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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

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longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткнуться”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

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cyantomatos · 3 years

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Kinktober - Day 11

Day 11 of the Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen

Prompt: Being recorded || Sleepy sex || Mirror sex

Character: Marcus Moreno

It had been the day from hell. From the moment you woke up it felt like the work was working against you.

First, your phone updated overnight and reset your alarms, meaning you woke up to Marcus’ alarm, which was a solid half hour after you were supposed to already be up. You were out of creamer, so you had to take your coffee with only plain sugar. On a normal day you would have just grumbled about that and moved on, but you were already in a rush and upset. It had snowed the night before, meaning you needed to clean your windows off and scrape off a layer of ice, and everyone in town had seemingly forgotten how to drive en-masse overnight because of the dusting of powder on the road.

Meetings ran long, paperwork was missing, you forgot your lunch on the kitchen table. Your heel broke on your way back from picking up your substitute lunch, your favorite sweater got caught on a doorknob that yanked several of the stitches out of place. Your creepy co-worker hit on you, again, despite blatant disinterest on your part - and the ring on your finger, put there by your very famous and sometimes very scary fiancé. Someone forgot to pick up an important client from the airport, the break room fridge was also out of creamer.

By five you were ready to call it a day - a horrible day, but a day - and you were packing your things up and already planning the bubble bath and candle scents and then-

“Hey, could you stay late and work on these reports? I forgot they need to be sorted through and categorized before my breakfast meeting tomorrow. You don’t mind, right?”

By the time you made it out of the office, a neat pile of color coded reports placed somewhat passive-aggressively on your boss’ empty desk, it was almost ten. Marcus was probably already in bed, and you didn’t want to wake him, so you snuck into the apartment as quietly as you could.

Instead of a dark and empty living room, you were greeted by the sight of your fiancé spread out on the couch, a movie playing quietly in the background. Your heart swelled at the sight, imagining him stubbornly staying awake to be there when you got back and eventually drifting off as he lost the fight against sleep.

You didn’t want to wake him, but if he stayed on that couch his back would give him hell tomorrow, so you set your bag down and toed off your shoes and crept forward. Softly you laid your hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Marcus, baby, you need to wake up. You can’t sleep here, it’ll hurt your back.” Thankfully Marcus wasn’t one to wake quickly or violently. Instead, soft brown eyes slowly blinked open up at you in the flickering light of the television. You knew exactly when he registered your face, a sleep mile breaking out across his own.

“Hey, baby. Fuck, did I fall asleep? I wanted to be awake when you got home…” As he spoke his arms lifted lazily off the couch, wrapping around you and tugging you down on top of him. You giggled at his sleepy antics, wiggling around to get comfortable before nuzzling into his neck with a contented sigh.

“It’s ok, Marcus. I’m just glad to be home with you. Today was awful.” Your fiancé let out a sleepy hum, arms working to draw you even closer. “Can I fix it?”

You hesitate for a moment before finally shaking your head. “No, just need you. That’s enough.”

Marcus hums quietly again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Need, or need?” He presses your hips down in emphasis, pressing you against where he’s already half hard for you. You lift your head from where it rests on his chest to grin down at him. “I wouldn’t object to either.”

With a grin one of his hands slides up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a soft kiss. Your own hands move, one shifting to prop your body up and the other sliding down to slip under the hem of his shirt. Featherlight touches across his belly and down towards the waistband of his shorts make his stomach muscles contract involuntarily, hardening under your fingers and drawing a groan from you.

Maybe it was the hard day, or maybe it was just the man under you being so damned sexy, but he’s barely touched you and you’re already needy and wanting for him. He takes it at his own pace though, and by the time his fingers slide up your thigh and under the hem of your dress he finds you dripping for him. Marcus lets out a low groan, slipping two fingers into your panties.

“Already wet for me, baby?” You whine and nod, grinding down against his fingers and hard length through his shorts. “Need you, Marcus, please.” For a second you think he’s going to draw it out to make you beg, but he relents and pushes your hips up so he can shimmy his shorts down enough to free himself.

You sit up straight, bracing your hands on his chest as he lines himself up with your cunt. Slowly, you sink down onto him, your eyes closing and your head tipping back as he stretches you open inch by inch. He watches you with lidded eyes, and as you open your own you can’t help but wonder how he manages to look so fucking good after being woken up from a nap on the couch.

You set a slow pace, reluctant to lose the sleepy, slow intimacy with rushed and eager movements. Marcus’ hands grip your hips, guiding you and helping to keep you going when he hits a particularly stunning spot and you whimper and lose the rhythm you’d set.

After a few moments one of his hands drifts up to the back of your head and guides you back down into another kiss, and his hips begin to thrust up into you to compensate for the angle. The change makes him feel so much fucking bigger inside you, and with every thrust he hits something devastating inside you and you go boneless atop him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s pushing you towards the edge, and you don’t even mind the slow build-up. This isn’t about getting to the end, it’s about the journey to get there and how close you feel to him in this moment. He’s wrapped around you, invading your senses, the only thing you can think about, and the events of your awful day fade away in the face of his love.

Eventually your body gets impatient, tired of sitting on the edge for so long with nothing new to push you over, and your hips start grinding down against him again. You’d long ago broken the kiss, instead burying your face against his neck and peppering soft kisses to his collarbone, and you tilt your head now to murmur in his ear.

“M’close baby, please, please make me come.” Marcus groans, his movements picking up speed, and you whine against his neck. His hand slips around, wiggling between the two of you until he can rub a finger over your swollen clit, and it’s like a magic button. You cry out, walls tightening and rippling around Marcus, and only seconds later he presses up into you hard, going still as he spills inside you.

It’s not a mind-blowing orgasm, but you drift for a while in hazy bliss, caught somewhere between the pleasure of your release and sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness. Eventually, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead, and you lift your head to see Marcus smiling sleepily down at you.

“We need to get up, baby. Can’t sleep here, both our backs will be angry in the morning.” You just grumble because you know he’s right, reluctant to give up your comfy bed on his chest. With a sigh - and a light smack to your ass from Marcus - you clamber to your feet.

After both of you are clean and in bed he tugs you against his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you drift off to sleep, all thoughts of your awful day completely gone.

#tppkinktober2021 #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #We Can Be Heroes fic #Marcus Moreno fic

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jj-lynn21 · 3 years

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Santa’s favorite Elf Part 2: Ch 6:

Santa’s fav elf ch 1, Santa’s fav elf ch 2, Santa’s fav elf ch 3, Santa’s fav elf ch 4

Santa’s fav Elf Part 2 ch 1, ch 2, ch 3 ch 4 ch 5, ch6

Warnings: smut, behind the scenes, The end

You rub your thighs. Your knees on either side of Bill’s pelvis. “I’m not sure I can do this in front of everyone.”

“It will be a closed set.” Bill ran his hands down your sides. “And we really won’t be doing anything. I’ll have a mesh sock over my cock. You will have a flesh-colored thong on. You signed a contract that said you were okay with showing a little tits and ass. You will do great. Just roll your hips a little.”

You grind into his groin. “like this?”

He groaned. “This isn’t going to be easy. No actual touching.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You take his hands putting them on your breasts. “But this is in the script.” You roll your hips again barely grazing his bulge. “Like that?”

Bill bites his lip. ‘Oh, fuck I hope not.”

His hands move to your cheek coaxing you down as he lifts his head to kiss you in a way that makes your toes tingle. He loosens your lips with his tongue as he turns you on your back for the control he wants, and you let him have it. You chase his lips with your as he starts to move away. His face nuzzles yours.

“I know this is a really bad time but if I don’t blurt it out now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you.” You breathed.

“What? Do you want me to stop?” He stopped looking at you curiously. His hands inches away from removing your panties.

“I think I’m in love with you!” You pulled him down for another kiss. “And please don’t stop.”

“I love you to sweet...” he kissed you. “sweet,” he went in again. “woman.” He slid your panties off with a gleam in his eyes. He got out of his briefs. “Be my friend, my lover, my companion, my käraste.”

“Yes.” You whimper as he filled you. “It's not going to be this good tomorrow.”

“faking it never is.” He pants.

You crash into each other with intensity and need. Fitting together perfectly as you climb higher and higher to that point of bliss. He finally reminds you why he is the best you ever had.

He falls over beside you exhausted. “Remind me why I didn’t want to do that sooner. You are amazing.”

“Something about friends versus lovers.” You were breathing heavily still. “I think we have always been both.”

“Shower and we will go to the hotel bar for a late bite while they put new sheets on the bed?” He kissed your temple. “käraste.”

“Sure.” You looked at him dreamily your brain still flooded with oxytocin.

The night ends snuggle in his arm as you drift off to sleep. When the alarm rang at 4am it seemed like you only slept for minutes. It was five hours. Nervousness made your stomach flutter. You still managed to get down some caffeine, surgar and carbs before costume and makeup did their magic to make you Santa’s favorite Elf once more.

It was a very brisk windy morning when you went to film part one of your scene with Bill. It was -2.7°C (27.1°F) and still dark outside to see the lights above. The assistant director told you the shot was looking beautiful through the camera. All they need was you to provide the magic to bring back Santa.

You performed twenty times or more. A bunch of times in an over-the-top manner. You cackled as you performed the spell. When the sun was creating too much light to look like the middle of the night the director yell, “cut, that’s lunch.” It was noon.

Bill came over with a big smile on his face. He whispered really close to your ear. “You did great, Min käraste.”

You filmed one more part outside. The part where Santa appears. Your only line was “Santa”. Santa says nothing just puts his bony looking cold hands on your face to kiss you as you close your eyes. You put your arms around him inside of his coat. The director yelled ”cut”.

The A. D. came over. “Santa put your hands into her hair more, so we see her face. Miss Winterblows sliding your hands around him was great instinct. Try a little lower. Then slide them up his back.”

“Action.”

You did what you were instructed or so your thought. When the director yells cut, he also said don’t move. Your lips were still kissing. Eyes still closed when you felt someone move your hands to rest on top of Bill’s large Santa bum over his Santa suit. You also felt Bill’s hands move high into the hair on the wig you wore.

“Okay, he wants you to end up just like this.” The A.D. directed. Take a breath and we will go again.

You and Bill took two minutes as they reset. Then you did the scene again and again and....ect. And until the director yelled “cut, take a break.”

You had a coffee sitting in a holding area with Bill. You were quiet and nervous about the next scene. Your nose wiggled as you looked at some scene blocking notes.

Bill touches your knee under the table squeezing a little. “I told you it would be technical.”

“It will be shot indoors made to look like a snowy mountain side so at least you will not freeze your nuts off.” You giggled.

“Exactly what I told you.” He chuckled.

The scene took hours. It was slow. If anything organic would start “cut” was yelled. It was not nearly as hot and steamy as it looked on camera. Fake sweat was dappled on your head. It ran down your body as you were straddling Bill on the set of cotton and fake snow. Bill had your breasts covered with his hands for most of the scene even a close-up.

It felt so silly and a little embarrassing because of the pace of filming. You were grateful to let out the giggles when the final “cut !” was yelled wrapping production for the day. Two people rushed over to cover you and Bill in robes so you could walk across set comfortably to dress in a tiny room.

Later cuddling in bed, you stroke Bill’s chest. “Tomorrow I have one more scene and then I am done. Homeward bound until next we meet, I suppose.”

His arms tighten around you. “Or you could stay until I am finished. I know you have some American holidays to spend with family and friends but come spend some time with me in Sweden before the year is done.”

“I would like that.” You smiled up at him. “I would like that a lot.”

#fantasy #fan fic #christmas fanfic #bill skarsgard #Santa's favorite elf #x-reader #movie making

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firstlady-mercedesevans · 3 years

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Stone Cold

INVOLVED: Mercedes Evans and William Samuel Evans LOCATION: Loudon Park Cemetery; Baltimore, Maryland TIME FRAME: - NOTES: Mercedes goes back to the family home. AUTHOR’S NOTE: trigger warning; mentions teen death.

“We’ve arrived, Mr. President.” The frozen Baltimore wind whooshed into the car. William clutched his knees, inhaling the stiff, bitter cold. “Of course.” He whispered; stomach clenched. Where else could they be? He exhaled and inhaled, wrestling the emotion to leave this Godless place. “Sir…” William’s head snapped to the face of the secret service agent. Nothing changed about the guard’s demeanor. Not his face; or his hand holding the door of the presidential limousine. But the trained killer conceded. He took a half step away from the open door.

She’d been seen in better light than this, even as snow fell, she couldn’t bring herself to get up. The stairs had her bound to them, despite how horribly uncomfortable laying against them was her body hadn’t quite caught up with her mind. She blinked slowly as she gazed at nothing in particular, exhaustion had met its match with heartbreak and now they both tangoed with her soul. The tears against her face left like ice cubes yet, she still didn’t move. How could she? She’d be leaving him here again, as she did before, as she’d done the day of his funeral, like she had every day for several months on end after that. She was bound, rather it was her body or her soul that she didn’t know but she was okay, okay with the thought of dying here. Because she didn’t see herself moving, getting up wasn’t a choice, she’d lay here, lying near him here brought more peace than the pillows she’d lie on elsewhere.

William nodded, an affirming action for himself, then climbed from the car. His feet crunch on the snow-covered gravel of the drive. He rose from the car, working his glove over his hand, determined to tower over the bone filled ground. A reminder to the sea of graves they had no claim on him. Pulling in another deep breath, the cold burned his chest. So, he repeated the process over and over again. Claiming another victory over reaper. Six secret service men surrounded the president, leading him through the labyrinth of graves. Everything is covered in white. Everything except the ring of guards surrounding Mercedes. They stood out like some dark omen arriving too late. That’s when he spots her. “Jesus…” He utters and breaks into a run. The men quickened their pace, keeping pace with the older man. William tore at the buttons of his overcoat. Hissing, he uses his teeth to pull off his glove and spits it to the ground. He tugs at the last 3 buttons of his coat, removing it. Going to one knee, he threw the jacket over the first lady, tucking it in around her frame. His finger brushed over her bangs, her already frozen skin alarming him further. “Mercedes … it’s time to go.”

Mercedes breathed a heavy sigh; her fingers were freezing at any moment she felt they’d fall off. But it still wasn’t enough for her. Her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them longingly. Again, staring off at nothing at all until she heard his voice, her eyes moved slowly to climb up her husband. One arm tucked under her head she said, “what are you doing here?” confused and dazed to an extent. His words were so predictable, it’s time to go, of course it was. His jacket did feel a little warmer though “I was in labor with him for 26 hours” she spoke her eyes fixed on a headstone nearby “and I didn’t even get to spend 26 years with him” she said, a sniffle leaving her as she closed her eyes.

Williams squeezed his lips together to keep his teeth from chattering. “I tried to call.” He told her softly, “You didn’t answer. So… I came.” He told her rubbing his thumb across her cheek. His eyes clung to her face as if she was the last life vest on a sinking ship. “I know. It’s not fair.” He looked up at the sky and exhaled, at a loss for words. “Hey, hey.” he said after a moment, “Here.” he slipped his hand under his wife’s arm, lifting it. Then rested her head in his lap. Silently, he ran his hand down the length of her body. It was not a gentle, loving gesture. He wanted to rub warmth back into limbs.

She almost felt the love in his statement and his touch when he caressed her cheek, a simple action that brought back so many memories of what used to be. He shifted her slightly and she winced at the sudden change, she knew she needed to get up. Mercedes shifted her sleeping feet a bit, trying to wiggle some life in them in her suede heel. “I did it to spite you at first, but I have so many people counting on me to make a change in this world. And I don’t know if I can, Madison was right I can’t handle all of this. What’s left of my heart is just breaking all over again…” she said as she began to break down.

William’s hand slowed to a stop. He’d ranted and even accused her of using this to hurt him. Somehow her confirming his accusations. That hurt. His jaw cliched and he swallowed thickly but went back to rubbing the woman’s side. “You are changing the world. Right now.” He said matter of fact. “You are brave enough to know your limits. To show the world, it’s okay to grieve.” He exhaled a white cone spreading out in front of him. A pain expression came to his face as he thought of his little girls. “Our daughter is insightful. You need more time to heal. That’s all. Then you can do anything you want. You always have.” He felt her sobs coming, instinctively. He leaned in to cover her with his body, kissing her hair as he repeated over and over again. “It’s fine… It’s fine.”

He spoke to her like a grief counselor, where was his emotion? She sniffled hard when she thought about it to herself, he accused of moving on, yet they never saw him do anything. Just like now. A pat, a rub, a kiss to the hair. His son had died, his only son. And the only thing he could offer her was “it’s fine” it fell from her lips, a pivotal moment of realization. It jolted her to realize that he had given her her own rope. She was quizzical even now, blinking a few times before she said “I need to get up” sluggishly to him. So, she attempted, sniffling again Mercedes patted her face a little dry with her bare fingers and pulled herself into an upright position.

William eased back giving Mercedes the space to right herself. His hand slipped low on her waist, but he didn’t move from his seated position. This was what he needed her to do. He nor the secret service could move his wife. She had to want it for herself. It was her nature. One of his favorite parts.

As she sat upright the damage, she’d cause to her aging body finally showed its ugly head, but she inhaled and exhaled to herself. Closing her eyes for a moment she shifted only a little before she opened them. “Okay” she said to herself as she swallowed down the grief for now “okay” Mercedes said, stretching out her hands for the two men she had grown to love dearly. It was their job to protect her yes, so by right she had to love them for that. But honestly, they were comforting, though others might not have seen it that way at all. With the men’s help she got onto her feet with slight discomfort here and there “thank you” she said to them politely.

William stayed silent as Mercedes reset herself. He watched her come back from the brink overseeing it all, patience. He exhaled, relaxing physically when she reached for assistance. Then eased himself to a standing, shaking, a bit at the loss of warmth his wife’s body provided. He reached for her hand now, taking it lightly. “Ready?”

Mercedes wiped her face dry with her hands, her makeup was probably ruined right now after all of that crying. She inhaled and exhaled deeply again looking at her husband. “Yeah” she said before she looked towards the boys resting place. “One second” she said as she moved back towards the structure again, holding the man’s coat against herself “okay kid, I have to go now. I’ll be back” she said “I wish I could take you with me” she said it was irrational, but it didn’t stop her from thinking that. “Again, I am so sorry” she told him “I could have done more, could’ve helped with what was paining you. But I guess my karma is living the rest of my life with my own….” she said before she leaned in and kissed the door of the building leaving her stained lip print. “I love you” she told him as she pulled away finally. “I’m ready now” she said as she grabbed his hand finally.

William turned solemnly as Mercedes returned to the mausoleum. His eyes lowered, her words of goodbye pulling at him, his mouth twitching but he clapped his lips shut holding tight to his thoughts and sentiments. She would return year after year. And there was nothing he could do to stop her. Did he really expect her to do anything different? He wrestled with that thought, until her hand returned to his. Her words pulled him from his thoughts. It was time to depart, he met her eyes and gently reclaimed her hand.

As Mercedes held his hand, she finally realized for the first time the detriment of what she’d done. She saw the News vans and the paparazzi; she hid a bit. She couldn’t imagine what was being reported and she knew once again that she may have caused a bit of trouble when it came to him. He was the President now to some degree; she really didn’t have simple human rights because everything she did or could do would be used against them. Or paint her in a bad light. Sighing to herself, she tucked some hair behind her ear as she looked down while she walked.

The press of reporters were held back by a line of men in black. Never had William ever been so grateful to the Secret Service. He followed close on the heels of the Service men as they wounded their way back to the awaiting warmth of the limo. The service man in front of him touched his ear. “Mr. President, they are asking for a statement. The press wants to know if the first lady is okay.” William continued to move mouth drawn. “Mr. President” “We need to get back to the cars” he said, stiffly. “I’ll issue a statement when we get home.”

With her eyes low Mercedes walked alongside William, she only looked up when she heard the man. It was just another thorn being added to William’s side and she knew she’d probably hear a complaint about that later. However, she’d have enough time to think of a good enough statement to write for him to make up for it, hopefully.

William’s hand tightened on his Mercedes, steps quickening when the car came into view. He’d done his best to ignore the cold, but the snow accumulating in his hair and on shoulders was causing his entire body to shake. The men had the door open when they approached. William stepped aside ushering Mercedes forward.

Mercedes felt him squeeze her hand and she looked up at him, moving her hand for her nose. It was freezing out here and what she wore was not built for it. Hopefully she didn’t get sick for being so stupid, her tights were damp from the snow. Moving into the vehicle she let his hand go and slid to the other side as she sighed in the warmth, closing her eyes. She rested her elbow against the window and rubbed her temples a bit.

William waited for Mercedes to clear the car door, then climbed in behind her. He wrapped his arms around his frame and rubbed frantically at his shoulders, forcing warm blood back into his arms. There in front of him were two large blankets. He grabbed one and opened it laying over Mercedes before taking the other for himself.

Mercedes only leaned up when she felt William she shifted against the seat, feeling for her purse but it wasn’t with her. “Damn” she said as they began to move, she could have used a pen and paper. “I’ll write something” she told him as she toed her heels off. She gently rubbed her feet as she looked out the window for a moment, snapping back to reality. She had two other children and it hit her “where is Madison and Mackenzie?” she asked him.

William wrapped the blanket over himself, sighing. He turned his head slowly towards Mercedes the ever-deepening lines on his forehead becoming cavernous. “Don’t worry. Either Phillip will have something prepared, or we’ll see to it on the plane.” At her next question he turned away from Mercedes and removed his remaining glove with his teeth. “They’re at home. I asked them to stay off social media and the TV until I-- We could get back to speak with them” he said, biting off his words.

“Okay” she said back to him noting his short tone and she looked away from him. “I didn’t think that would be a spectacle too” she argued though he hadn’t really started one. Mercedes looked out the window, watching as they passed by homes and trees alike. “But of course, I’ll be blamed for that, why even bother….” she said under her breath.

William closed his eyes. “No… No…” He exhaled, “You need to rest first. After we have rested, we will see what needs to be done.” He said head, falling to the side. “Nobody’s blaming you. You’re a grieving mother going to see her child. No one is going to blame you for that. Just rest.” He repeated, rubbing his hand over his face.

“I wasn’t referring to the media” Mercedes said back to him as she rolled her eyes gently. She leaned back against the seat, her eyes still on the road as she peered out the window. She couldn’t be worried about him, Phillip, or however had taken her writing spot from her. She had to now devise the proper way to handle her children especially Madison.

William’s eyes opened gradually, and he turned his head to look over at Mercedes. “Then what are you referring to?” He asked, doing little now to mask his growing irritation. He might have just spun the perfect narrative but the reality of what had just transpired was beginning to set in.

Mercedes didn’t say anything to the man instead she just sat there with her head resting back against the seat. She rolled her eyes shut deciding within herself that right now was not the time even if she didn’t say it.

William sat up, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He rubbed his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I...” William shook his head and dropped back against the seat, turning his face towards the window.

#thread: stone cold #thread.#samcedes rp

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stuckybingo · 3 years

Text

Round up #12 23/11/20-3/1/21

(Pictured: me, staggering out of 2020, dragging my good intentions along with me)

I have reset my ‘It’s Sunday, do the sodding round up’ alarms, so these should hopefully return to being weekly going forwards. This also means that you will get a weekly reminder to INCLUDE THE FILL INFO WHEN YOU POST, OTHERWISE YOUR WORKS WILL NOT BE COUNTED TOWARDS BADGES!

Now that my obligatory shouty reminder is complete, I invite you to take a look at over a month’s worth of beautiful works and lavish praise upon their creators.

Feels like something's special (but it never felt like love) by moonlightstucky Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary Bucky’s metal arm grips the sheets so tight that Steve wouldn’t be surprised to find them torn in the morning. It’s not the first time and won’t be the last, or at least that’s what he hopes since Bucky told him that he found someone right before they tumbled in bed. The look in Bucky’s eyes has haunted Steve since then. He seemed so in love and what a punch in the face it was.

Wrap me up (in your love) by niallhoranbitches Teen and Up, None Summary

Dial B for Bucky by Kalee60 E, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary Bucky led a good life, a normal life. Sure his job as a compliance officer wasn’t exactly exciting, and by not exactly he meant not at all, but it paid the bills and allowed him the freedom to spend most of his weekends at his Grandmother's estate that he and Becca had renovated for guests.

Where I'm Meant to Be by niallhoranbitches Teen and Up, None Summary

You Drew Stars Around My Scars by cpt_winniethepooh Teen And Up Audiences, Major Character Death Summary Peggy Carter was underestimated just as much as Steve Rogers was; they, however, understood each other.

in the line snow is glistening by niallhoranbitches Teen and Up, None Summary Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park.

Baby Steps by AriaGrill E, none Summary

Strays – Part 3 by aintyouafraid T, N/A Summary Jessica's mama always told her not to feed strays, but she can understand why Sam adopted this one. She has no doubt that he could protect himself – Sam adopts war vets after all – but there is something vulnerable about him.

Art: lost in time, lost in space by LiquidLightz Teen and up (for the art), none (for the art) Summary This is my banner artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it action adventure that is this Planet Hulk / Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, and Wakanda Bucky.

#BeGayDoCrime by Peredur Teen and Up, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary Steve wants out of the military and he's being very public about it

Where Armor Ends (Where Skin Begins) by crackdkettle G, none Summary “When was the last time you trimmed these talons, Rogers?” Bucky insists on reviving an old childhood practice at the front.

Art: Home is with You by LiquidLightz Teen and up (for the art), none (for the art) Summary My final artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it action adventure that is this Planet Hulk / MCU Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, and Wakanda Bucky. In this scene, PlanetHulk!Steve and Endgame Bucky get their hard-earned happy ending.

Somebody that I used to know by Kalee60 E, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary Bucky Barnes, if asked, would say he led an ordinary life. He owned a successful business, worked long hours, had a pain in the butt best friend and dated good looking men on the odd occasion - though if pressed, he might admit he was craving a bit more in the romance department.

No Virginal Twinks for Steve, Thank You by Girl_Back_There Explicit, None Summary Steve is never able to sleep for a few days after a mission. The mixture of adrenaline, shock, and general angst plagues him upon their return to the tower. For over a year after the Chitauri invasion, Steve would spend his restless nights with the other tower inhabitants learning about this future world he woke up in.

Art: Never Again by LiquidLightz Teen and up (for the art), none (for the art) Summary My main artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it action adventure that is this Planet Hulk / MCU Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, and Wakanda Bucky. In this scene, PlanetHulk!Steve is mourning his presumed-dead beloved husband Bucky.

Hung with Care by Politzania General, none Summary Bucky and Steve recall a holiday tradition from their childhood and include Tony in the celebration.

Art: Recharging Getaway by LiquidLightz Teen and up (for the art), none (for the art) Summary My NASBB artwork for the slow-burn fic “Coming up Easy”. A modern au where Bucky is a writer and Steve a DIYer with a penchant for art...

you bring me home by beanpod Teen And Up Audiences, None Summary In which Bucky has a (pathetic—shut up, Natasha) crush on Neighbor Steve Rogers and a soft spot for his kid, and Alpine jumps the fence like it's going out of style.

Unexpected by plutosrose M, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary Apparently, Steve talks about him all the time.

The Hardest Part Of Dating An Avenger Is… by cpt_winniethepooh Teen and Up, none apply (mentions of mental health issues and disabilities) Summary

Love Bites (And So Do I) by plutosrose E, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary “Steve, you want to tell me why there are erotic drawings of me in the Smithsonian?”

This Is a Ghost Story - Chapter 1 by plutosrose E, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary February 1945, Steve Rogers crashes the Valkyrie. March 1945, a massive effort is undertaken by the Americans to replace his deeds with James "Bucky" Barnes, who now has always been Captain America. As for Steve Rogers? According to the U.S. government, he never existed.

Middle Of Nowhere by samandbucky General, None Summary Sam is on a road trip with Steve and Bucky. After hours of driving, they wind up at a run down motel. The problem? There's only one bed, and Sam's NOT sleeping on that dirty floor.

I Trust You by Fighting_for_Creativity M, No Archive Warnings Apply Summary After what Hydra did to Bucky, the man has lost his trust in himself. Steve tries to find a solution for them and Nat is very insightful.

dear winter, i hope you like your name by cyanica mature, chose not to use archive warnings Summary bucky has a theory that he is eternal, and wants to prove himself wrong.

#stuckybingo2020 #mod post #round up #round 2 #for the love of whatever please remember the fill info

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 4 years

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Right-Side Up AU, Part Three: It’s the End of the World {AO3} {tumblr} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Two → The Radio

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Mike rubbed his eyes as he walked down the hall, stopping at Jonathan’s door. He could hear Nancy’s muffled voice, shouting something about how they had to hurry the hell up; Mike didn’t remember her saying she was staying over last night. He knew he should probably knock on the door, but, well, he wasn’t very good at that yet, and by the time he remembered that rule had been established he was already pushing the door open.

“Mike!” Nancy shouted. She had just thrown a dress on, shoving on a belt as she shouted. “What did we say about knocking?”

“I forgot.” Mike admitted, noticing Jonathan on the other side of the room, also throwing on clothes. “I thought you went home last night.”

“Yes, well, um. Decided to stay over. Surprise!” Nancy said. She gave him a smile, and continued, “But, unfortunately, we can’t do anything fun right now, because the power outage knocked out Jonathan’s alarm, we forgot to reset it, and if we don’t move we’re gonna be late for work.”

“You hate work.” Mike said.

“Work’s not that bad.” Jonathan said, quickly grabbing his camera bag.

“Maybe for you.” Nancy said bitterly. “They love you.”

“They love you!”

“Yeah, as a coffee fetcher.”

“Look, they’re gonna realize how great a writer you are someday-”

“Do you want me to throw them across a room?” Mike asked.

Nancy sighed. “No, but put a pin in that conversation. We gotta go. Tell Will we said ‘hi.’” She leaned over, giving him a kiss on the forehead, and said, “You’re taller than me now, stop it.”

“I’m taller than everyone, I can’t control it.”

Nancy laughed. “Alright, I’m going out the window.”

“Why?”

“Um, more fun.”

“Can’t argue there.”

Mike waved at Jonathan and Nancy, and then walked back to his room, where he’d forgotten his bag. He slung it over his shoulder, returned to the kitchen, and said, “Nancy’s climbing out the window.”

Joyce sighed, looking up from the table, where Will was drowning his pancakes in syrup. “I wish she wouldn’t. She can just say hello.”

“Why doesn’t she sleep over with me? My room’s big enough.” Mike said.

Will giggled, as Joyce very slowly said, “Well, she just… wants to spend time with her boyfriend.”

Mike nodded as he sat back down. “Like me and El.”

“...sure.”

Jonathan ran by, and Joyce jumped to her feet. “Oh, hey, hey! Wait up!”

Jonathan paused, an apology in his eyes. “No, no, I’ll eat at work-”

“No, cheek.” she laughed a little as she wiped a lipstick mark off of his face.

He gave her a nervous smile and said, “Alright, gotta run. See you later.”

“Alright!” Joyce turned back to the kids. “Will, slow on the syrup.”

“Yeah, it’s my turn.” Mike took the syrup and immediately dumped it onto his eggs.

Will glanced up towards where Jonathan disappeared. “Can you make him and Nancy stop being gross? They’re as bad as El and Mike.”

“Shut up.”

Joyce smiled a little. “I don’t think you’ll find it gross when you fall in love.”

Will hesitated, before stabbing at his pancake. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Mike gave him a curious glance, but kept quiet.

“Now, hold on! Hold on!”

El groaned and turned around. “Dad, this bag of shit is heavy!”

“And Steve has to get to work, you don’t want him to be late.” Max added, tying her hair back into a ponytail; she’d recently got more used to tying it up, to keep it out of her face.

Hopper sighed and gave them all quick looks. “I don’t want you out late in the field.”

“Dad.”

“Back to the Byers’ by ten, okay?”

“Back by Dustin, got it.” Max nodded. “Can we go now?”

“And El.” Hopper gave her a look. “Three inches.”

El shot Max a glare, who shrugged an I didn’t tell him! shrug. “Dad, chill, it’s just Mike. What’s he gonna do? Feed me too many eggos?”

“I trust Mike,” Hopper said, and he put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “I just don’t want you growing up too fast, okay?”

“Dad, don’t be weird.”

They heard a car horn beep from the driveway. “Great, now you pissed off Steve.” Max said. “Thanks, Hop.”

“Stay safe.”

“You, too.” El nodded. She and Max ran out the door, running towards the car.

“Seriously, though, chill with Mike for today, it’s weird.” Max said.

“You’re just mad cause you wanna date Lucas.” El said. “Seriously, Max, be more direct with your flirting. He was raised in a Lab, he doesn’t pick up on that stuff.”

Max’s face turned as red as her hair. “I’m not flirting with Lucas. I just like hanging out with him.”

“Sure.”

They hopped into the backseat, where Lucas gave them a wave. El slammed her bag onto the ground as Max shut the door, and Steve said, “You know, if I’m late for work, I don’t get money, and Dustin and Lucas don’t get arcade trips.”

“Sorry.” El huffed. “Dad was being weird about me dating again.”

“What does that mean?” Dustin asked, as Steve pulled out of the driveway. “Why would he be weird?”

“Because El’s not a baby anymore and has a boyfriend and keeps sucking face with him.” Max said.

“Max, I’m going to throw you out the car window.”

“Do it! I dare you!”

“No one’s dying in this car while I’m driving!” Steve said.

“Obviously she wouldn’t die in the car.” Max said.

“No mutinies or I turn this car around and drop you off at the goddamn grocery store.”

“I think we’re still banned from that.” Lucas said.

“Exactly!”

The kids burst into the Byers house just as Joyce was grabbing her things to leave.

“Hi, Ms Byers!” El waved, running past. “Where’s my boyfriend?”

“Will’s room.” Joyce said, smiling at the other boys. “They’re both in there. You’ll be alright?”

“Yep! Be back before dark!” Dustin waved.

“Won’t fall into any alternate dimensions!” Max added.

“Call if you need anything.” Joyce nodded. “Have fun!”

El was already gone, and the boys and Max shared a quick look before ducking into Will’s room. El was, indeed, already sitting beside Mike on the floor, the two of them locked in a kiss. Will was focused intently on his drawing, enough so that he noticed neither them nor the teens entering.

“El, we talked about this whole ‘being gross’ thing.” Max groaned, averting her eyes to the ground.

El flipped her off.

Will finally noticed everyone, sitting up from his doodle of a butterfly. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah, and we owe Mr Clarke money.” Max said.

El pulled away from Mike, glaring at her. “We’re borrowing it.”

“It’s a lot of shit.”

“He said we can do it so long as we show him. He likes encouraging science, and when we told him the boys had never built a radio-”

“This is gonna be the shit!” Lucas said.

“We better get going, then.” Max said. “Come on. You, too, lovebirds.”

“What, you don’t wanna draw?” Mike asked, eyes wide.

“This radio’s gonna take some time, now move your ass!”

“Geez, fine.” El rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be the dictator.”

“And you don’t have to be glued to Mike, but there ya are.”

“Max?” Will asked, leaning on Dustin’s shoulder while they walked, “Do we have to go so far?”

“Do you wanna carry the bag?”

“I could carry the bag.” Mike volunteered, stretching out his hand. The bag then flew out of Max’s arms, levitating beside them. “Easy.”

“Mike!” El giggled, though she tried to look stern. “Stop it, somebody could see!”

“We’re going up a hill, who else is here?” Lucas shrugged.

“I’ll just-” Mike waved his hand, and the bag flew to the top of the hill, up ahead.

To Mike and El’s confusion, Max looked a bit annoyed. “Cool. Thanks.” she said blankly, before moving back towards Will to say something about his art.

El glanced around the field as they finally made their way to the top. It was a bit darker than they’d thought it would be, but that was alright, they could stay out a bit late. It wasn’t as if they had anywhere to be.

“Isn’t Summer great?” El whispered to Mike, leaning on his shoulder. “No school, so we can hang out all day.”

“School sucks, you should stop going.” Mike said, fiddling with her hand, running his fingers inbetween hers.

“I dunno. You might like it. You like learning.”

“I don’t like crowds and sitting still.”

“You liked Mr Clarke, when he met you in the store.”

“Everyone likes Mr Clarke.”

“He was nice at the Snow Ball.” Dustin remembered. “He told me and Lucas that we looked good.”

“He was lying.” Max quipped, glancing back at him.

Dustin flipped her off. “We looked great! Didn’t we, Will?”

Will bit his lip. “I guess.”

Dustin’s face fell slightly. “You guess? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know what’s pretty and what’s not.” Will said quickly. “I mean, with clothes.”

“I mean, that much is obvious.” Max rolled her eyes and elbowed him. “You still dress like Jonathan.”

“I like looking like Jonathan.”

“You like looking like a nerd?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s a nerd?” Lucas asked.

“You all are.” Max said. “And we’re here.”

They stopped at the top of the hill, where the bag waited, and Max spread out her arms. “Look around, my labrat friends! This is what nature looks like!”

“I hate nature.” Lucas muttered, flopping onto the grass. “And walking.”

“Don’t call them lab rats.” El said, leaning her chin onto Mike’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, it’s funny, and we know she’s not being mean.” Dustin said. “When do we get started on the radio?”

“Right now!” Max knelt down to unzip the bag. “You know, I haven’t been up here since the mall opened. It’s weird having it in the view. Right, El?”

“Hm?” El and Mike had sat down beside each other. “Oh, yeah. I guess.”

Max bit her lip and turned to face the other boys. “El and I would sometimes come up here when Hop needed us out of the house. Play D&D or have a picnic or throw rocks.”

“Build radios?” Will asked, peering into the bag of supplies.

“Not really.” Max laughed. “This is new for us, too. Right, El-? Oh, they’re making out again, okay. You boys wanna help me get this up?”

“Of course!” Dustin beamed, racing forwards and brushing past Will to pull something out; Will backed up slightly, startled. “What’s this do?”

“Well, that’s part of the legs- no, don’t just- lemme get the instructions Mr Clarke made us first.” She pulled out a slip of paper. “It shouldn’t be hard. Once it’s up, we can try to hack into other radio signals.”

“To listen to people?” Dustin asked, uncertain.

“No, no. Just find music that stations around here haven’t got.” Max said. “El and I used to talk about doing this all the time, and now we can. Isn’t that great, Ellie?”

El didn’t respond, so Lucas said, “How do we start?”

Max smiled at him and spread out the instructions. “Alright, so- first of all, Mike and El need to get their asses over here.”

“Fine.” El said, her and Mike finally dragging themselves over.

“Now,” Max said, “We start with the initial setup.”

Melvad’s was empty again. Joyce had gotten used to this over the last few weeks, and had found new ways to occupy her time, such as fixing up old clothes for Will, or sewing an extra pillow or blanket with spare material. At the moment, she was patching up a shirt when Hopper came in.

“I’m going to guess,” Joyce said, barely glancing up, “That you’re here to complain about our children again.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“They’re spending the day out again, though.” Joyce said.

“It just worries me. I don’t like them running around without supervision.”

“They’re fourteen, Hop, what are they gonna do?”

Hopper smiled a little, leaning against the counter. “Well. You remember the shit we got up to when we were fourteen?”

Joyce finally looked up, a smile brightening her face. “Okay, but we were idiots, and four out of six of them have superpowers. And two of them can kill any threat without so much as breaking a sweat.”

Hopper sighed. “It just… you know, feels like El and Max are always gone.”

“Well, they’re at that independent stage.” Joyce shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, we always knew this was going to happen with our kids, when they hit that age they wanna try things on their own. It’s part of being a parent.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“So long as you don’t take it out on Mike.” Joyce said. “Because Nancy might kill you.”

“If she doesn’t kill her bosses first.”

Joyce bit her lip. Nancy had ranted to her about the sexism she faced in the office once or twice, and she was starting to wonder if it had been appropriate to mention that to Hopper. Of course she made him swear not to bother all the editors of the paper, because she knew if she didn’t he’d burst in guns blazing and find some reason to arrest them all, and that would just cause more trouble for Nancy. She was already doing so much for them, it would be unfair to throw her under the bus like that.

“Still, Hop, you know what Mike’s been through- what they’ve all been through. It makes sense they’re all a bit…”

“Feral?”

“That wasn’t the word I was looking for.”

“Joyce, Lucas and Dustin still dig through the trash whenever they’re over to try and find ‘useful things,’ and one time I swear to God I saw Mike bark back at a dog.”

“Oh my God.” Joyce laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. And that’s who El decided to date.”

“Well, first she decided to hide him in your attic and rescue his friends from a government base, and then she decided to date him.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I feel like you’re going to be reminded for the rest of your life.” Joyce hesitated, and then said, “Look, if it’s really bothering you, talk to them.”

“It feels like every time I try I just- you’re better at words than me, why don’t you do it?”

“Cause they’re not my kids.” Joyce said, leaning over the counter. “Listen, why don’t you write down what you’re thinking and use it as, like, a cue card? Get it all out and then you’ll remember-”

The door swung open, then, a small bell going off. Joyce stood up and said, “Hold on, customer. Be right back!”

She ran off to the door, smiling jovially at the woman who came in, looking for something for her son’s party. Hopper smiled after Joyce, content for the moment to just watch her. As she grinned, sunlight bouncing off her hair, he couldn’t help thinking how perfect she was.

Max flipped a switch, and grinned as they heard some fuzzy music. “Y’all! I found another channel!”

It was getting darker, and Lucas kept nervously checking his watch; if they were late back to the Byers’ house, they’d worry everyone. Will and Dustin were spread out on the grass, giggling and pointing towards the stars; Dustin had just gotten an astrology book, and was excitedly pointing out constellations to his friend.

“I had no idea there were so many stars.” Will muttered.

“I never would have thought of making shapes out of them.” Dustin said. “Who do you think was the first person to do that?”

“I don’t know, but sometimes I like seeing things in the sky.” Will said. “Like, there- you said that was the Dragon?”

“Draco, yeah. After the Latin name.”

“Well it kinda looks more like… a snake. There aren’t legs, but you can see the head. And that star down there, that could make a tongue.”

“Hey, you’re right!��

Lucas sat beside them, pointing up. “Look at those stars.” They followed his finger, as he moved it to point out specific shapes. “It looks like a bear.”

“Yeah!” Will nodded, sitting up a little.

“I mean, there’s already a bear constellation.”

“You mean the one that looks like a pot?”

Max glanced away from the boys’ conversation, her attention drifting to Mike and El; while he braided flowers into her hair, she was making some kind of grass chain. Max moved over, saying, “Hey, mind if I join in?”

“Not at all.” El said. She finished her chain and started tying it into a circle. “But we should probably get back soon.”

“We only barely finished the radio, though.” Max said, starting to tie two stalks of grass together.

“But it’s getting darker. They’ll freak, you know they will.”

“We’re probably late.” Mike said, not sounding very concerned.

Max sighed. “Well, maybe if you guys had been more help it would have been set up faster.”

“We were helping.” El said.

“Don’t fight.” Mike said, shrinking back slightly.

“Sorry.” El turned around, putting her hand on his. She glanced at Max and said, “We can come back later. Maybe tomorrow?”

Max bit her lip. “Sure.”

El waited a moment, to see if she would say anything, but after a while, she tried to shrug off the awkwardness, and then put her grass chain on Mike’s head. “Grass crown for the Grass King.” she said.

“What does a Grass King do?” Mike asked, smiling.

“He wears grass crowns and carries his Grass Queen back down the hill.”

“Alright, then.” Mike stood up, and El let out a delighted laugh as he picked her up.

Max rolled her eyes. “Listen, El, just because your boyfriend is tall-”

“Race back to the Byers, go!” El shouted, and Mike nodded at Max and took off.

“Hey, no fair!” Max jumped to her feet. “Player Two, get back here! You have to-” she groaned. “Boys, come on, we’re racing back!”

“Okay!” Lucas jumped to his feet, excited. “I’m faster than Mike, let’s go!”

“Um,” Will bit his lip. “I might stay here a bit longer. Stars.”

Dustin noticed his glance, and said, “I’ll stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Okay, but if you don’t meet us at the Byers’ in thirty minutes,” Max said, “Nancy and Hopper are gonna come up here and kill you themselves.”

Will’s eyes widened, until he realized Max was joking. Lucas waved at him and Dustin and then ran down, grabbing Max’s hand and dragging her after the rapidly disappearing Mike and El.

Once they were out of earshot, Dustin glanced back at Will and said, “What is it?” Will shook his head. “Come on, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Will sat up, shaking his head again. “It’s dumb.”

“I doubt it.”

Finally, Will moved over to the radio. “I was… I was hoping we could… try and call Kali. And her gang. I… I worry about them. They’re still out there alone.”

Dustin watched him silently for a moment, and said, “That’s not dumb.”

“But they won’t have a radio. I don’t even know where they are. I was just gonna- gonna flip through channels until I-I heard something- this is dumb.”

“No!” Dustin scooted forwards, his eyes lighting up. “Here. Start flipping through, and I’ll try to force a vision. Maybe it’ll tell me what channel they’re on.” Will shook his head wildly. “Seriously, it’ll be fine. I’m getting better at it! I’ve been practicing when I’m bored, and I’ve been able to predict small things! Sometimes I can get the visions to tell me what I want! Let me try, okay?”

Will hesitated. “Only if you’re okay-”

“Of course! Come on, start flipping!”

Will hesitated. “How- how do I do that?”

“Shit, I forgot you don’t know… well, just gimme a moment. I’ll see something.”

Dustin scooted back, sitting cross-legged and gripping his hands together, hmming slightly. Will’s eyes widened, and he fiddled with the grass, watching his friend try to slow his breathing and concentrate.

After a moment, Dustin’s hands flew to the radio controls, and he started moving very fast, so fast Will blinked in amazement and leaned forwards, trying to pay attention to what he did.

“Did you see something?” Will asked.

“Just… a… flash…” Dustin said, very slowly. “Recently I’ve been getting small… flashes… hold on.”

He landed on a channel, and Will said, “Is it Kali? Wilder? Mick? F-”

“I don’t know, I just… had a flash…” Dustin leaned back. “Do you hear anything?”

Will listened, and then slumped. “No.”

“It- it could’ve been wrong. Or maybe the wrong time. I can try again-”

Will shook his head. “It’s not your responsibility. Mike and I should’ve- I should’ve figured something better than just running.”

“You were in a rush. And if you and Mike had arrived any later, we would’ve been Demodog food.”

“Well, that was mainly Mike. I… I wasn’t useful.”

Dustin’s eyes widened. “The hell does that mean? We were all useful! We all went into the tunnels and saved Mike!”

“I-”

At that moment, they heard a faint voice from the radio.

“What the…”

Dustin moved back to the controls, adjusting them slightly. “Does that sound familiar?” Will shook his head again. It sounded male, but it didn’t sound like Funshine or Axel. In fact, it sounded like gibberish.

“Didn’t Max pack a recorder?” Dustin asked. Will nodded, and ran to the bag, which she’d forgotten beside them. He brought out the recorder, remembering her saying something about how her and El used to sing into it and maybe they could do group karaoke or something. He brought it to Dustin, who had finally gotten the voice much louder.

And now that it was clearer, Will understood what the man was saying. He gaped, and turned to Dustin. Almost instinctively, he tapped on the side of the radio, several dots and dashes.

Dustin nodded. “That’s Russian. Mike knows Russian, right?”

Will shuddered, tapping out Papa taught him little. Enough?

“Record it, we’ll see if we can have him translate when we get back.”

Will handed him the recorder, thinking. He recognized one or two words thrown in- the boys had all been given basic Russian lessons, in case they were “needed undercover”, whatever that meant. But Mike had been given the most, because he could see people. In the Void. At least, they thought so. Mike never paraded his lessons from the Lab around, but Will remembered some of the doctors discussing “classes,” and occasionally Mike muttering words in other languages under his breath while visiting.

Dustin was recording, so he didn’t want to speak aloud. So instead he waved his hand until Dustin looked at him, and then he tapped on the ground. A simple question: Do you really think this is important?

Dustin responded very quickly. At least it will be interesting.

#stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things au #rightside up au #rsu3 #mine #st fanfic #my fanfic

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hovercraft79 · 5 years

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Winter Song

Ch 1: Let It Snow!

Chapters: 1/31 Word Count: 2,436 Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017) Rating: Teen Warnings: mentions dealing with the aftermath of being drugged, relationship fears. Summary: Hecate struggles a bit in the aftermath of a personality changing potion, a love potion and the big freeze. Thanks to an unexpected snowfall, Pippa is there to help her find her way.

Notes: This story is part of the B-Sides: Stories from the world of Hecate’s Summer Playlist series. It is a prequel to that series. I really don’t know what I was thinking setting the fluff stories before the romantic relationship begins.

The title of the overall story comes from the song by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles. Chapter title is the holiday classic by Dean Martin.

As always, many thanks to Sparky for signing up again to proofread and edit for me. It was totally how she hoped to spend her holiday season.

Pippa made sure to cover her mouth as she watched Hecate study the board. It wouldn’t do for Hecate to catch the twitch of a grin that kept pulling at her lips. She had her. Pippa knew she had her – and she knew Hecate knew it as well. Hecate could study the board for the next hour – and she very well might – but she still wouldn’t be able to escape. Taking in the way the fire cast warm highlights into Hecate’s raven hair, Pippa almost hoped Hecate would study the board for another hour. All the better for observing the dark-haired witch as she concentrated on the board.

A loose wisp of hair had escaped Hecate’s bun. Pippa wanted nothing more than to reach out and tuck it behind Hecate’s ear, but… Sighing heavily, Hecate leaned back in her chair, tapping her nails against the edge of the chessboard. Eyes narrowing, she pinned her gaze on the blonde witch sitting across from her.

Pippa said nothing; instead she simply arched an eyebrow and held Hecate’s gaze.

“I believe I shall have to…concede defeat.” She tipped the ebony king onto its side with an elegant finger. “Congratulations, Pipsqueak. Well played.”

“Thank you, darling. A rare treat for me, then.” Pippa leaned forward and began resetting her pieces so the board would be ready for their game next week. Next week, she thought, a bubble of happiness expanding in her chest. She had standing plans with Hecate every week – Thursday night chess games. Not that things were perfect – Pippa was still thankful that Hecate had agreed to keep the chessboard at Cackle’s instead of leaving it at Pippa’s. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Pippa still worried that Hecate would find some way to cancel their plans – especially if the plans were at Pentangle’s. “It’s come back to you quickly – pretty soon I’m going to have to start studying the game.”

Hecate smiled – tight but pleased. “I could loan you one of my strategy books.”

“A-HA! I knew it!” Pippa laughed and flicked a tiny stream of magic at Hecate, knocking over the line of pawns she’d just set up. “I will have to step up my game then.”

Hecate shot her a look that would have passed as a glare, if the twinkle in her eyes hadn’t ruined it. She waved her hand over the board and set all the pieces in place. “Do you need a refill?” she asked, reaching for Pippa’s glass. Hecate’s hand froze – mid-reach. Her head jerked up and her eyes darted around the room as though she’d just heard a fly buzz and was searching for it. Her hands were both in a defensive position, ready to cast whatever spell she needed.

Pippa couldn’t feel it at first, but then a faint prickle rushed across the back of her neck. “Are those—”

“The castle wards, yes.” Hecate closed her eyes, concentrating on what had been triggered. After a moment she sagged in relief, inadvertently knocking some of the chess pieces over as she dropped bonelessly into her chair. “Nothing to be alarmed about.” She forced her features into something resembling a smile.

“Hiccup?” Are you all right?” Absently, she magicked the pieces back and sent the chessboard back to its usual position beside the fireplace. “What is it?”

Hecate scrubbed a hand across her face, huffing out a gust of air. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Pippa frowned at what was clearly a lie. Hecate hadn’t been fine since… well. In truth, Hecate had never been fine. It was only when they were girls, after they’d become friends, that Hecate had come anywhere approaching fine. But this was different. She was different, lately. Pippa knew she didn’t know Hecate as well as she used to - thirty years was a chasm of time to cross. But Hecate felt different now than she did over the summer. Ever since Ursula Hallow had tried ousting Ada, Hecate had been on edge. Hecate hadn’t talked about it, but on her second visit to Cackle’s to play chess, Dimity had pulled her aside and told her about the personality changing potion and the love potion and more about what had gone on during the big freeze. Pippa’s heart had broken as Dimity relayed details of ‘Miss Softbroom’ to her. She’d been mad as hell when she’d told her how the love potion had forced them all to pursue Mr. Rowan-Webb. Pippa may not know exactly where Hecate’s preferences lay, but she knew that forced romantic interest in an all-but-married male coworker was a violation of the deepest kind.

After Dimity filled her in, Pippa wondered how she hadn’t see it sooner. Hecate had always been tense, but the lines of her mouth and shoulders were almost brittle. She guarded her glass obsessively and waited until others ate before she took a bite of anything. Pippa didn’t blame her. She’d been drugged twice – once intentionally. That she’d been drugged because of her personality was the worst part of all, Pippa thought. She didn’t believe for a minute that Hecate had no recollection of the day. Maybe at first, she thought, but those memories wouldn’t stay buried forever. By now, Hecate would know damn well everything that had happened that day – no matter how much she might pretend she didn’t. And how was Hecate supposed to feel after that? After a lifetime of being scorned for a personality shaped by her father’s coldness, to know her own students wanted to drug her into someone else? Pippa had cried that night, once she’d returned to Pentangle’s -cried for Hecate who must have felt the same way she had as a girl. After all, much the same thing that had happened to her almost every day of her childhood, hadn’t it? People didn’t like who she was, so they were determined to change her or hurt her because of it.

Shaking her head slightly to clear away the memories, Pippa pulled her attention back to the present. “What is it, then?” She wanted to place her hand on Hecate’s knee, but she didn’t think it would be welcomed.

“Ada’s wards. Not for danger…the weather wards, but…” Hecate closed her eyes and cast out with her magic. After a moment her eyes popped open and she sat forward in the chair. “Oh!”

“What is it, Hiccup?” Pippa watched her get up and race to the window. She followed her to the window, stopping short when she got a glimpse of the swirling snow. “When did that start?”

Hecate flipped open her pocket watch. “It’s just after midnight, December first. Time for the first snowfall of winter. It wasn’t snowing when you arrived at eight, was it?” She snapped the watch closed.

“No… there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.” She stepped closer to Hecate, just close enough for their shoulders to brush together. Did Hecate lean in to her? It felt like it. “It’s beautiful, though, isn’t it? Look how big the flakes are.”

“It reminds me of the time we sneaked on to the roof to have our own Yule celebration.” Hecate glanced sideways at her. “You refused to go inside until we were soaked to the bone.”

“I refused? That’s not how I remember that night,” Pippa finally braved wrapping a hand around Hecate’s elbow. “I do remember that you, dear Hiccup, you nearly set your cloak on fire with a warming spell.” Hecate leaned closer in to her, she was sure of it this time. They stood there, side by side, watching the snow come down in big, wet flakes. They each spoke at the same time.

“I guess I’d better get home now.”

“I guess you can’t go home now.”

They looked at each other and Pippa giggled. She let her thumb rub back and forth just above Hecate’s elbow.

“Please, Pippa. I can’t…you can’t travel in this.” Hecate stared intently out the window before glancing shyly back at Pippa. “You… you should stay… at Cackle’s.”

Pippa opened her mouth to argue, but she caught herself before she snuffed out the tiny, shaky, flickering look of hope she saw in Hecate’s eyes. She squeezed Hecate’s arm tighter and leaned in. “If you don’t mind me crashing on your sofa, I’d love to stay. I doubt a warming spell would keep the chill away for that long.”

“I don’t mind,” Hecate said quickly, before flashing a brief, bright, full smile. “It’s no trouble at all.” She smile faltered. “You could stay in one of the guest rooms, if you’d rather. It would be more comfortable than my sofa. It probably isn’t appropriate to have the Headmistress of another school sleeping on my sofa, anyway. I can let Ada know.”

Pippa shook her head. “It’s a good thing the only person here is your friend Pipsqueak then, isn’t it?” She smiled up at Hecate. “Really, darling, there’s no reason to go to all of that trouble – or to wake Ada. Besides,” she ran her hand down Hecate’s arm, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go and magicking the sofa longer and wider. “This certainly won’t be the first time Pipsqueak sneaked in to stay with her Hiccup without the Headmistress knowing about it.”

Hecate barked out a laugh, before covering her mouth with her hand. “I still don’t understand how you always managed to talk me into breaking so many rules.” She summoned a set of twin-sized bedlinens from the Academy’s storeroom.

“Far too easily,” Pippa said, winking. “Admit it, Hiccup, deep down you’ve always been just as much a rebel as I.” Taking one end of the sheets, she helped Hecate make up the sofa.

“Hardly,” she snorted. “You were just persuasive – and a terrible influence on an impressionable girl such as myself.”

Pippa chuckled, pleased that Hecate was comfortable enough to tease. “You didn’t think it was so terrible when we charmed the kitchen pots to fly to the basement every time cook wanted to make that hideous pea soup, did you? Now, if you would be so kind as to loan me a night dress or pajamas?”

Pippa followed Hecate into her bedroom and tried not to get caught being nosy while her friend rummaged through her cupboard. Hecate’s bedroom was just as stark as her living area. A small bookcase sat on one wall next to Hecate’s vanity, while the cupboard sat on the wall opposite. Hecate’s bed sat center of the third wall, flanked by two night tables. The furniture was all dark woods, mahogany, Pippa guessed, well-made but without much ornamentation.

The bed itself, though? Even from across the room Pippa could see that the bed was where Hecate splurged. She walked over to get a closer look. At first, she’d thought the bedding was black, but up close she saw it was midnight blue – and luxurious. She ran a hand over it; the feel was magnificent. Four plump pillows leaned against the headboard covered in a lighter blue, but equally luxurious cases.

Pippa smiled to herself. That, at least, had not changed about Hecate. Even as a girl, sleep had been a most precious commodity – easily lost to night terrors or replaying every perceived failure Hecate experienced in a day.

Glancing at the nightstand, Pippa found herself once again staring into her teenaged eyes. The framed photo of Hecate and her was still the only purely decorative thing in the room. She picked it up so she could see them more clearly. Her glasses were sitting on the coffee table.

Behind her, Hecate cleared her throat. “I think these will be most comfortable – and warmest.” She glanced down at the photograph in Pippa’s hands. “You duplicated that after we… after the Spelling Bee, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Pippa nodded. “I enlarged it, too. It’s hanging on the wall in my sitting room with the rest of my family photos.”

“I don’t really have photos for the wall.”

“You have this one,” Pippa said, holding up the photograph. “Family can mean a lot of different things, Hecate. I know you have to have photos of you and Ada, or Dimity or…”

“I see my coworkers every day, Pippa. I hardly think I need photographs of them on my wall.”

Pippa smiled as she set the photo back on the bedside table, wincing inside. She was pushing. Too much, too soon and Hecate was getting uncomfortable. “True enough,” she said, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Besides, if Dimity ever knew you even had a picture of her, much less displayed it, you’d never hear the end of it.”

“Quite right,” Hecate said, smiling again. “Pajamas?” She pressed the purple bundle into Pippa’s hands. Again, Pippa couldn’t help but notice the sinful softness of the material.

“Thank you, Hiccup.”

“Why don’t you take the bathroom first? If you look in the bottom drawer on the left, you’ll find a brand new toothbrush.”

“Thanks,” she took a few steps towards the bathroom before turning back. “And Hiccup? Thank you for asking me to stay. It feels a bit like old times, doesn’t it?”

Hecate nodded, looking pleased, but she didn’t say anything. Pippa didn’t really need her to speak.

“If you’d like, I’ll help you braid your hair for bed, just like when we were girls.” She giggled. “I’m a bit out of practice, though. No promises on the quality.”

“That… would be…acceptable.” Hecate winced even as she said it.

Pippa knew Hecate was feeling awkward again, so she simply smiled her brightest smile and said, “That would be acceptable to me as well, Hiccup,” before retreating to the bathroom.

Two hours, two glasses of wine, and three attempts at French-braiding Hecate’s hair later, Pippa lay curled on the sofa, breathing in Hecate’s scent from the pillow. Rosemary. Hecate always smelled faintly of rosemary and mint. Pippa made a note to snoop at her shampoo when she was in the bathroom next.

Staring at the blank wall, Pippa counted back to the Spelling Bee. It had been just over six months since they’d reconciled. A stormy six months – especially for Hecate – marked by episode after episode of what felt like ‘two steps forward, three steps back’ progress. But not tonight. Pippa smiled into the pillow. Tonight felt like maybe, just maybe, they might have turned a corner. Still smiling, Pippa rolled onto her back and watched the shadows from the fire dance across the ceiling until she began drifting off to sleep. Her last waking thought was to thank every god or goddess she could think of for unexpected snowfalls.

#ww2018winterfluffevent #hicsqueak #hecate hardbroom #pippa pentangle #We'll see if I can do them all #thank you @cassiopeiasara #tww17

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gary-robbins · 6 years

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"Help Is Not Coming" - The 2018 Barkley Marathons

It was 1:30am on Wednesday, March 21st and we were in Knoxville, TN. The temps were just below freezing, with a stiff wind gusting over people. Snow was accumulating on the ground and my family, collectively my parents, wife and son, were walking between the hotels in the immediate vicinity asking if they had any available beds for the night. We had of course booked our own hotel that evening, and we were all in fact sleeping soundly just minutes before, but currently there were a few hundred people braving the winter conditions in their pajamas as firefighters streamed into the building.

When the hotel alarms were triggered my mother thought it was her alarm clock, and she called front desk complaining that she couldn’t turn it off. She was informed that this was the fire alarm and she was to evacuate immediately. My own room, with my wife and son, was half a hallway away from my parents, but my mother and I somehow opened our doors into the main hallway in unison and I waved at her with that look that says “damn fire alarm, I guess we should evacuate just to be on the safe side.”

I walked down the hall with Linda and Reed, towards my parents, whose room was directly across from the second floor stairwell. As I was getting them all set someone barreled through the door onto the second floor, with their full rolling luggage bag in tow. He looked like he was being chased by a bear and he simply yelled, “FIRE!!” then promptly dove back into the stairwell and outta site.

Okay, shit, this is actually happening right now!

I direct my family down the stairs and then walk back the length of the second floor saying in a calm but loud voice, “There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately. There is a fire in the building, please evacuate immediately.”

It was amazing to me in that moment how many people were still attempting to wait this out in their rooms. The alarm noise leaves no doubt and certainly no desire to attempt to ignore it. My head hurts now just recreating this and thinking about it. I ducked back into my own room to grab my wallet and keys to our rental SUV, as I was now envisioning that we’d be spending a few hours out in the cold. I had thousands of dollars in electronics with me, between my computer, battery packs, watches, etc, etc, but I stayed calm and rational, all of that was replaceable and I wanted to be in and out of my room in a matter of seconds, so I didn't even attempt to take more than my wallet and keys.

I did one final check of the entire second floor and no one remained, so I headed down the stairwell and out into the frigid night to locate my family.

When Linda and I had checked in exactly 24 hours earlier we were placed in a “non-smoking room” on a smoking floor. I had no idea smoking was even allowed in hotels any longer, but here we were. I retreated to the front desk and asked if in fact there was a non-smoking room available on a “non-smoking floor”, what a concept. The front desk attendant was helpful enough and we were moved one floor lower. I mentioned my folks were checking in the following day and requested the same for them. Linda and I were initially placed in hotel room #313 and I’d later discover that the person in room #312 (the one we would have been sharing a wall with) had fallen asleep while smoking in bed.

My wife, son and I had arrived in Tennessee 26 hours earlier, and it had already been an eventful first day up to this point, what with an ER visit for our two-and-a-half-year-old son’s first ear infection, and our rental car agency messing up our reservation and not having a child seat available for us upon arrival. I had a full Jerry Seinfeld moment;

“You see, you know how to *take* the reservation, you just don't know how to *hold* the reservation. And that's really the most important *part* of the reservation: the holding. Anybody can just take them.”

Hands up in the air and all.

By all accounts our first day had not gone so smoothly, but that’s why we decided to fly in a day earlier this year, to get all of the rental car issues, hospital visits and hotel’s burning down out of the way early.

I eventually located two available rooms at an adjacent hotel, and at 3am we all attempted some fitful shuteye.

I don’t believe in omens. I don’t subscribe to luck, but it was undeniable by this point, I’d been sensing for quite a time that nothing was going to unfold the way I’d hoped it would at this year’s Barkley. Every time I had this fleeting thought of impending doom, which had been ongoing for weeks, I’d repeat a Macklemore lyric in my head (mock me if you will, I really don’t care. That’s not the lyric, that’s me talking to you) “they ain’t givin’ it, I’m takin’ it” and it was just a reminder that I had to get my headspace right and to not allow any expectations, distractions, or excuses to creep in. Nothing about the Barkley is supposed to be easy, you want an excuse, I’ll give you 100 of em in under a minute, “they ain’t givin’ it I’m takin’ it”… “nobody’s gonna make this happen but you Gary, control what you can control and forget about the rest.” The hotel fire would make for a great story and It was but one night of lost sleep. I didn’t even talk about it again until after the race, because as we drove out of Knoxville and towards Wartburg, it was already literally and figuratively, behind us.

Frozen Head

We arrived at Frozen Head late on Wednesday and were greeted by a familiar site in an unfamiliar location, snow, and lots of it. I managed to get out for a sundown run up England Mountain and the snow drifts along the top were shocking, some being knee deep. “This could get interesting” I thought, but the forecast for the following days was promising enough and most people expected the course to be free of snow come race day.

One of the rules of the Barkley, and Frozen Head State Park, is that you’re not allowed to depart the ‘candyass’ maintained trails at any point outside of the race. If you are caught going off-trail outside of the 60 hours of the race you are removed from the race by Laz immediately and escorted out of camp, likely to never be drawn back into the event again. I was hoping for a bit more daylight so I could scout my end of lap five error from 2017 a bit further, but within minutes of cresting the high point I had all the information I needed. Twenty feet. Six meters. That is the actual margin of error that lead to my coming in from the wrong direction one year ago. Twenty feet at the end of 60 hours of effort. I never did write a race report about it. I sat in an internet café for seven hours on a rainy day in April last year and I had managed to recreate all but one paragraph of my experience. I just didn’t have the desire to relieve it blow for blow. A common misconception that’s taken hold is that I hit the trail and simply turned the wrong way, going right instead of left. I knew I was to go left and was expecting to T-junction with the trail. If I had, I would have turned left and run down into camp to close out the race with a few minutes to spare. I would have become the 16th finisher of the Barkley Marathons, and I wouldn’t have been standing there now, staring down thoughts of why and how, and attempting to put a positive spin on things.

In the end I learned that in 2017 I was about twenty feet too far west, and the trail curls away at that point. When I finally found the trail I was parallel to it, while knowing I was supposed to T-junction with it, then I trended into it, more of a merge really, and somehow as the trail was on my left at this point my 60-hour sleep deprived brain went “left side, left turn, all the same, you’re on the trail now run it in!”

Anyways, they say American football is a game of inches, and the Barkley is no different. Small mistakes rapidly become big mistakes, and that was one of my mantras this year, along with "go slower, to go faster.”

Friday arrived in no time and before we knew it the map was out and things were getting real. There were three changes to the course for 2018, two of which favoured the runners in terms of appearing to be slightly faster than the previous book locations, whereas one book location was most certainly much longer than the year prior. In the end I guessed this 2018 course to maybe be in the range of 7-12 minutes longer per loop, or 30-60 minutes harder overall.

The total climbing stats for 2018 would come in at 13,484ft per loop, or a whopping 67,420ft for the full pull. If Laz adds one more 500ft climb to the mix in the coming years, the Barkley will be a 70,000ft race! Read that again and let that sink in.

The Conch Is Blown

Save for our fire alarm evac on Tuesday, I’d slept great all week, and thankfully Friday night proved no different. I passed our just after midnight, after already being in bed for three hours, and likely ended up with about six hours of reasonable sleep. When I awoke just after 7am I eased into the morning and the conch was eventually blown at 8:33am for a 9:33am start. Jamil Courey and I were the first two runners to greet Laz as we awaited our official “Barkley watch”, the $10 Timex piece that is the only watch you are allowed to carry for the race. This watch is set to “race time” or “zero time” so when the 24hr watch goes to zeroes you start running. When the watch hits 12:00 on your third day, time has officially expired (60 hours).

My strategy was simple going into the first loop, go slower to be faster, get through it mistake free, refresh my memory as to the nuances of the course and go from there.

Just prior to the start I’d somehow managed to bump my watch and it reset the seconds back to zero. The seconds must’ve been counting up in the 50’s, about to turn over to a new minute, because my watch showed the race starting about a minute early, and I was scrambling just a bit to get through the pack at the back and up near the front as we all streamed past the yellow gate. We were about ten minutes into the first climb when I questioned someone else as to the start time and then realized my watch was out by over a minute. Runners know that the watches will be out vs the “master watch” that Laz wears but only by a few seconds over the duration of the 60 hours, and by coincidence when I initially compared my watch with Laz’s we realized my total time variance for the 60 hours would be seven seconds, meaning my watch, set to race time, could not go above 11:59:53 on day three. Not that any of this ended up mattering in the end, but it is just another example of the attributes that make the Barkley so unique.

As we worked our way up the first climb, on a few miles of candyass trail, this was the slowest I’d ever started The Barkley, following my race plan perfectly. In the previous two editions a lead pack pushes off the front and crests the first climb in about twenty-five minutes. We were closer to thirty minutes and there were at least 8-10 runners in front of or around me. We snagged our first page and proceeded to drop off the mountain towards book two. The race always seems to splinter here, as runners scramble for position after the first backlog of pages being pulled, and this year was no different. By the time we intersected the river below I’d found myself at the front of the race, earlier than anticipated, and already down to a group of about six.

The more eyes the better, was also something I’d been telling myself. No need to shrink the field until we’ve at least collectively located the new books together. I had mentioned to Guillaume Calmettes a day earlier that I intended to up the pace a bit after book seven, which in the clockwise direction would be the third and final “new book location”, but until then I saw no reason thin out the field.

Our now lead group nailed book two, thanks in no small part to Nova Scotia’s Jodi Isenor (a previous fun run finisher) and as the book gets handed around to pull pages I glance at the cover. The book is titled “Six Seconds” and I temporarily lose my mind. “F@#K YOU LAZ!!” He is an expert at mental warfare. As we started up “hillpocolypse” which in the clockwise direction is the first off trail ascent of the race, our group consisted of myself, Jodi, Guillaume, Jamil, a Scottish bloke named Ally Beaven and another overseas runner whose name was James. Before we topped out on this climb we’d be down to four runners and I’d be down to one trekking pole, somehow managing to snap one of my poles within minutes of pulling them out.

Jamil Courey certainly knows the course well and he was a huge asset as we proceeded along without issue. When we arrived at book five, the biggest change of the year, he zoned in on it like a hawk. It was really impressive and I knew my decision to not forge on was paying dividends.

What was really surprising to me was how well Guillaume know the course. He’d done his homework, having travelled out just a month or so earlier to run all of the trails you’re allowed to scout outside of race weekend, and Guillaume took the lead on some sections as he was in fact the person in our group who’d been over some of the terrain the most recently. All in all, we were moving right along and accomplishing exactly what I’d set out to do, which was to put in an error free first loop.

At book seven, the third and final alteration to the 2018 course, I went right to a set of trees that matched the description, had a poke around, saw nothing, and began moving away from there, then Jamil comes in just behind us, goes to the exact set of trees and pulls out the book. This is one of the things that people fail to recognize about this race, you can literally be standing on top of the book at times and you still won’t see it unless you dig for it. Books are buried in tree stumps, under rocks or just anywhere that makes it as hard to locate as possible. Jamil informs us that “this was the location of this book in 2014.” Cool, good to know. Okay, all new books have now been established and it’s mostly smooth sailing in regards to my own course knowledge.

For the first time in my three attempts, the course goes up the infamous “Testicle Spectacle”. Over the past two years the book near Testicle has been off to one side of it, in 2016 it was in the left hip, if you will, and 2017 was in the right hip, so I’ve never done this route in its entirety, and I’m excited as it feels like a right of passage.

It had rained overnight from Friday into Saturday and we were warned of an incoming “weather event” from late day Saturday into Sunday. As we started up Testicle the hill just continues to slop away from under us. It was a complete pile of mud and not a single inch was gained without slipping backwards to some degree. I was no longer enjoying my right of passage. The thrill of the new climb had lasted all of, well, six seconds really.

We crested the climb, now down to three, myself, Guillaume and Ally, and proceeded towards book eight. My line was off a bit and sure enough captain consistent Jamil catches back up to us. I lead us all up Danger Dave’s Climbing Wall and the onwards towards Rat Jaw.

Rat Jaw is a bitch. There is not a single picture ever taken of Rat Jaw that can accurately display its gradient and inherent challenges. Every year pics are posted from Rat Jaw and inevitably people following along online think “oh that doesn’t look so bad” “oh hill x-y-z that we have here locally is at least that steep.”

We were in for a special treat on Rat Jaw this year as the recent rains, not just overnight but over the last few weeks, had turned its clay like dirt into a vertical skating rink. No matter how fast you are moving up until that point, or how strong you might feel, Rat Jaw is am absolute soul destroying grind from bottom to top. There is an old cable that lays on the ground along some sections, and this cable becomes a life line. You drag yourself up this slope, one agonizing step at a time, and then you hang on for dear life on the downslope, using the cable as you would a climbing rope that’s been strung over a rocky slope to allow for safe passage.

By the time we’d topped out it was but myself, Guillaume and Ally. We might have been a few minutes slower going up than I’ve been in previous years on the first lap, but we’d exerted so much more energy in doing so. It was a fight for every step and for the first time in my three years at the race I actually had the thought, on the first lap, of “I can’t even imagine the effort that’ll be needed to get up this thing on laps three, four and five.”

Bottles filled, page pulled and careening down the mountain. I slam hard at one point but immediately bounce back up and keep running. My tricep is screaming at me and I think it’ll dissipate, but it never does. I attempted to arrest the fall by leaning into a pole and ended up straining my arm. Even as I type this almost a week later the tricep still has a ways to go to get back to 100%. Only at the Barkley are you as likely to experience an upper body injury as you are a lower body injury. The amount of upper body strength needed for the Barkley is often underestimated, and it’s a whole-body workout for two and a half straight days.

We went through the prison, up and over the final two climbs and down into camp after what could readily be described as a perfect first lap.

With about a mile to go, Guillaume says to me, “so how long do you think you’ll spend in camp?”

I’ve had a year to digest last year’s failure. I’ve watched Ethan Newberry’s documentary about it 17 times on the big screen (WhereDreamsGoToDie.com). I do not see six seconds as being the difference, I see the better part of 45 minutes that could have been improved upon. Goal #1 for 2018 was to be more dialed in camp, to be better organized from the start, and to “leave no doubt”. Leave nothing for chance. Be better, from lap one through lap five.

Laz changed the rules around camp for 2018 and each runner was allowed but two crew members. This meant Linda +1. This meant no Ethan, no Kim and no Shaun Martin. In the end my crew ended up being Linda + John Kelly, and we shared John Kelly with another runner, the aforementioned Jodi Isenor. John would have his hands full, crewing for two people, but there was no better person for the job. I was honoured that he’d dedicate his weekend towards my own hopeful success. My parents were staying at a hotel in Oak Ridge and would come to camp for Interloopal, taking Reed off of Linda’s hands so Linda and John could focus on the task at hand. Every – second – counts.

Me to Guillaume, “five minutes best case, seven minutes worst case.”

Guillaume, with a pause…”okay”.

We hit camp in 8h38m.

In 8h45m, after a full gear change from head to toe, socks, shoes, shirts, lube, everything, I was sprinting back out of camp. It was, easily, the best I’ve ever felt after a lap at the Barkley. Things were going perfectly.

I spotted Guillaume and Ally scrambling to get to the gate to claim their second lap bib, as I was exiting the campground. I did not have a desire to move on without them, I had a desire to finish the race. Every – second – counts.

There was about ninety minutes of daylight remaining when I departed camp on lap two. For 2018 the direction of the loops was set as;

1. clockwise

2. counter

3. counter

4. clockwise

5. choice

The Second Lap - Counterclockwise

I put in a good push to get up and over the first climb, claiming book #13 (or the first book going ccw). As I dropped down the first off trail section of lap two I thought it about the right time to pull out my headlamp. The weather, as had been predicted, was setting in and it was foggy, cold and starting to rain. They were calling for up to 30mm of rain. The “weather event” had begun.

I clicked on my headlamp but nothing happened. I tried again…nothing. Tried one final time, but still zero. I always carry two primary headlamps of 350 lumens, the Princeton Tec Apex rechargeable, and a third emergency light of just 100 lumens, the PT Remix.

I attempted to fire up my second Apex light but it too was dead. This had never happened before. I pulled out my backup, backup light and turned it on. There was no way in hell that this emergency light was sufficient for navigating in the dark, and I didn’t even have spare batteries for it. I was far too far out of camp to head back and fix this. The sun was all but gone, the fog had rolled in, and my race, was about, to end…

“GUILLAUME! ALLY! GUILLAUME!! ALLY!!”

I knew they’d be close, but if I was unable to locate them I’d be hooped as there were no other runners close to us at this point.

Thankfully Guillaume started whistling back to me and we worked towards each other through the dense laurel brush.

“Oh my god, thank you! My headlamps are both dead, do either of you have a backup main light?”

Neither did but both offered what they did have. Nothing added up to a working solution though (extra batteries specific to each lamp) and I was forced to continue with my “AAA” powered Remix. I need to explicitly state at this point that my headlamps were not malfunctioning. It was not a product issue but a user mistake. We as a crew made an error and learned a valuable lesson in real time. The lamps were both dead, but through no fault of the manufacturer.

Myself, Guillaume and Ally were a team again, whether they liked it or not 😊

I lead us to our second book and as we made our move towards the third book a pack of runners headed our way at the end of their first lap. I asked everyone if they had any light source or “AAA” batteries to spare and a TN runner was kind enough to spot me his emergency light which was also “AAA”. This would at least get me closer to being able to cover the 12hrs of darkness we were now confronted with. (if you are reading this please message me so I can get your light back to you)

As we navigated towards our next book the epicenter of the storm started to unleash on us. We had curtains of rain rolling over us and visibility was down to about a foot or two at most. Neither Guillaume nor Ally had ever been on the Barkley course at night before, this was their first counterclockwise loop, we were in a rainstorm, on a pile of mud, in the Tennessee wilderness, with temperatures in the single digits, and their fearless leader had 100 lumens of light to work with.

The death by a thousand briar cuts had begun.

We blew this book in significant fashion and by the time we did locate it we were all soaked through to the bone and on the cusp of hypothermia.

“Guys, put on every layer you have, this is not going to get any better and we won’t regret it if we somehow end up being a smidge too warm on the next climb up Rat Jaw.”

I was now wearing a long sleeve merino wool base, a short sleeve tech shirt, and hooded wind jacket, a waterproof jacket, a buff, a toque, I had a second thicker pair of gloves that I switched into, I had on a short pair of tights under a full pair of tights, and now pulled on my waterproof pants. On the bright side, my pack was now much, much lighter.

Guillaume Calmettes is certainly one of the most positive people you’ll ever meet, and he exclaimed with a smile, in his thick French accent, but with perfect English “ADVENTURE!”

Ally Beaven possessed a great sense of humour, the ability to tell a good story, and most importantly he understood the golden rule of not complaining out loud.

I would have classified us squarely in the middle of being a “Dream Team” and “The Three Stooges”.

We dropped down towards the prison in the most deranged conditions I’d ever witnessed on this slope. It was like the ground was no longer solid but had somehow decayed into a foreign, much more malleable surface. If I could not visually process that I was moving across a supposedly solid slope I would have guessed it to be ice and snow underfoot. Each time we slipped, and we slipped plenty, we’d go for a ride downslope of about five to six feet before coming to a halt, often against a rock or tree, and then we’d be forced to pick ourselves up and attempt a few more feet of actual forward progress. It reminded me all too much of this:

I mostly nailed this descent, placing us just a tiny bit south of our intended target. We claimed our book and proceeded to the prison tunnel.

I have done the prison tunnel and Rat Jaw ten times in my first two years, this was now my 12th pass of the tunnel. Down the center of the tunnel is a cement strip that’s about five inches wide and six inches high. If you are not wearing a headlamp you loose site completely for about 25% of the tunnel in a complete blackout. Jared called this one of his Barkley games, to see if you could navigate this while essentially blind and I’ve adapted this game. On lap one I’d make it through the tunnel without falling off and getting wet, now on lap two, by headlamp, I was presented with something new to me. The tunnel no longer offered a slab of concrete down the middle as an option. There was one steady stream of water flowing through the tunnel, seven plus inches deep throughout. We still tried to stay on the concrete as the water was only an inch above this, but unbeknownst to me there are “inflow” pipes up above and at one point a rather vicious waterfall from above forced us to hug a sidewall. We were essentially fording a river, through a tunnel, at night, under a prison. It was right about then that I started questioning where I’d gone wrong with my life? Up until that point I'd mostly believed that I'd made reasonably good decisions with my life, but in retrospect, my epiphany was that I’d just managed a positive spin on a series of really bad decisions. I do really stupid things, and I do them with stunning regularity.

Anyways, not like I'm making any big life changes at 41 year's old, might as well forge ahead as is...at the exit of the tunnel there was genuine concern for not getting washed over the edge, into a five plus foot drop.

“ADVENTURE!”

We cleared the tunnel and heaved ourselves up Rat Jaw, crawling through the mud and briars every step of the way.

John freaking Kelly was waiting up top yelling encouragement at us through the fog. There’s a fire tower up top and I couldn’t help but picture the captain in the Forest Gump film, sitting on the topsail yelling out into the storm,

“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT!?”

John informed us that we had at least another six hours in this weather, but that it should start to ease through the night and, as forecast, it would blow through and the next 48 hours were in fact promising. He also admitted to me later that he got lost in the fog, on maintained and sign-posted trails, while heading up to the fire tower to cheer us on. I was uncertain in that moment who was more miserable, us, while plodding through this thing, or John, wearing every layer he owned and standing out in this mess awaiting our arrival.

We were effective through the next few books, skiing down a mountain of mud on both Rat Jaw and then Testicle, and fording the New River to start up what’s known as Stallion Mountain and the back-half of the course going CCW. I couldn’t help but think of Blake Wood, a true legend of the sport and Barkley finisher who during one particularly rough year found the New River impassable on lap five due to heavy rains, and he subsequently was unable to finish that year through no other reason than he didn’t have a boat with him. Laz instituted a workaround for any future years should this happen again, with a prescribed reroute, so we couldn’t even claim that this was the worst year on record, though we were later informed that it did rank right up there.

We made good time all the way to the top, snagged our book page and then turned to descend towards our next book, dropping through a feature known as Cougar Rock.

Guillaume was on lead, he was near perfect through this section in daylight on lap one, but this was a different beast entirely at night. In hindsight, I became a passenger, and it cost us dearly. When you’re dealing with conditions like we were it hinders your judgement, there’s no time to stop and reset because stopping for even a moment leads to a deep shiver that originates in your core. To move is to stay warm, to stop is to freeze. If you start shivering you might not be able to recover from it, so you push on. It is not until we are fully cliffed out that the severity of our situation overwhelms us. We’re in a bad spot, we’re lost, we’re bleeding time, and a misstep by any of us could lead to a serious incident. We retreat, we reset, we work together to figure things out, but the damage is done. We right the ship, find Cougar Rock, nail our next two books through what’s known as The Garden Spot, and find ourselves correcting for a small error on the third to last book.

We’re now down to the final two books and our best case scenario for this lap is 13hrs – high.

The lead is back to me and with limited light I struggle. I’ve already gone through two sets of batteries for my own headlamp and am now borrowing Guillaume’s backup light. A major marker I’m searching for is a sign off the side of the trail, it is less than two feet from the trail, I know this, I am looking for it, I completely proceed right past it and start down an unfamiliar trail and am confronted by a sign I’ve never seen before that reads “legacy tree”.

“F#@K.”

I scream back up slope to Guillaume who is third in our line,

“Did I miss the sign!? Can you see it?”

“Yes, it’s here!”

We retreat, reset, and then struggle with this descent. For the second straight lap, I snap my pole in pretty much the exact same location. We are anything but smooth and the clock is ticking. We eventually locate the second to last book and start up the second to last climb of the lap.

In the fog mistakes are made, I miss by a few degrees and we’re once again scrambling. I have a deep pit in my stomach. This feels fatal.

We locate the trail right at daybreak and I ask the guys if they’re okay with me pushing onward, saying every second is vital right now. They’re totally cool and off I went, somehow feeling like I was up against the clock on lap two, instead of lap five.

I got chased off the trail a short time later by four wild hogs but no harm was done. I get up and over “Checkmate Hill” snag my page and absolutely careen down into camp. Lap time was something like 14h30m. My entire body is numb, not from pain, but from fear and frustration.

The weather has passed and the forecast for the day is nice. I did a full gear change and bathroom stop, but there was a lot to address after that loop.

To add insult to injury I was up against the absolute worst chafing I’ve ever experienced in my life. My Squirrel’s Nut Butter had more than done the trick on loop one, but something went wrong on the second lap. I was continually reapplying but things were getting worse. It was not until I stripped down that I could spot the cause. I was caked in mud from head to toe, and we were so cold overnight that removing gloves just wasn’t an option. Every time I relieved myself I was inadvertently introducing mud into my tights and I’d created a sandpaper grit effect. I was officially no longer having any fun, though at least I knew it’d help keep me awake from here on out.

Linda learned to make sushi in the months leading into the race. If you want an idea of how all encompassing this race has become for our family, Linda spent months this year helping me with my food options for race weekend, and Reed has a tattoo across his shoulders that says “My Dad has made it further in the Barkley than your Dad.” Of course this means we can’t hang out with John Kelly, or Jared Campbell, or Blake Wood, or David Horton, but that’s besides the point, this thing never really leaves us alone for too long at a time. Linda stuffed a sushi burrito into my hand and walked me to the gate for my third lap.

I got out of camp before Guillaume and Ally arrived, and it was once again daylight. There was 12h15m left on the clock for the 36hr cutoff to begin my fourth lap. I knew I could manage an 11h30m lap if I pushed hard, and if I was calculated and focused. This wasn’t over yet. I also finally established my favourite direction of travel, clockwise, which would be the direction of the final two laps should I make it that far. In the CCW direction the “handrails” into books are a bit subtler than in the CW direction, and I am therefore faster and far less prone to errors going CW. I just had to lay down an 11h30m lap and to leave 12h45m on the clock for lap four. I believed in my heart that going clockwise was faster and that this was still within reach.

“I can do this, and I will do this.”

Lap 3 - Counterclockwise

I ran out of camp and focused on going fast when things were certain and slowing right down when they were not. I tripled checked everything, and though this lead to a few more minutes being eaten up, it subscribed to the “go slower to go faster” race plan.

I arrived a Rat Jaw a full 40 minutes quicker than lap two and there were a ton of people there to cheer me on. I was getting into some eating issues now, as I approached 27 hours of continual movement. I’d find myself dry heaving a bit here and there, but was thankfully still keeping things under control. It is a fight to keep the calories coming, and if you’re not dedicated to the fight than you’re all but done. At one point I opened an Endurance Tap maple syrup gel, sucked it into my mouth, but realized I was going to dry-heave again, so I promptly spit it right back out, but I spit it back into the resealable pouch, got over my dry-heaving, and then sucked down the vital 100 calories on my second attempt. I actually patted myself on the back for that one. “Nicely done” I thought, “that’s a first”.

I dropped off Rat Jaw and had legs. I was moving well and the rains were behind us. I just had to keep pushing and stay focused.

I made great time through Armes Gap, across the New River, and back up Stallion. A small bump once again near where we messed up one lap earlier, but I was triple checking things so my small mistake stayed as just that, a small mistake.

The next few books were uneventful and I have ten pages in my pocket. I was doing some math and figured I was on pace for 11h45m at worst. I would have 7-10 mins camp time and be out on lap four with maybe 12h20m or so to work with. I was thinking about a lot of things, about if it were possible, about how this had gone wrong, about what it would mean to finish under these circumstances, about how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family, my parents, my wife, our beautiful son. I was thinking about how much I wanted this, how much me and my wife have invested into this already, how much a finish would mean to us, forget everything else, that’s all white noise, this is for us. I’ve dreamt of becoming a Barkley finisher for ten years now. I was thinking about how good I felt overall, now having eclipsed 32 hours. This is probably the best I’ve ever felt at this point, though I was already on loop four by this point in my two previous attempts.

I was thinking about so much and getting into a nice running rhythm, I was thinking about absolutely everything BUT the one thing I should have been thinking about, book three.

There are varying levels of difficulty between books and some are considered “a gimme” compared to others. Book three is a gimme so you can often treat it as such…

“Whoa, did I miss Bald Knob!?”

I continued around the corner, seemingly confirming in that moment that I had gone too far, then I backtracked and headed up to claim my page.

I was about ten minutes up the slope when things started not adding up so much…

“Did I f@#K this up!?”

I pulled out my map, confirmed direction, moved up slope about another minute, and there it was, the Emory Gap Campground site…

“F@#K! F@#K! F@#K!”

Jared and I ended up here two years ago, at least I knew where I was. I shot a bearing and went to work on correcting my mistake. Maybe ten minutes later I pulled my page from the third book. This error, in and of itself was shitty and detrimental, but not fatal, it’s what happened next that buried me. I somehow dropped down off of Bald Knob too far North, thinking I was West. I thought I’d missed a prominent trail intersection and that I was South of where I needed to be. It’s at this point that I should point out that I’ve never gone more than 31 hours at the Barkley without sleep. I didn’t feel like I was necessarily sleep deprived, but this entire thought process is rather inexplicable to me post-race. I ditched another fifteen minutes piecing this back together, then really wanted to puke when I did a time check.

“GO, for f@#k sakes Gary, GO!”

I ran to my next handrail and then did something I’ve always struggled to do, I got the CCW descent into book two absolutely perfectly. I was still in this thing! About a quarter of the way down I spooked a dozen hogs of varying sizes though, and they continued down the exact line that I was. The last thing I needed was a standoff or a charge from one of them so I made as much noise as possible and after what felt like an eternity they finally dropped off of my line and to the west.

I ripped my page from book two and leaned into the second to last climb in the CCW direction. The sun was setting and my headlamp, which we’d figured out, was back on my head and shining brightly, all 350 lumens of it.

I made good time up Checkmate Hill and ripped my final page. I know my best case time from here to the campground and it didn’t look good. I had to get up and over England in record time and then lean into the descent to camp like my life depended on it.

I got over England, found the trail, hooked a left, and flipped my watch…I double checked the math, then triple checked it…checkmate.

Even if I found another plain to exist on for the next few miles I’d still come in about 90 – 120 seconds over time. I took my time dropping down into camp, not wanting Linda to worry about me once time expired, but also not wanting to rush the inevitable. I wasn’t ready to step aside, I hadn’t even gotten to the hallucination phase of the race yet. I trained for a 60-hour effort, not a 36-hour effort. “I’m not even going to lose all my toenails” I thought. Is there a greater indicator of failure at the Barkley than NOT losing all of your toenails? Probably not.

The Barkley Marathons is a personal goal that I am dedicated to. To finish, is akin to breaking a course record at a lot of other events, things have to go right, and some years it can feel like the odds are stacked against you. I want to go on record right now as saying the race was doable this year, I have no doubt of that. If you look back through the history of the event there is a higher likelihood of a finish when two knowledgeable veterans are able to work together through four full laps. Just one year ago John and I formed a great team in which we were continually correcting each other’s errors to prevent any small mistakes from becoming big ones. Having said that, the course has been completed numerous times by an individual, Jared being just one of them, and I believed that I had the skills to do that myself as well. I have the physical capabilities to outwork many of my mistakes, but until I eliminate those “zone outs” and “passenger periods” for 60 full hours, a finish will elude me, for as John Kelly so eloquently stated,

“The Barkley will find your weaknesses, and it will exploit them.”

I had described the experience going into this year like I was a prize fighter. One year ago, after being decisively ahead on the cards going into the 12th and final round, the Barkley got me with a lucky punch and left me TKO’d. It was the hardest defeat of my life and I’ve had to wait a full year for my rematch. This loss is more shocking, but somehow slightly less devastating, since I never even made it to the championship rounds.

As I sit here typing this I have but one “Barkley toe”, not ten (a completely numb toe). I will likely loose but three toenails, not the full set. I am tired, but not obliterated. I am sore from head to toe, cut up by briars, and flush with the usual unique recovery issues post-Barkley, but I will probably head out for a short run sometime this weekend. I did a 36-hour race, not the 60 hour event I’d set out to, and I am unsettled and rife with emotion.

A Barkley finish likely means more to me than it should at this point and there’s been a crescendo through three years now that would have made for a perfect storybook ending this year, but that’s not how life works sometimes. I simply cannot express my true gratitude to everyone who has followed along and sent well wishes and words of encouragement along the way. This is my purge, please understand that this is my way of telling my story, and it is my preference to not have my life and every single interaction become about the Barkley Marathons. This has evolved into so much more than it should have. There was one goal, it was not accomplished, I’m proud of what I did do, but finishing a Fun Run is not even close to finishing the actual race. I don’t want to be “picked up from this”, that’s the reality and that’s where motivations are forged from. If I was okay with this already I would question how much I really wanted it to begin with. I will stand tall again when I am ready to, but right now I am processing my shortcomings and this is as valuable as any BCMC mountain lap repeat I’d perform in training. This is a period for introspection.

I will return for a fourth go, but honestly we don’t know when that will be. This is not like a year ago where we knew we were going again the following year but we didn’t want to talk about it, we really don’t know when we’ll go back and a decision won’t be made until well into the fall. I’ve missed my skis quite a bit this winter. I’ve missed having more days to teach my son to ski. I’ve missed having more adventures with my wife on a day to day and week to week basis. There are a lot of variables here.

In the grand scheme of things, this is just a race and these are trivial matters. My wife and I have our health, we have our happiness, and we have each other, and in the end, that’s all that I’ve ever wanted or needed. I will say that in three years the Barkley has brought us closer together and for that I’m forever thankful. Linda and I have always been a team, but we’re a tighter more cohesive unit than ever before, and our son Reed will reap those benefits throughout his life. Linda said this to Laz before we departed the park;

“In the end this is just a stupid race, put on by a funny man.”

True dat babe, true dat.

You can’t put yourself out there without expecting to fall flat on your face from time to time, sometimes literally. Life is not easy and pursuing the limitations of who you are will certainly be wrought with unforeseen challenges, but as long as you keep your head up and keep pushing onward towards your truth, towards your belief in who you can be, you will learn to enjoy and cherish the journey, to find positives where others only see negatives…even if you end up reaching your ultimate goal a little later than you may have expected to. Even if you find yourself at that destination a few years further along than your planned arrival time.

To the Kelly family, John, Jessi, kids and John’s parents and cousin: Thank you for extending your home to us and for taking such great care of my wife, son and parents while I was on course. You’ve taken a race that’s already special to us and brought it to another level.

To the Barkley family, Laz, Sandra, Rawdog, Kathy, Dave, Ed, Gail, Keith, Rich, Mike and on and on, and all of the runners from around the globe. You are what make this so special. You are why we keep coming back. You are why we as a family will return again, at some point, because believe it or not, we really like you guys 😊

To my sponsors, thank you for believing in and investing in me. Salomon, Suunto, Princeton Tec, Drymax Socks, Trail Butter, Endurance Tap,

To my parents, I love you so much and I'm so happy you were there and that you got to establish such a wonderful bond with Reed throughout the week. (this is but the second time my father has seen me race and the first time my mother has been to one of my races, given that we live over 7000km apart and I didn't start running till I was long free of the nest.)

To my son. You'll regret that tattoo when you're older.

To my wife. I'm sorry you learned to make sushi for nothing, maybe we should have relied more on the ketchup this year. #backtoketchup20??

The following eight images are thanks to Howie Stern Photography

These final eight images are some of my own from the week

#Barkley #The Barkley Marathons #The Barkley #Gary Rolbbins #frozen head #lazarus lake #salomon #suunto #prin #squirrels nut butter #trail butter #endurance tap #Drymax Socks #Princeton Tec Lights

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measuringlife · 4 years

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Measuring Me: Re-Learning Self Care in Quarantine

I’m beginning my 3rd month of quarantine and doing my best to stay sane. I truly hope you all are having more good days than bad ones. I must admit I treated those first 2 week like an extended snow day. I ate junk, had no schedule - including staying up too late, and spending too much time with a computer on my lap.

After the first week or so I moved from teleworking on the couch or in the kitchen to upstairs at the desk in the guest bedroom. I needed a work space and also a place to close the door on work. As a recovering workaholic that first week was a major flare up. Keep in mind I spent the weekend before quarantine out of the office - I was up in New York emptying out my Mom’s house.

Next I started to get back on a normal sleep schedule. It’s nice to finally feel “caught up” on sleep. I’m waking up around the same time every day weekday or weekend, it’s weirdly nice. I’ve including waking up with enough time before logging on to take the dog for a nice 20-30 “commute walk.” I wanted to listen to my beloved Elvis Duran and the Morning Show like “normal.” Keep in mind they are doing a syndicated national broadcast from home which slows my mind. This led to more walks while listening to podcasts. Lunchtime talks, after work walks, and long weekend walks. I’m fortunate to have BodyPump equipment at home and have been doing Pump 2-3 times a week.

My diet was a whole ‘nother thing. I had been on a slippery slope since October when I moved my Mom down to VA. First it was another eating tour of Long Island, then, I was navigating being a 1 person office, then it was a lot of beer during the Nats World Series run, then my Portugal trip, then Freddie’s health started declining quickly, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Okay New Years was finally here and I was ready to reset. Then Freddie died and I was in a grief spiral, then I was on-boarding new people, then I had my clean on my Mom’s house trip to New York planned. I had told myself back in February that I’d restart Monday, March 16. Then a pandemic hit. Like I mentioned I treated those first two weeks like a pancake and pizza roll filled snow day. So by Monday, March 30th I decided to get a grip with food.

I got back full tilt on the Weight Watchers wagon. When in my life would I have no outside temptations - no free lunches at work or reason to casually drink my calories. Because grocery shopping was like a sacred task I researched recipes and built thoughtful shopping lists. We kept up with our Blue Apron subscription for 3 meals a week, but since we are eating 3 meals a day we needed to have enough good healthy food to eat. I turned to the Weight Watchers slow cooker recipes book I got back in January. We’ve gotten creative with some “staple foods”

Hard boiled eggs, deli turkey, cherry tomatoes, corn, English Muffins, Bananas

I’m currently down 9 lbs and counting, but more so I feel great from the inside out. Once I had a grip on my diet other things started coming back more easily like my skin care routine and stepped up oral hygiene routine - which includes my waterpik. I’ve also returned to my love Sally Hansen Nail Effects polish wraps so I can have pretty nails while in quarantine. I’ve been getting gel manicures for 3 years so not having polished nails was too depressing for me to handle. My nails are for me, they make me feel happy and put together.

I feel connected socially between texts, calls, Zooms, etc. I’ve even started using Instagram stories which I never really used until quarantine. I’ve been playing weekly trivia my friend J hosts on Zoom and I’ve been going to my weekly Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) meeting on Zoom as well. I also feel connected with T, I had started this quarantine being with him for a full week to begin with and thankfully we haven’t killed each other, or even come close. He’s cooking up a storm, doing projects around the house, watching our “new to us” quarantine guilty pleasure - “90 Day Fiance” - so far Before the 90 Days is our favorite, and we have been tackling puzzles at an alarming rate.

My work has been full of creativity and I am really enjoying the challenge. Overall I feel back in control of my life - even in a pandemic. The only thing I haven’t gotten back around to is writing, but here I am typing away again in my “Measuring Me” Google Doc that is currently at page 75. I want to do more writing, more sharing, more reflecting. I’ve been thinking a lot about grief, trauma, and resiliency the past year and it seems as relevant as ever in this current world.

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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When at night

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: It’s been a rather gloomy, rainy day today so I was stuck at home, writing this. This chapter starts rather angsty, but do not fret; it all ends on a fluffy note. Have a nice weekend y’all!

Word count: 6.375

Disclaimer: angst, fluff, injury

This is part 5 of the Tea for Two oneshot.

Find the masterlist here.

< Go back to part 4

Darkness came quickly that day, the night clouded and extremely cold. Large lights had been set up to shine an eerie light through the thick pine trees. The crew huddled away in their thick parka’s while the wind whipped and howled wildly. Not the type of weather you want to be in, but we had no choice. For this particular scene it worked brilliantly and so we were up and about at 11 pm, leaning into the trees while waiting to reset the scene when needed and check for continuity errors.

I had brought a thick winter jacket, wool gloves, jeans and snow boots. Enough I had thought, but even now it was terribly cold. I shivered, folding my hands in the pits of my arms while I looked at a colleague, who was huddled away in his jacket as well. ‘Fecking cold.’ He croaked out in his thick cockney accent. I chuckled. ‘Quite so.’ I shivered in turn while a smile curled on my lips. I stared out in the direction of the set, hearing some hustle and bustle as the director was giving some new directions. It was maybe 50 meters away, but other then seeing things happen, we couldn’t hear a thing due to the loud wind.

A loud, deep crack sounded and I looked at my colleague, then at the trees around us. Nothing happened. He shrugged, smirking. ‘Forest spirits.’ He said, whipping out his hands as if casting a magic spell. The wind laid low again for a bit. We laughed, looking around us. ‘No spirits to be seen.’ I sniffled. And then another single of wind came blowing in. A louder crack. The smile on my lips soon melted like snow beneath a hot sun, when I saw my colleagues eyes widen as he looked at something behind me, his body stiff with shock. I turned around quickly, seeing the bright setlights disappearing around us as a big shadow swallowed us whole. ‘Tree!! Tree!!!!’ I heard people screaming. Panic. My eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden dark as I felt sharp twigs brushing my skin, then the crushing blow of heavy bark. I was smitten down to the ground…

A dull, punishing pain in my chest. I could barely breath and slowly the already low lit area got black. I whimpered like a wounded animal - I think…I couldn’t hear myself. I actually couldn’t hear anything for a time. Seconds? Minutes? I wasn’t sure. I tried to wiggle my hands, but all I felt was thousands of needles stabbing painfully in my skin. Had I blacked out? Or..Was I ..dead? My eyes still black and my senses numb all I could do was wallow and whimper in panic. Could someone hear me? Please? ….Nothing but the silent dark answered my pleading calls.

‘…Heave!’ I heard somewhere far away. Or was it closeby? ‘….Carefulll.’ The voices sounded again, in unison. I struggled to locate these voices. Low voices. I looked around, still not seeing much. Were these angels? I felt a tingle creeping up in my body. I started blinking more feverishly. I could feel. But. My eyes. Still no sight. Did I maybe go blind? I whimpered again, now hearing myself. Far away. Or was I was dead after all? I groaned in resignation as the voices kept floating around me, indistinguishable.

And then..finally.. blurbs of light started to appear. I spread my eyes open, gasping. A terrible pain in my chest shot up. OH GODS. Pain. This was bad. AARGHH. And the sounds. I heard the voices get closer and closer. More light. Way too bright light. Flashlights shining at me. Stop. Put it out. I whimpered again, feeling my head spin as I tried to swallow more air. PAIN PAIN PAIN. Through the rush of pain I could now clearly hear myself. Shapes re-appeared as I noticed a white haired man sitting huddled over me, his lips speaking words I could not fully register until I focussed on him. ’Please…. Respond…. Can you hear me?’ His yellow eyes looked at me with fear and sorrow, his hands tenderly touching my cheeks. Henry. Dear Henry. I took a shallow breath, feeling the numb pain now getting sharper and sharper. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and wail in pain. ‘Emergency services have been called.’ A voice sounded in the back. ‘Don’t move them. And check if she’s breathing.’ I heard Henry gasp softly. Poor Henry.

I cracked my eyes open again. My body felt foreign. Heavy. I just couldn’t move and breathing in caused the shooting of sharp shudders of pain that rolled through me like I was being hit by a truck. Again. And again. And again. But I was alive. I think. I forced myself to look around. Henry still hovering above me. On the far right I recognised my colleague laying there too. He was crying his eyes out, being consoled by some people huddled over him. I took a shivery breath. He was alive. Good. I looked back up at Henry, struggling to somewhat hide my pain from his prying eyes (and failing), then tried to look down at my body. He immediately pressed me down. ‘No sweetheart. No. Just. Relax and keep still.’ His voice sounded pitchy and worried. ‘I’m so cold.’ I whimpered, making his face break into even more sorrow, as he looked up in desperation at the people around us. Thankfully not long after someone came running with some blankets. Blankets which Henry folded around me with the most gentle hands. But it seemed not to help very much. I was cold. So cold. I just laid there, blinking slowly, my body shuddering with every shallow breath I took. Off and on I would hear voices get louder and softer, my vision fading and returning. ‘Stay with me.’ He said softly, his voice but a whisper that hovered above me for my vision had faded again. I tried and tried. But my body was just unwilling. And breathing was so hard, all I could think of, all I could feel, was pain. So much pain.

—

I woke up in a hospital bed. The deafening pain was now dull, but still present. I blinked, looking at the room. The walls, the bedding, even the curtains, were grey. Of course. A hospital was no place for happiness, hmm? I looked around me, finding familiar faces. One of the manager assistants had fallen asleep in a chair next to my bed. I tried to sit up a bit, immediately regretting that as a sharp pain shot through my chest. I cowered back into my initial horizontal position, groaning in slight defeat. I continued looking around while taking more care not to move my chest. My colleague was laying across the room, playing on his phone. His leg was craned up, covered in plaster. Broken leg probably. I groaned as another shoot of pain rushed through me. So..what happened to me? I raised my head a little, looking down at my body. But I couldn’t see much, just blankets and my hospital gown. An uninvited tear billowed down my cheek and I swallowed. Be strong girl. Be strong. ‘Sam’ I whispered. Nothing. ‘Sam’ I said a touch louder, straining my chest. ‘Hey girl. You awake?’ He finally spoke, as he noticed me struggling. I panted weakly. ‘Oh...uh.. Damn! Damn this thing.’ He rasped, some undefined noises coming from his part of the room. His bed creaked loudly. I peaked down, seeing he now had managed to find the button to lift the top part of his bed to a sitting position. ‘You in pain? I can call the nurse for ya. Who is..so cute by the way.’ I took a moment to manage another shivery breath. ‘Just..No air.’ I gasped. I heard him muffle, clicking some buttons. It seemed to take forever - though it probably took just a minute - until a nurse came walking into the room. She moved aside my curtain, opening up the room to me. Three more beds, all empty.

‘Hee-lo. Goo’ moohning. You pain?’ She ushered in a melodic voice. I looked at her for a moment, unsure. Then finally managed to croak softly: ‘No…air.’ Sam interjected from the other side of the room; ‘She’s got difficulty breathing sis.’ The nurse looked at Sam, then back at me, nodding in understanding, then folding away the blankets down to my belly. Which helped a little. I gasped for another bit. ‘Get pain kill.’ She said, pointing at herself. Then disappeared again. I crushed my teeth together. I decided to save my energy and frustration, though I dearly wanted to just sit up and talk to Sam about what happened. I saw the managing assistant yawning, wringing his eyes. He looked at me for a moment in dazed confusion, before fully realising where he was and what was going on.

‘Hey! You’re awake. Oh that’s good. Gooood..’ He hesitated, sitting up from his awkward sitting position to get a better look at me. ‘So…How are you?’ He asked, hovering over me, studying me. ‘She’s got difficulty breathing. The nurse is getting her some ..stuff.’ Sam said. I just stared at the managing assistant awkwardly, a painful smile pressed on my lips. He looked at me a moment longer, then fetched his phone from his pocket. Texting someone. I looked at him, a bit confused as to why this was good moment to start texting someone. He, however, wasn’t fazed by my exasperated facial expression. He finished texting before looking back at me. ‘Hard to keep Henry away from you..princess. He’s not allowed to visit, safety risk and all, blabla. He was …soo…mad. Anyways. I took his place, promising I would alarm him when you awoke. So yea I was here…’ He babbled. I huffed. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. ‘…Sleeping.’ I muttered. He gasped. ‘Well…what else was I supposed to do?’ He tried. All I could do was offer him an amused smile. Poor assistant.

The nurse returned. She dosed the fluidbag connected to my arm with some magical elixir and after just a few minutes I felt a rosy feeling come over me. ‘Ahh…drugs.’ I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment, in relief. My chest felt a whole lot more comfortable now, breathing becoming more doable. I took a good breath. Then opened my eyes again. ‘What’s the damage?’ The nurse had already moved away, so the assistant sat back up. ‘Punctured lung, three broken ribs, bunch of scratches and small wounds. You’ve been really lucky, it could have killed you, had your rib but punctured a little lower it would have been your heart.’ I shivered. ‘Wow.’ ‘How long do I have to be here?’ He laughed. ‘Easy sis. Surely a week, they want to keep an eye on you. And healing takes about 6 to 8 weeks probably.’ I sighed. ‘Oh man.’ ‘Yep. Can I get you anything?’ I looked at him, thinking. My brain was soo slow. I blinked, thinking. ‘Did you …happen to get my phone?’ He nodded, reaching out to a bag on the floor, rummaging around it before handing me my phone. ‘Oh I need to sit up a bit,’ I said, having difficulty raising the phone in vision without my vision becoming a bit blurry. The assistant happily obliged, pushing on some button so my head end also rose up. Well, that felt good. I could finally take a proper look at the both of them. Sam waved gleefully. I laughed a slow smile. Drugs…

I opened my phone. So many text messages. Even my mom, which confused me. How did she know? I looked into my call history, and noticed a few attempted calls. ‘Home. Pap. Mam.’ I returned to the text messages and started responding. ‘HEY! What happened? Dear? Are you okey? This guy called you had an accident? Call me.’ She had sent me plenty of messages. I sighed and started typing. ‘Hi mom. I’m okay now. Got into an accident yes. Falling tree. Broken ribs and punctured lung. But please, no worries. I’m safe now. Can’t call you..no voice yet. Text me whenever. Love you!’ Then the next flurry of messages. From Henry. ‘They won’t let me get to you. :’( .. You just got out of ER. Hmpf I want to be with you…. I have called your mom. Just so you know…I sent Gus to be with you for the night.’ And a picture of him and Kal looking really sad, taken this morning. I took a selfie. I sure looked sickly, I realised, looking at it for a second before sending it. ‘Hi.’ I typed. He responded quite immediately. ‘Oh thank gods.’ ‘The zombie has arisen!’ I quipped, adding a happy emoticon. He returned a sad frowny emoji. ‘Are you in pain?’ ‘Not any longer. Got painkillers just now.’ I took another picture of Gus and Sam both gazing at their phones in the grey room. ‘And..more zombies ;)’ ‘Are they taking good care of you?’ ‘Sure. It’s mostly just boring though. Sigh. Hate hospital. Hate the colour grey.’ ‘:(’ ‘And I miss you!’ ‘I miss you too, so so much.’ He sent. Directly followed by more typing. Henry is typing. Henry is typing. I stared at the screen. ‘They wouldn’t let me go off set without security..which is only going to arrive this afternoon. Pfff. Gosh I got so mad. :( Stupid fucking contract. I was so scared. You laying there under that tree. So pale. So much blood.’ ‘I blacked out. Didn’t really..experience any of it.’ ‘:( I was so scared I would lose you.’ I sighed. Looking at the letters on my screen. I wish I could hug him right now. Crawl away in his strong arms.

Thankfully I could. About three hours later he came walking in with a large vase of colourful flowers, not even taking a moment to put them down, before kissing me desperately. He was still in full costume, some blood on his shirt. Was that mine? I couldn’t tell, my attention already drawn away by one of his security men whom closed the curtains around us, offering us some privacy. He sat on the edge of the bed, finally putting down the vase on the night stand, taking a moment to study me. He looked exhausted with worry. ‘Hi.’ I whispered. My voice was still raw and measly. His jaw clenched. ‘Oh..Sweetling.’ He reached his hands to entangle them with mine, being extra careful he didn’t lean on me. ‘How are you?’ I whispered. He looked down at our hands for a moment, then back at me. Lost for words, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to look for something that expressed what he was feeling. I squeezed his hands and blinked at him slowly. ‘Glad to see you..’ He finally sighed. ‘Alive.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and hovered over me, studying my face more closely. I smiled, wiggling one of my hands from his, to cup his face. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’ I said. He smiled. ‘A bit of colour. WHICH is surprisingly hard to find in rural Poland apparently.’ He sighed. I grinned. His gaze traced down my neck, to my torso. He folded away the blankets. Though not really seeing much more then my hospital gown. ‘Fold it away. I’m curious.’ I said. He looked up, hesitant. Then, most carefully, he pulled open the binding. What appeared was..I guess..less bad then I expected. Lots of small cuts, some with stitches, some bruises. And a bandage around my lower chest, with a speck of blood just centimetres away from my heart. His breath halted, a slow shiver running over his face. I traced the bruises. You could almost see the branches outlined in them. He closed the gown again with delicacy, folding back the sheets. He took another deep breath, then kissed my forehead. He was still struggling to say anything, so instead he just looked at me once more with those pleading puppy eyes.

‘They’ll release me in a week.’ I said, trying to break the heavy atmosphere. He smiled endearingly, cupping my cheek. ‘All in due time.’ He warned. I rolled my eyes. He grinned, happy to see I hadn’t lost my eagerness for life yet. ‘Oh..I brought you some of your stuff. Though I didn’t really know…what to bring.’ He nodded at a box that had been placed on one of the chairs near the wall. I recognised my fluffy slippers, some books, laptop, some clothes. ‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘Let my assistant know if you need anything. You’ve got his number right? Otherwise just tell me.’ I nodded. I sighed, folding my hands back into his. ‘And..you called my mom?’ I quirked up an eyebrow. He let out a breath, grinning. ‘Yes…Which was ..interesting. I kind of..forgot your family is dutch. So she was a bit confused I think.’ I smiled. ‘I just texted her. I think she got enough of an idea what you meant, from the texts she wrote me. Poor mom.’ He leaned in for another kiss, resting his forehead against mine. ‘I might just have to learn a little dutch.’ He grinned. I giggled. ‘Ah, don’t worry. You’ll be alright. She speaks better english when not on the phone.’ I shrugged, feeling a sting in my chest, making me wince. ‘Ai…’ His hand quickly cupped my cheek. ‘Careful there.’ He said, immediately sitting up and checking if anything was obstructing. I sighed deeply. ‘Hmmpf. I’m especially not looking forward to having to call the BBC.’ I took another breath. ‘The doctor told me I’d probably have to delay my work for them for another month.’ Henry quirked his head a bit. ‘Well, there is perhaps a silver lining to that…’ He suggested. I poked him in the ribs, earning a heartfelt laugh from him. He was right though. I would mean another month with him. His gaze got soft again, looking at me lovingly. ‘I love you.’ He whispered softly. ‘I love you too.’ I hummed.

—

The week crawled by slowly. So slowly. The BBC wasn’t fond of the news at all. They immediately had started looking for someone to replace me on their team altogether. Well. That’s showbizz kids. And I must admit I felt a bit down because of it. Now I had nothing exciting to look forward to after shooting for the Witcher finished. An annoyance that wasn’t getting any better by laying in bed all day, which made me crazy with pent up energy.

I was scrolling a bit on my laptop. Me and Henry had started to write each other lengthy texts of our days, besides working through this list of 35 questions to fall in love. It was fun. We wrote extensively about our wishes, dreams, unknown hobbies, families, habits. We had gotten to question 19, which hit quite close due to the circumstances. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why? Henry had written first. ‘I would quit acting, marry you and make love to you every day until my days were spent. And travel. I’ve been to many places, but never got the time to truly explore them.’ I was scrolling through his Instagram posts, daydreaming a bit and trying to calm the small summersaults my heart was making. He HAD been anywhere and everywhere. I clicked back to the Whatsapp app. ‘Quit acting huh? Hadn’t expected that from you. For me…I wouldn’t really change too much. I already travel for work and enjoy it a lot. And I’ll gladly participate in daily lovemaking. ;) Ever been to Sevilla? It’s probably my favourite city of all I’ve visited.’ I closed the tab again, knowing he was working right now, so he would not be responding until way past dinner time.

Checking Whatsapp he hadn’t responded yet. But I couldn’t help adding to my earlier messages: ‘Oh, and I would organise a large feast for friends. I used to cook these large Christmas dinners for friends. Those were just great. The more the merrier!’ I added. He responded a few minutes later. ‘Quit acting because I wouldn’t be able to finish another movie or series within that time. Besides, I’d have more pressing matters to attend to ;) I’ve never been to Sevilla actually. What makes you love it so? And…oh dear how I look forward to eating your food again. We’ve had overcooked spaghetti bolognese. Mamma mia.’ Followed by the meme of a chef loading penne pasta in his gun. I chuckled. ‘Well, if Sevilla offers anything you like, it sure is GOOD FOOD. My gosh. And the mix of culture. Moorish. Spanish. The late nights with people moving around the streets, greeting friends and family and hopping around from place to place after every drink or so to catch up with friends and family - this way the elderly could stick around in one bar and still get to see their whole family in just one night. That’s really cool to see. And the plants! Oh my, so beautiful. Especially the palace gardens. And what about you? What’s your favourite place?’ ‘My parents’ farm. Mostly because of youth memories though. The weather is shit, the people close-minded, lots of unemployment, …thinking about it, it’s not such a good place haha. But there’s animals, and my family. Makes any place a good place.’ He sent a picture of him as a small boy, with, probably some of his brothers, playing soccer in a murky garden with uneven plaids of grass.

It was a week later. A Monday. And it sure felt like it, as the rains were pouring down from the heavens. I was finally released from the hospital. Which was good. The loneliness and utter boredom were not doing me any good. I stood waiting below the flyover at the entrance of the hospital, glad to finally be able to sniff some fresh air. I saw a cab pulling up, halting in front of me. The door swung open as one the ladies from the costume department squeezed herself out of the car. ‘Hey kid!… Awh sweetheart.’ She ushered over, extending her hands for a hug, then realising that wasn’t such a good idea, so instead held onto my shoulders while kissing me on the cheek, trying her hardest not to give the usual squeeze. She pulled her hands away quickly to give me a look up and down. She smiled as she reached out for the small box of stuff that was standing besides me. ‘Let me get that from you.’ She took the box, before handing it over to the cab driver who placed it in the boot. I used the moment to get in the car. Which was …surprisingly hard. I had to clench my teeth and take it as slowly as possible to not to be in full agony. I was slightly panting by the time I was finally seated. We drove off as the rain kept pouring and pouring, offering a rhythmic drumbeat on the car. ‘So... how are you?!!’ The lady finally asked from the backseat, her thick American voice a tad too loud. ‘Alright. Stable I guess. How’s the set? Finished that white gown?’ I said, only turning my head slightly. ‘Set’s good. Been a bit …sad actually, this week. It all sure left an impression. Besides it has been raining almost non stop. We’ll probably run into some delay this week.’ She spoke. I nodded, looking ahead at the road. We were driving through the outskirts of the city. More grey buildings after more grey buildings. But they did slowly seem to thin out. The rolling hills and meadows returned and the road became more bumpy. ‘Will snow later.’ The cab driver pointed up to the sky. I looked at him. He was a small man with dark stubble, a thick moustache, small hat on, his skin dark and leathery. He had probably seen it all.

We arrived on set. And good things come in pairs: it had finally stopped raining. I grunted and groaned as I got out of the cab, before managing it out of my seat, then waved at the cab in thanks before turning. I noticed the woman who had accompanied me had already started walking towards the food parlour, so I decided to follow her in my own, much slower pace. I looked around, glad to be back. And more glad even to see how everyone used the dry moment to continue the hustle and bustle. Barely anyone noticed me and that was for the better of everyone. I just wanted some time to get readjusted.

From the looks of it they had actually started shooting again. I couldn’t find Henry around the food tent, but I did however see a very bored Kal laying there. ‘Kal!’ I said, as loudly as I could without straining myself. His ears peaked up and he jumped up when he saw me. He quickly came running down the slippery grass, making a small sliding to greet me. He jumped up enthusiastically. ‘Sssh. Calm calm.’ I laughed. ‘Hey furry friend. Miss me?’ I petted him fiercely and enjoyed stroking his thick pelt as he leaned into me to receive some scratches. It was good to be back.

The costume lady had already huddled off again. She probably moved my belongings to my co-shared trailer. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’ I whispered, making my way to one of the crew members. He was shining up some swords with a polish. ‘Hi Callum. Any idea where I can find Lizz?’ ‘Heyy you’re back. Oophh..You look a ghost girl.’ He said, looking me up and down. ‘Yea..grey rooms don’t do me any good.’ I shrugged, trying to evade any further questioning. ‘But ehh..Lizz is back of field.’ He nodded in the direction of the castle. I sighed. He hesitated. ‘You can just..take it easy yea?’ I smiled. ‘I know. Thanks Callum’ I walked off, followed by a happy Kal. I looked to the end of the field, noticing they were shooting there. I looked down at Kal, looking at him sadly. ‘Sorry pal. Can’t have you there. Kal, stay here.’ I pointed at the dinner tent. ‘See you in a bit.’ I petted him, seeing him immediately lay down again in defeat.

The sky was slowly turning a tinge purplish. Perhaps the cab driver was right. I huddled closer in the jacket I got from production - my own was..well..impaled, as I walked around the castle, looking out over the lake. I saw the crew was positioning a new scene. A lot of folk afoot. I couldn’t discern yet whom it were, so I waddled over the slippery, icecold gravel, keeping my eyes trained on the ground keeping a steady footing. My breath was shallow and harsh, yet it also felt good to feel fresh air in my lungs. I slowed my pace a bit after a few minutes, nearly out of breath from just walking.

In the end it took a good 10 minutes for me to reach the production crew. First to be found was Lizz. She walked up to me, an air of surprise over her when she noticed me walking up to her. ‘Well have you here. Goodness. Welcome back.’ She exclaimed. I grinned, still a bit out of breath. ‘Hi Lizz. How are you?’ I sighed. ‘Good. Dear, shouldn’t you be..resting?’ She rested a motherly hand on my shoulder. ‘The doctor did allow me to take a daily stroll. So…’ I pointed at the castle, then to where we were standing. ‘Strolling.’ She squeezed my cheeks. ‘Good thing the branches didn’t get your pretty face. So…uhm… the set! We did scene 24 to 30, but surely need to reshoot 29, too poor lighting. The weather’s been absolutely terrible these days. We better get cracking if we want to make up for lost time…’ She looked at me hesitantly. ‘I can borrow you my eyes, but not allowed to lift anything.’ I winked. ‘That’s good. Alright, uhm..’ She looked up at the trees next to us, her gaze a bit worried as she looked back at me. ‘I’m not afraid of the trees Lizz.’ I grinned, understanding her train of thought. She nodded, looking from the scene set up back to me. ‘Forest scene. The..ehh..31st, shot 3. If you could aid in consistency with Lucy, storyboards are with Boomer.’ I nodded, making my way to the storyboard guy.

Just then snow started to fall. Tiny, tiny flakes started to stick to our eyelashes. I joined Lucy, whom quickly told me what to look out for. I looked at the storyboard, realising the scene included my dear Henry - whom I had not yet spotted, as he was huddled away in the back, discussing some choreography with his trainer. Also there was Freya as Ciri and 3 unknown actresses. Sorceresses. I flipped through the storyboard. They’d sing a song to entrance them, but Geralt wouldn’t be so easily impressed, bickering with one of them which would lead to a fight. Ciri would start to run away - it was to be one of her first humanoid monster fights, making her doubt her powers.

I decided not to call for Henry, since he was so focused in his conversation. Instead it was Lucy who called for him on my behalf. ‘Henry!’ She squealed. He looked up, his orange-yellow eyes shooting at Lucy. Then slowly his gaze travelled towards me. He released a breath, then excused himself before striding towards me. His lips curled in a half smile as he kissed me, hastily. ‘Hey.’ ‘I’m back.’ I said, smiling. ‘You look like you could use some rest.’ ‘I know. But some fresh air first. How’s it going?’ ‘Good.’ He looked up, noticing the snow. ‘Perfect actually.’ He smiled an earnest smile, his eyes glittering as he wiped a few snow flakes out of my hair, making my heart beat loudly in my chest. I blushed slightly, barely registering they were about to start the scene ‘Everyone ready? Let’s shoot!’ The director’s assistant shouted as everyone quickly hurdled themselves into place. He kissed me quickly, smiling as he noticed Freya getting up next to him, her face turning up into a broad smile as she noticed me.

Evening started to fall and they wrapped up shooting. The wind had completely mellowed down, snow now falling heavier and heavier. I was walking with Henry back towards the encampment, my arm hooked into his. I didn’t have breath yet to talk and walk at the same time. But he made up for that, as he talked for the two of us combined. I occasionally looked at him, enjoying his presence as his low voice rattled on about things that had happened. He spoke of the rain, some funny events on set, how they checked all trees near shooting locations with the park guard, about Kal’s frantics. I laid my head against his shoulder, smiling contently.

We dined in his trailer, away from the hustle and bustle, just to be together for a bit and finished the night cuddling in bed as I fell asleep in his arms as I so loved to do. His large arms shielded me from the cold winter night, but not from my dreams, which were somewhat restless. I dreamed of running. Running through the thick bushes, trees whipping around me in eagerness to scare me. ‘You don’t belong here.’ They whispered. ‘You must leave.’ But no matter where I ran, there were more trees. I shot up from the bed, sweating, having apparently awakened Henry, because he was stroking some hair from my face. ‘Hey..shhh…you’re safe.’ He whispered. ‘Bad dream.’ I panted, sighing.

I snuggled back into his arms, but sleep couldn’t catch me quite so easily anymore. And I felt Henry’s breath wasn’t as deep as it usually was either. I quirked up my head, seeing if he was asleep at all. He wasn’t. He was looking at the ceiling, before he noticed I was awake and looked down at me. ‘Try to sleep.’ He whispered. I sighed. ‘So should you.’ We were quiet for a bit. ‘We were at number 30. When did you last cry in front of another person? And by yourself?’ I asked, turning a bit to look at the silhouette of his face, the snowy moon lighting his face just enough so I could see his eyes blink. He wrapped his right arm more tightly around me, pulling me closer. Then sighed. He was quiet for another moment. I just continued looking at him. ‘I’ve cried a lot this week.’ He finally whispered. I stroked his curly chest hair with my free hand, trying to comfort him. His left hand reached for my hand, pulling it up to kiss the palm of my hand. ‘I felt so powerless.’ His voice sounded thin, almost shivery.

We lay there for a bit longer, remaining quiet. I figured he did not wish to speak of his emotions right now. Entwined in each others arms, I twirled a finger across his ribs. ‘Hey. So what is going to happen now?’ He finally asked, shifting his weight a bit, turning on his side so he could look at me. I looked back at him, seeing mostly just his silhouette. ‘What is going to happen?’ I said. ‘With us..the next few months.’ He hesitated, brushing a hand over my cheek. I moved my head a bit to snuggle into a more comfortable corner of his arm. ‘Don’t know. Contract here might run a week longer since the weather’s been shit. BBC found replacement. So…the big black hole is coming.’ He let his hand travel from my cheek to my arm, tracing it slowly. ‘Would you…would you like to stay with me?’ He asked gently. I chuckled. ‘We can do that?’ I asked. He sniffled. ‘I’m Henry Cavill dear. They wouldn’t have a Witcher in their Witcher series, if I wasn’t here. Surely it’s an easy bargain to have an extra member on the team in return for a happy Henry.’ I sniffled in turn. ‘You are..’I reached for his hand, raising it up to my mouth, playfully biting into one of his fingers. ‘…Such a snack.’ He laughed, rolling us over to kiss me. A long, wanting kiss. But we both understood that such a thing wouldn’t be wise at this point. Besides, I wasn’t allowed to use the pill while on antibiotics. He rested his forehead against mine, forcing himself to calm down. He pecked me on the lips once more. ‘I’ve missed…all of you.’ His hand travelled down to my crotch, grabbing it wantingly. I gasped. ’Not now.’ He chuckled. ‘I know.’ He looked at me. Darkness hiding most of his face from me. An old question drifted up in my head, one I had wished to ask earlier.

‘Henry. If anything…does not go according to plan. I mean. The pill. Condom…’ I had to take a breath. He interrupted. ‘Ah.. the child surprise? No worries. ’ He kissed my cheek. ‘I would gladly be his or her dad.’ I grinned. ‘Jokes aside. If I accidentally get pregnant. What would you have me do? Would you like to know?’ ‘Of course I want to know! And I support whatever choice you make. Though you WOULD have to marry me, as mother of my children.’ He growled, kissing me again. I snickered. ‘Okey okey..okey.’ I pushed him away a bit, then interlocked my gaze with his. ‘Why then, what makes you want to marry so badly?’ I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. ‘Because I want to be a married man, first of all, be it silly. And I surely would love to celebrate love…and see you in such a beautiful dress again.’ He got up a bit, prepping himself on one arm. ‘Do you have no wish to marry?’ He said, looking at me with honest curiosity. I looked up at him, a stroke of moonlight lighting up his face. He looked like an angel. Oh how my heart tugged and screamed. My man. My man! Look at him! Thankfully I could find words before he started worrying: ‘I like the idea of celebrating love, and a pretty dress…and a different last name. Truly, my last name isn’t…nice.’ I chuckled. ‘I guess I just only never had such dreams as a little girl. My parents have also never married.’ He cupped my cheek. ‘But I may ask you one day?’ My heart swelled up even more, beating loud as a drum. ‘You.. may.’ I smiled. ‘Though don’t buy a ring. I don’t like wearing rings.’ He bent over me again, kissing me sweetly. ‘Gotcha.’ He lay down again, pulling me closer.

We lay there for another bit, just looking at the slow moving shadows on the walls. ‘So..Why no ring?’ He said after a minute or so. ‘You won’t let your traditions go hmm, mr. Cavill?’ I chuckled, tickling him. He didn’t respond much. He wasn’t very ticklish, but he did groan in quiet - albeit clear - sexual frustration. He quickly encapsulated my hand, pressing it against his belly. I sniffled softly, then continued: ‘For real though? I don’t like wearing rings, so I would find it wasteful. I’m actually thinking I would prefer a tattoo on my finger. That’s more..forever..anyways, than a piece of metal.’ I shrugged. He snickered in turn. ’A tattoo huh.’ He was quiet for a moment, thinking..‘So I have to propose to you with a tattoo gun in hand?’ ’Nooo…I mean…after actual marriage I would get it tattooed on. Oh you!’ I laughed. ‘A tattoo.’ He hummed, his breath slowing down as his voice got drowsy. He fell asleep, leaving me a moment to watch him a little while longer, before sleep caught back up with me.

When I woke he had gone to set already, having left behind a note on the bed.

‘Lunch date? 13h castle hall.’

I smiled.

---

Part 6 >

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #night #poland #setlife #fanfiction #fluff #angst #tattoo #kal #witcher #teafortwo

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utimagines · 7 years

Text

Permanent Vacation

Mini fic requested by anon! TW: Depression/ Suicidal thoughs!!! Happy ending though - Mod Erica! Listen to the song here!

You say that I'm too complicated / Hung up and mis-educated / I say nine to five is overrated /And we all fall down

Sans feels like falling down some days. Some days, the nightmares, the pressure and just the world itself crushing down on him just gets too much. If you had asked him about his feelings about death before the resets started, he probably would have told you that he didn’t want to experience it. If you ask him now… well… he’s already on the verge of falling down as it is.

I can't sleep 'cause my mind keeps racing / My chest hurts 'cause my heart keeps breaking / I’m so numb and I can't stop shaking / And we all fall down

It’s another sleepless night for Sans. Nightmares plague him wether he’s asleep or awake. Constant flashes of his brother dying and the underground turning to dust following him around as if they’re a reminder of his failures to save everybody. His soul aches in his chest as he stares up at his blank ceiling. He knows his bones are probably shaking with the anxiety and pressure of having to face another day underground.

His life is a mess and he knows it, he just wishes that he’d hurry up and fall down already.

Frustration, desperation / You say I need some kind of medication / Situation, no motivation / Destination, permanent vacation

He turns his head to look at the alarm clock resting on the floor. Papyrus would come through the door in exactly three minutes to ‘wake’ him up. Turning his head to his window, a stray tear runs down his cheek and he brushes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. Theres snow falling outside his window, as it usually does at the beginning of a reset. He used to think that fresh snow falling meant good and new things were coming. Not anymore.

Hey, I'm doing fine / And I know I'm out of line / So let's sing this one more time / It goes / Destination, permanent vacation

As per clockwork, his bedroom door slams open and Papyrus walks in. Sans quickly closes his eye sockets and pretends to sleep.

“WAKE UP YOU LAZY BONES!” His brother shouts. Sans ‘wakes’ up with a grumble and turns around to face his brother. Papyrus is standing there, wearing his battle body, with his hands on his hips.

“mornin’ bro,” Sans yawns.

Voices coming through the speaker / They can't make me a believer / I know I'm an under-achiever / And we're all so proud

“SANS! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF BED THIS INSTANT!”

“ok.”

“I’M SERIOUS!”

“ok.”

“SANS!”

“ok ok i’m up,” Sans huffs as he rolls off his mattress and onto the hard floor beneath him. Suddenly, strong arms wrap around his middle and hoists him off the ground and into a standing position.

“heh thanks bro. i’ll meet you down stairs for breakfast but i’ve just gonna check something first,” Sans puts on a smile and looks up at his brother. Papyrus nods and begins to walk out of the room.

“NO WORRIES BROTHER! I SHALL MAKE US THE GREATEST BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI! IT SHALL SURPASS YESTERDAYS STANDARDS!”

Sans continues to smile at his brother until he leaves the room. As soon as Papyrus is out of sight, the smile falls and Sans takes a shortcut to the basement.

Watch out, I think we're going under / Right now, you're just another number / Get out, the system's in the gutter / And we're all so proud

Sans looks over the readings from the last reset. All the numbers on the screens staying constant with the anomalies readings. The machine begins a new reading, signalling the fall of the human for yet another reset. He feels a headache coming on as he rubs at his skull.

Sighing, Sans shortcuts back into the main section of the house. He walks into the kitchen just as Papyrus is setting out the plates for breakfast. With a tight smile placed on his face yet again, he sits at the table.

“looks good bro,” he compliments. His brother puffs up at the praise as he always does.

“THANKYOU BROTHER! I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, INCLUDED EXTRA GLITTER IN THIS BATCH TO MAKE YOUR DAY SPARKLE!” Papyrus announces, taking his seat at the table.

Frustration, desperation / You say I need some kind of medication / Situation, no motivation / Destination, permanent vacation

Once the meal was eaten and the plates were washed, Papyrus pushes Sans out the door and out to their sentry duties. Sans walks Papyrus to his station then short cuts the rest of the way to his own. Now that he’s alone, Sans takes away the smile plastered on his face and collapses into his chair. Pulling his hood over his head, Sans lifts his feet onto his station and stares down at his hands.

He knows he has a few hours until the human walks through the doors. That’s plenty of time for some self deprecation and depressive thoughts to creep up on him. He stares at the fine gaps between his phalanges, wondering if the resets are ever going to end. Maybe the kid will just give up one day and just not fall into the underground. Maybe they’d give up on their genocidal ways and finally release them from their prison.

Maybe that wouldn’t happen at all and he’d be stuck living the same two days repeatedly. He wonders if he’d ever snap and just dust himself at the beginning of each reset to run away from it all. No… he can’t leave Papyrus by himself when the human walks through.

Time must have passed quicker than he thought as he hears a battle playing through at the end of Snowdin forest behind the door. Bracing himself, Sans shortcuts away from the sentry station and to the entry way of the door, listening in to the battle. When the music ends, he still doesn’t know if his friend is alive. When footsteps come closer to the door, he shortcuts into the depth of the trees.

The heavy door opens and… That’s not Frisk.

Sans’s soul pounds in his chest. That’s not the kid. This human looks older! And they’re not covered in dust! Sans almost feels his hope rising. With an almost genuine smile, he teleports behind the new human, breaking the log and teleporting away. He watches as the new human reacts to the sound and begins walking faster.

When they get to his brothers bridge he calls out his magic and holds them in their place. He teleports a few feet away from them and begins walking slowly, his slippers crunching in the fresh snow.

“H U M A N. D O N ‘ T Y O U K N O W H O W T O G R E E T A N E W P A L?” Sans watches the humans body language carefully. They’re trembling but he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from fear.

“T U R N A R O U N D A N D S H A K E M Y H A N D,” Sans continues. He releases his magical hold on the human and allows them to turn around. The new face greets him like a breath of fresh hair.

He holds out his hand and the human takes it, setting off the whoopee cushion. The human looks startled for a moment before breaking down into laughter. Sans finally smiles a genuine smile.

Maybe this time things will be different.

#sans #undertale #fic #mini fic #tw:depression #tw:suicidal thoughts #mod erica #im so happy with this #things may continue

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officialcarryonheadquarters · 7 years

Note

Snowbaz 1.4 please!

there was another anon who asked for this one too so i hope they see it here :D sorry it took a few days!! thank you so much for the prompt i hope you like it bc i freaking love soulmate aus and im so happy to have an excuse to write one

soulmate au: if you write/draw on your skin it shows up on your soulmate’s skin

words: 1.6k

warnings: lol none im an innocent

Baz hated soulmates. He hated all the couples walking around Watford with their cute little hearts scribbled on skin, mirrored on the other person. He hated that he knew who his soulmate was. And he hated most of all that he could never have him.

Baz had done extensive research trying to learn about the magic behind soulmate links. He couldn’t find out how to reverse it. He couldn’t find out how to reset it. But he did find a few old articles and papers of one-sided soulmates and Baz realized very quickly that once again he fell in with the less than one percent. The unfortunate ones.

When Baz was little, before his mum died, soulmates were his favorite thing. His mom and dad would write each other little messages on their arms and Baz dreamed of doing the same thing someday. He would doodle on his arm and write messages to his soulmate, but they never wrote back. His mum said that his soulmate must’ve just missed them.

Baz later found out in his third year of Watford that all of his embarrassing doodles and notes had ended up on the arm of none other than his sworn enemy (and roommate).

He’d decided to write a note on his arm, after 8 years of religiously keeping his skin clean. When it appeared on Snow, sleeping five feet away, Baz rubbed it off his skin until his arm was raw.

He never so much as traced a message on his arm again. Snow never found out.

~ Eighth Year ~

“Hey Baz?” Snow whispered into the dark.

Baz glanced at his alarm clock. 1 am. “Go to sleep, Snow,” he grumbled at the idiotic blonde on the opposite side of the room.

Baz could only make out his head and wild curls peeking out of the blankets in the faint moonlight of the fucking window Snow insisted they keep open year-round, even in the winter. Especially in the winter. As if Baz wasn’t already cold enough being a bloody fucking vampire.

“Who’s your soulmate?” Snow asked, persisting. As stubborn as a brick wall, with equivalent social skills. Baz tried to ignore the way his breath caught at the question.

“Excuse me?” Baz turned over to face Snow. He prayed the darkness would hide his eyes. They’d give him away in an instant. His trained apathy was useless at one in morning.

“Well, haven’t you ever written your soulmate?” He gestured at Baz’s arm.

“No.” Baz snapped, “have you?” he couldn’t help himself.

Snow stayed silent a moment and stared at the floor between them, “no… Agatha keeps asking me to try it. She wants to know whether we’re really meant to be together.”

“Then just doodle on your goddamn skin, Snow.” Baz said, turning his back towards Snow again and hoping Snow would drop the conversation.

“I don’t want it to not work,” he whispered, “what if it doesn’t work?”

He sounded heartbroken. Baz’s lifeless heart lurched at the thought. He’d never let himself dream that Snow could ever be his soulmate back. Because Snow was straight. Because they were enemies. Because nothing ever really seemed to work out in Baz’s favor. So Snow had to be Wellbelove’s soulmate, and she had had to be Snow’s.

“Then she’s not your bloody soulmate. Write on your damn skin already, I’m sure she’s your soulmate. The golden couple of Watford, happily ever after.”

Snow’s face turned red at that, “shut up.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Baz snorted. Snow could never clapback. Talking wasn’t really his thing. Neither were spells. Or anything having to do with words, in general. Poor Bunce. Poor Wellbelove.

***

Baz wasn’t following Snow. Absolutely not. It was pure coincidence that Snow and Wellbelove didn’t notice Baz sitting a few feet behind them on the Great Lawn, reading his history assignment.

And Baz would’ve left, but he didn’t have the willpower.

“Agatha, I think I’m ready to try writing on my arm.”

“Fucking finally, Simon. You made such a big deal out of it for nothing.” Snow shrugged sheepishly at her words. He pulled a pen (Baz’s pen, his good pen, wanker must’ve stolen from his desk) and rolled up his sleeve.

He glanced up at Agatha, who rolled her eyes at his nervous expression. “Just do it, Simon.”

He reluctantly touched the pen to his arm and started writing slowly. Agatha didn’t roll up her sleeve. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

“Did it work? Lemme see it!” Snow reached out and turned over her wrist.

The whole world froze.

“It didn’t work, Simon. I think that means we’re not really meant to be.” Her voice sounded like ice. Baz could hear the blood pounding in Snow’s head. Or maybe it was his own, but he hadn’t been down to the catacombs in awhile.

“But—”

“You already knew it too, Simon.” She left him like that. Crumbled in the grass. Everything was silent, even the birds took a break from their incessant chirping, yielding to the golden boy broken in the grass.

“Fuck!” He shouted, finally. His green, smoky magic was coming off of him in rolling, nauseating waves. A first year twenty meters to Baz’s left threw up. A few third years scattered, trying to get out of Snow’s vicinity.

Baz left too. He knew he couldn’t watch Snow cry or go off, if he did he would lose it too. And if Snow caught Baz watching him, all of that lose magic would suddenly be concentrated on Baz and chances are it wouldn’t be friendly fire.

***

When Snow finally returned to the room that night, his cheeks were still stained with tears and the chicken-scratch on his arm was scrubbed raw, but still there.

Snow stopped next to Baz’s desk, foot tapping incessantly, “Well. You were wrong, you were wrong, Basilton. For the first time in your bloody perfect life.”

“You’ve still got a soulmate, somewhere. Just write them if you care so much.” Baz rolled his eyes. Snow was a damn mess.

Snow let out a clipped laugh, “Oh yeah? And why don’t you write your soulmate, then? Huh? What’s stopping you?” Snow hissed, throwing his school bag in the direction of his bed. He was burning up. The room was starting to smell like smoke.

“Because.”

“Because? Because?! Give me your fucking arm.” Snow snapped, reaching for Baz.

Baz recoiled from him. “Crowley Snow, calm down!”

“I’ll do it if you do.” Snow bargained, staring intensely at Baz.

“What?”

“I’ll write my soulmate if you write yours. We’re the only freaks in this school too scared to try it, for Christ’s sake.” Snow shrugged. He didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears rolling down his face. Baz was tempted to take it upon himself, but he let them fall to the uneven floorboards instead.

“Deal.” Baz didn’t really have anything left to lose at this point. Maybe Snow would finally take him out of his misery.

“Really?” Snow looked like someone slapped him and took a step back.

Baz smirked, “You’re going to back out of your own deal?”

“I, no—” he got flustered to easily.

“Then let’s get this over with.” Baz snagged a pen off his desk and turned over his wrist. Snow hopped up on Baz’s desk and did the same.

“On three.” Baz mumbled.

“One-”

“Two-”

“Three!” They exclaimed.

Baz drew a heart. He didn’t have anything to say to Snow. He watched Snow’s wrist as if he could see it forming under his sleeve.

Snow sat on Baz’s desk, staring at his opposite wrist intensely for a solid three minutes.

“Snow. Wake up.” Baz shoved him off his desk.

“When are they going to answer me?” He whined.

Baz shrugged, and made moves to exit the room. “I don’t bloody well know, Snow.”

“What did you write?” Baz blushed and held out his wrist.

“Oh, Merlin. That’s so much better than mine.” Snow mumbled. Baz grabbed Snow’s wrist, not surprised by the atrocious “HI” scrawled there.

Baz snorted as Snow shoved him the rest of the way out of the room.

***

Baz didn’t noticed it until he stepped into the shower. The atrocious, adorable, chicken-scratch “HI” scrawled on his wrist. His breath caught. It couldn’t be.

Or it could. The pounding on the bathroom door sounded like a fucking sledgehammer.

“Basilton fucking Pitch open the door! OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!” Snow screamed. Baz scrambled out of the shower and tugged on his robe. He unlocked the door hesitantly and it creaked open painfully slowly, to reveal one very red, angry Simon Snow.

And then he charged.

“Anath-” Baz’s protests were silenced by Snow’s lips on his.

Snow backed Baz up against the sink, gripping Baz’s hips underneath white-knuckled fingers.

“Why did you keep it from me the whole time?” Snow panted, taking a half-step back, just enough to look up into Baz’s eyes. His hands were still tight on Baz’s hips and Baz’s hand dropped from Simon’s hair to his cheek.

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me Pitch, you knew this whole goddamned time.” Simon muttered, tracing circles on Baz’s stomach.

“I thought it was one sided. You were with Agatha four hours ago.”

“It’s not one sided. I just needed help figuring it out.” Simon mumbled, playing with them hem of Baz’s shirt. He wouldn’t look up, but Baz could see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Idiot.” Baz rolled his eyes, and Simon reached up for another kiss.

feedback welcome! ngl this is probably shit im sorry… sorry for any mistakes

~nat @thecruciblegavemeyou

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