shaking his head.
"Wow, cool stuff!" He looked around his own medical bay as of he was seeing it for the first time.
"And who are you again?" He asked you, looking you up and down with open interest.
"Are you some kind of mechanic? Is that your tech stuff?" His voice sounded excited and light, absolutely not like his usual self.
As he moved to get out of the bed you pressed him back down with all your power and only succeeded because you surprised him with a jump.
"Whoa, babe, slow down!" He chuckled as you found yourself half on top of him, both hands on his chest.
"You uhm.. you need to lie down, you took a serious blow to the head" you explained with urgency.
"So you're like...my girlfriend?" His eyes beamed like a little boy's in a candy store.
"You're cute!" He said as he grabbed your shoulders and drew you into an embrace.
"CAPTAIN" you screamed, trying to wiggle out of an iron grip.
"Where?" Law let go and looked around.
You jumped down from the bed and caught your breath - he has lost his mind!
And he was already swinging his feet out of the bed, energetically looking around like a 5 year old on sugar.
"I have to see the rest of this thing!" He ran towards the door, and you couldn't hold him back. He was far stronger and faster than you, instead he grabbed your hand and dragged you with him through the door.
"Wow, where am I?" He asked.
"The polar tang - your ship!" You said as you tried to keep up with his long strides.
"My ship? And my girlfriend! I'm so lucky! Just the name of the ship is weird" He laughed. He dragged you down the corridor and to deck, where he stopped dead in his tracks.
"A bear!?" He looked at Bepo in disbelief. The white bear sat on deck and enjoyed some cool night air. As soon as he heard Law's comment, he blushed and stammered excuses.
"Ca...captain??? You are awake?" He eventually got a hold of himself.
Law approached his first mate really carefully.
"A talking bear!" He said.
"SORRY" Bepo bowed down.
"Hey whaaa...?" Bepo blushed until he became a fleshy pink.
As he bowed down, Law grabbed his ears and was squeezing them thoroughly while making "awww" sounds and giggling.
"What's going on here?" Shachi appeared in the door, looking shocked. "He isn't supposed to be up yet!"
"He just...I think he has amnesia!" You said.
"Amnesia?" Shachi rubbed his chin.
"Could be. In any case, you need to get back to bed Captain!" He said to Law.
"Who's this captain?" Law looked around and finally stopped molesting Bepo, who sank to his as a whimpering white mess.
"You are! And we need you! So please go back to bed, you need rest!" Now Shachi helped you to push Law back in the direction of sick Bay.
"Me? Captain? Wow, my life is awesome! I have a cute girlfriend, a ship AND a crew???" He looked like he could burst from happiness and excitement.
"...girlfriend?" Shachi asked.
"He kind of decided that I am his girlfriend" you answered, blushing.
Shachi seemed like he wanted to make a sassy comment when Law suddenly dug in his heels and stared at his reflection in one of the windows.
He studied the tattoos on his chest and hands and let his hands run through his hair.
"I...I..." he seemed overwhelmed, "I look like a crook! A gangster! A...a..." he seemed at a loss for words.
"A pirate?" You helped him.
"Yes! One of those! That would be awful!" He said it with such upstanding distaste that you and Shachi just had to exchange a glance to come to the same conclusion.
"Of course your not a pirate. You're a...fashion model!" You told him.
"Woah, really?" Law seemed to relax again - and become more docile.
"Yes and I am your girlfriend! Let's go to bed, it's late!" It still felt strange to talk to him that way, but he seemed to like what he heard and followed you like a lamb back to his sick bed.
"See? That wasn't so bad. Now you just have to lay down again so you can rest." You indicated the bed with your outstretched hand.
"It seems really small" Law said.
"It's big enough for you" You said.
"And you?" Law blushed.
"What about me?" He confused you now.
"I mean...since you are my girlfriend, you sleep in my bed" He grinned.
"Uhm..." You had to swallow and looked at Shachi for help. He grinned, to. That bastard.
"You two are so in love, you squeeze into a tiny bed" He chuckled maliciously and slowly walked out of the room.
"So romantic! I love cuddling. I think" Law was absolutely on board and threw himself into the cushions, his arms open to receive you.
"Uhm...why don't you go to sleep while I work some more?" You said.
"I am hurt and need rest. You said so yourself! I need you to sleep" Law stated like a kid that just outwitted a grown up.
"Fine." You awkwardly settled on the bed, when Law shook his head.
"Your boiler suit is dirty. You don't sleep with that" He indicated some oil stains on your suit.
You never wore more than underwear and a shirt under that thing. It could get hot. But he really needed to sleep, so you pulled down the zipper under Law's lusty gaze. When you finally slipped it from your shoulders, he commented with another "wow" as he stared at you with undeniable adoration.
He opened his arms again and tucked you into his side as soon as you settled on the bed. Immediately you noticed his cold, clammy hands.
"Law, you're so cold, are you hungry? Are you dizzy?" You asked.
"So...sleepy...with...girlfriend..." he rested his head on your shoulder as he pressed against you and seemed to pass out again. You waited until he breathed deeply and evenly and slipped out of his tight grip.
He looked relaxed and content as he slept and you resumed your watch over him.
-----
Yes, I'm pretty sure that head injuries don't work like that, but this is tropetember so Law has the right kind of Amnesia and will be fine xD I hope you enjoyed it
Taglist@yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @livwritesfics @violetmatcha
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ramblingkat · 7 months
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bleach (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke Additional Tags: Tropetember, Whumptember, why am I doing this to myself, Ichigo does not like this sensation, some gore, But mostly healing afterwards, Nobody approves of this, Blame the UraIchi Discord, Especially Cross, Blame the Rat Pit Series: Part 1 of TropeWhumptember Summary:
An arrow to the back is not a nice thing. Ichigo loses some blood, some coherency, and his brain to mouth filter. He misses the last the most.
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dolcezzzza · 7 months
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TROPETEMBER 1: "Love at First Sight"
♥ 𝘈𝘬𝘪 𝘏𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
pov : second person, she/her pronouns, no physical description; ~pre-canon Chainsaw Man ☆ rating + tags: SFW: rated PG13 for cursing and violence, grossness as per the CSM universe, love at first sight, fluff ☆ word count: ~2.4k ☆ author's note: welcome to the first day of my Tropetember event! no promises that everything will be prompt daily but my goal is to complete them all.. eventually! :) ☆ ao3
Your first day working with Public Safety had been terrible; even worse in retrospect as you piecemeal the day together, lying half-draped across your dining room chair and aimlessly drawing streaked images in ketchup with Family Burger fries.
The morning?
The morning, you had dropped your pen, failed to recover it, and instead used the narrow end of a highlighter to mark down anything important. Naturally every note became thoroughly, immediately, illegible. The morning, you had met tens of new coworkers whose names you tried to burn into memory. All but a handful are already forgotten. The morning, spent on a facility tour with a small cohort of other silent new employees. The morning, you had accidentally locked yourself in the bathroom that only the most frantic jiggling of the door could unstick.
You were contemplating tendering your resignation by that point.
“This sucks,” you heard someone in the group mumble during the training videos. Thus far you’d been inclined to agree.
In the morning, you had first seen him, too; just a hand raking through the underside of hair swept up into a top-knot, a middle finger bending to hook through the elastic hair tie and the shift of a starched collar as he shrugged in some response.
“Do you have a lighter?” was what you had heard as you walked past in hasty tandem with the tour guide, and you almost drew your hand to your purse. In that moment you would have given anything to that gentle voice. You don’t even often carry a lighter.
And now you think of the afternoon and groan, breath condensing into the table and ketchup spattering like blood as you throw your hand down.
Fuck.
“Fuck!” came the scream of another Devil Hunter. Her convenience store lunch slipped from her hands. The bag burst as it broke across the street and your own remnants dropped seconds before.
“What is that?” you breathed, eyes wide as the saffron yellow, gelatinous thing engulfed another street sign, the pole bending forward and red triangle refracting light across the road as it melted. It convulsed, the form parting in something that could best be described as opening its fucking mouth, revealing decaying black innards in the churning mass beyond.
“Quicksand Devil,” she said, and you looked wildly to her, as she spread her hands helplessly. You had recognized her from the morning tour, another novice straight out of completing the intake paperwork. What was her name?
Even now as you frown at your Family Burger you can’t remember it.
The Devil’s sludge had splashed heavily through the windows of a 7-Eleven. You looked back at her and found her eyes wide, still stuck to you.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do something!” she said, voice growing more shrill with panic.
“Do what something?” you asked again, even as your hands patted desperately empty pockets. No weapons strapped to your back or up your sleeve like the more experienced Devil Hunters. All that rose under your fingers were the useless coins left after paying for this wasted lunch.
“Don’t you have any Devil contracts yet?”
You shook your head. “I’m new.”
God, I wanna go home.
She grimaced. The freckles on her face seemed to rise to prominence with just how pale her face grew, eyes luminous and fixed on the Quicksand Devil. It lurched down the alley towards the two of you, some boggy rotten stench wafting nauseatingly with it. It made your eyes water, and you lifted your arm over your nose to desperately block the putridity.
The Devil recoiled at your sudden action and rose high into the air. It made some grating guttural screech, like nails echoing down a chalkboard. You took a step back in alarm.
It twisted and began to turn down, angled straight at the two of you.
“Don’t antagonize it, fuck!”
“I’m not trying to?”
The other new Devil Hunter only screamed in hysterical laughter. “I want to go home!” she yelped, echoing your own panicked thoughts.
I’m fucking quitting.
And then came back another voice from behind - “Kon.”
This voice was strong, sharp, bidding forth an enormous pair of snarling jaws that erupted from the air around you, eliciting another scream from the girl. The pure shockwave through the wind knocked the air clean out of you, and you doubled over, clutching a painfully empty stomach. The Quicksand Devil still spiraled down to your bodies, as these terrible teeth bared, snapped open to bisect it.
“Move, move!” the girl screamed as your fingers knotted into each other and you struggled to stand upright again.
But he stepped forward first, the outstretched hand the first to enter your field of vision – and you looked up - clean, groomed, square nails, up to the pale wrist highlighted with tense tendons, crisp black suit jacket – and up. You weren’t looking at the Devil anymore, at that putrid incoming death twisting down between the jaws of a giant fox head, but at the hair swept up at the napes of his neck. Up to a top knot that seemed so instantly familiar, as it spiked up with strands caught in the winds of motion.
He was standing before you, other hand reaching back with broad fingers for the katana strapped along his shoulder blades, and in an instant you remembered what the training videos had so childishly laid out on a static-fuzzed screen. The little animation of a jeering Devil had slipped closer, closer, to a cartoon Hunter. The figure waited patiently for it to come within reach before slashing out with a knight-in-shining-armor beam of onomatopoeia and special effects to slay the Devil, head rolling with X’s for eyes as everyone cheered.
Then there had been the follow-up version with frowning emoticons where the Devil Hunter had moved too slowly, arm moving out of time, and the Devil bit the little cartoon head clean off with a fountain of blood in its place.
The man with the top knot gripped the katana handle.
“Steady,” he said, and it took a second to realize he was talking to you. “I’ve got this, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
These moments as tar rained down could have been his last, and here he was comforting you. Your clammy hands relaxed from your abdomen, and you watched yourself reach out, reach for him. In that instant, there was another roar of wind as those fox jaws snapped clean through the Quicksand Devil.
The Devil’s decapitation was gruesome. The tarred sludge those teeth burst into popped like a sickly balloon. It came down hot, rancid, and your empty stomach convulsed in an unsatisfied urge to dry heave.
“Disgusting,” came a growling voice somewhere from above. You agreed.
“You don’t want to eat?” the top knot Devil Hunter called sardonically up at the teeth dripping with black.
“Disgusting,” the voice repeated, a shadow slowly fading as the sun seemed to make its way back between the buildings into the alley.
You remembered the other Devil Hunter only when she emerged out of a doorway, out of harm’s way and clean of the sludge. She coughed.
It made you break your gaze from him at last. Like the snapping of a cobweb, he slowly drew away as well, hand relaxing down from his grip on the katana as he stepped forward to examine the mess of Devil remnants. You walked towards her with shaky knees.
“I know him,” the girl said under her breath, her eyes narrowed on the man with the top knot. “Oh, they mentioned him during orientation. Remember? He’s the best, he’s one of the best, Aki Hayakawa.”
He turned back then, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, smearing that rotted blackness across his starkly pale skin.
“The Fox Devil only enters contracts with those it finds attractive,” she had whispered. “He’s hot.”
He’s perfect, is what you had to keep yourself from saying.
Aki had, with those eyes of stone, not unkindly sent you back to the office, told you to clean up in the locker room. He had stayed behind and you heard him tell the other girl to start cleaning; she had howledin dismay.
The late afternoon went a little differently. And this was…
You lift a French fry under the harsh light. The afternoon had been better than the morning.
You had walked with determination down the hall, clutching papers in freshly washed hands hard enough to crease, and in front of a window you had seen him again. But this time you saw him properly, and even thinking now with a fistful of cold French fries filling your vision, you can see the green of his eyes as the sun cuts across his face, amber light setting a portion of his skin aglow.
And you had swallowed, finding your throat dry.
“Who the hell does she think she is?” someone had muttered behind you in a manner clearly meant to be overheard. There’s a tittering sound of agreement, and all the fears of earlier hours began to beat in your ears, so loud it became hard to know if the words came from something churning in your mind, or other lips in the hallway. The events of lunchtime had spread faster than you’d imagined they would.
“He stepped in front of her?”
“She went up to it alone?
“He’s so good.”
“Aki’s just such a good person.”
“Shouldn’t she know to be armed? What are they teaching those fucking rookies?”
That other novice Devil Hunter from lunch looked at you in silence cowardice, her only sound the snapping of readjusting her barrettes. Aki had fought. She had fled. You had merely frozen, that worst option of all, about to be nothing left but a sad face emoticon on next year’s training video. Just as Aki could have been if he had moved too slow to your defense.
And was he circulating the rumors too? He was watching at the end of the hallway, his footsteps stilled as you approached.
You clenched your hands, squeezed in fists and crinkling the paper.
Perhaps the best approach would be to be defensive, hostile, here in these halls where polite smiles get you nowhere and the crisp professionalism only extends as far as blazers buttoned over slumped shoulders. You felt those eyes burn on you, and you steadied your grip as you walked towards him down the hall. Yes, you would steel yourself. You hadn’t asked for this Aki Hayakawa to come rescue you. It was as much his fault for being down that road at the same time you were. And who does he think he is right now, impassive and waiting for you to come to him?
If he has a problem, like everyone else has a problem - then, well, it’s a problem.
So that’s how you had walked down the hallway, prepared to speak with a biting tongue, but Aki had spoken first.
“Hello.”
The word comes soft. It’s softer than you’d expected. His tone is gentle, and your bluster goes out the window. You had prepared for battle, not for kindness. And your face flushed hot, blood beating behind your ears.
But there was no time to regroup when Aki looked right at you. And you stared back, shamelessly, in an instant memorizing his face within the framed window light. His eyelashes caught in the sun, casting spiking shadows across his cheekbones, an echo of the hair sticking up from the back of his head. His lips pressed together for a moment, the corners of his mouth tight, and then he let out a soft puff of breath.
“It’s your first day here, right?”
You nodded, opened your mouth, and words didn’t come.
Aki waited.
“You…” It felt lame to say you saved me, so you swallowed and tried again. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he said, as if he knew the words you had choked down. “You can’t die on your first day.”
“Well. They do say you’re a good person,” you said.
Aki frowned – a gesture that wrinkled his nose, his eyes at last breaking their confident hold.
“I don’t think any of us are good people anymore.”
Your lips twisted, but Aki wasn’t smiling.
“I think saving someone’s life counts,” you said. “I think it makes you a good person.”
Aki hesitated and shrugged. “I don’t want to watch anyone else die,” he said, as if it were just that simple.
You pursed your lips, and looked past him. The papers felt too stiff in your hands. Eyes were on you from the cubicles behind. And Aki stood there still, for some reason not moving any further down the hall.
The words you had swallowed, all the frightened emotions of the day, came back in a burst, a second wind of bravado. You angled your body back to him.
“Do you remember the training videos you had to watch? If you remember your own first day. Or, I mean, if you even had to watch training videos when you started. I don’t know how long you’ve been working here.”
Aki opened his mouth. You saw, and kept speaking.
“Anyway. There were these animations we watched this morning. The Devil Hunter character looked like one of old British fairy tale knights, with the clunky armor, and he had a little sword like it, too. I didn’t really get how it would work in real life. I didn’t know what to do when I saw a Devil. But you were like that knight. You – you saved me, you were my knight. My knight in shining armor. Um. Or something.”
The spirit left you with the wind, your lungs tightening as your sentences rambled on to a stammering, embarrassing conclusion, but that’s when Aki did it as you nodded your head and muttered, “anyway,” and scampered down the hall clutching papers like your life depended on it.
He smiled at last.
And that’s how the evening crept on. Every time you looked at Aki you caught his eyes already on you. It’s instinct, the way you promptly looked away, flushing hot again with fingers shaking. And Aki never averted his eyes. The last hours of that nightmare first work day melting into a beautiful dream.
You think of him now, and feel your lips turn in a smile again.
You were not prepared for this. None of this is what you signed up for with the Devil Hunters. And for what it’s worth, at this point, you don’t know what you had been expecting. But somewhere along the way today, with each piece of Aki that came across your path and left him standing dazzling before you, it became something worth signing up for.
Because –
“Oh,” you say out loud to yourself. “Oh god damn it. I’m in love.”
Ketchup spatters across the table again as you spin a cold fry in the air. Maybe you won’t quit after all.
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