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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Moving On - Chapter 3

Moving On: A Falcon & Captain Marvel Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Sam Wilson x F!Reader, Carol Danvers x F! Reader

Word Count: 2003

Rating: E

Warnings: just a little canon complaint drama this chapter

Synopsis: You thought Sam Wilson was the love of your life. You had planned to do it all with him - marriage, kids, see the world. Even when you’re life gets turned upside down, and you both end up international fugitives, he’s there by your side.

Then Thanos comes.

When Sam is one of the many turned to dust, leaving you alone and pregnant, you don’t think you’ll ever stop grieving. Yet, everyone tells you that Sam would want you to move on and live your life - that he’d want you to be happy. Gradually you open your heart up to another. Carol Danvers has lost people too. First her daughter, then her wife. As the two of you lean on each other, feelings grow and you move on together.

So what happens when Sam is returned to you?

Chapter 3: The Accords

When Sam had left on his mission to Lagos, you had been worried but not in a major way. You had thought maybe he might come home bruised up or with a cracked rib. The last thing you had expected was for a lapse in attention would allow Rumlow to detonate a block leveling amount of C-4, and that when Wanda had tried to contain it and it had taken out a floor of a building instead, she’d get the blame.

Still, while that was bad, it wasn’t something that you had thought would directly affect you. It might mean there was some argument with governments about Wanda being in the custody of the Avengers and how training should be done to prevent things like that from happening again. You were fairly sure the insurance policy the Avengers held for such things was going to be hit hard. But for you and Sam - life and love and wedding plans wouldn’t have been affected.

And then Tony Stark had shown up with General Thaddeus Ross.

Ross had dropped a bomb into the compound and run. Not a literal bomb, but one that had the potential to be just as damaging. The Sokovia accords had been dropped off - a document stating that any enhanced individual would have to register themselves with their country's government and the UN and provide them with biometrics as a way to keep tabs on them. Along with that, anyone working for facilities such as SHIELD, SWORD, or the Avengers as operatives, and any of these enhanced individuals were unable to act on matters of security without the go-ahead from their countries government or the UN.

While that didn’t change too much for you, according to the document, Sam’s wings counted as enhancements. Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff were also both enhanced and would need to provide DNA to the government. Wanda would be registered as a weapon of mass destruction.

It meant you and Sam had to decide what you wanted to do. You knew there was no way Sam would sign. He had already left the airforce, he wasn’t going back to working for the government again so soon. Especially not with the added condition of registering humans with them. You also knew he was unlikely to stop fighting - it just wasn’t in his nature.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have a chance to even talk about it before Sam was out the door again.

“Look,” Sam said as he got his best suit out of the closet. “This is a big deal. It kinda changes everything for us. So maybe decide what you really want to do and what you’re okay with? I mean… worst case scenario I could end up an international war criminal.”

“How likely is that though?” You asked as you watched him zip the suit into a suit bag.

“I doubt it’s very likely but you gotta consider it, babe,” he said. “I love you. I want a life with you, but I don’t want you to end up resenting me because we end up on the run from the law together or something.”

“Right,” you said with a nod. “You wouldn’t consider… I dunno… retiring?”

“Of course,” Sam said, moving on to the underwear drawer. “And if these things go through and they make me sign, that’s what I’m gonna say I’m doing. But you know me, I’m never gonna take some back seat when a big bad goes down.”

“No, I know,” you said. “Me too. You sure you don’t want me to come to this?”

Sam shook his head. “This is Steve’s thing,” he said. “I didn’t even know Peggy. I’m gonna be there for him. I’ll be back in a couple of days. You think while I’m gone.”

“You know I’m just going to do whatever you do,” you said. “Right? I mean, the whole premise sounds a little -” you paused and rocked your hand back and forth “- the whole ‘registering people for being different’ thing? And then to muzzle them and treat them as dangerous weapons. It’s fucked up. And besides. You’re my man. Where you go, I go.”

He smiled and came over and kissed your forehead. “I’m your man, huh?”

“Mm-hmm… my fine man,” you hummed.

He laughed and touched the tip of your nose with his finger. “Stop trying to distract me, woman. I’ve got a funeral to go to.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, zipping up his bag. “You’ll call me when you get there?”

He kissed your forehead again. “Of course.”

You grabbed his t-shirt before he could pull away and dragged him down into a deep kiss. He hummed softly and caressed your jaw, before pulling back and grabbing his bag. “You think on it. Okay? No rash decisions.”

You agreed you would and watched him leave, not realizing how this was the point where everything would change.

You had been watching the news in your room when the word about the attack on the UN at the Vienna International Centre. It hadn’t taken you long to realize if the number one suspect was James Barnes that Steve would be quick to take after him. Sam had been on the trail of the infamous Winter Soldier since the day you’d met him, there was no way that Steve would let anyone else bring him in.

You also knew that if Steve went, Sam would likely go too. Not because Sam was Steve’s shadow, but because they both had their moral compasses so inline that they ended up having the same thoughts at the same time.

Which would mean they were breaking international law and that unlikely scenario where they would become fugitives was a little more likely than you thought.

You needed to contact him, but you knew it was dangerous. You sent him a text. The two of you had gotten into the habit of sending large groups of emojis with little messages hidden inside. Most of the time they were for no reason. There would be a string of eggplants and peaches and then a random egg and milk carton to let the other person know you needed eggs and milk. It was a habit that was built out of the paranoia you had drilled into you as a spy. If something happened and you need to message each other covertly, seeing a string of random emojis would at a passing glance just look like the cute-coupley thing you both always did. It wouldn’t withstand any deep probing, but it would be enough to let each other know that one of you was in trouble or to go grab the burner phone and run.

You texted Sam a string of hearts in kiss emojis with an American flag, a bird, a jogging emoji, and a snowflake mixed in.

He texted back a similar string with a thumbs up in the mix.

You replied with the more sexual emojis, eggplants, peaches, the droplets, the tongue, and among them was the girl with the hand raised in the air.

Sam replied with the same only instead of the girl was a thumbs down.

Yes, they were going after James Barnes. No, he didn’t want you to come.

You didn’t hear from Sam again for two days. Two days that only seemed to make matters worse.

Steve had indeed tracked down Barnes, but so had just about everyone else. It ended with a car chase through the streets of Romania where Steve, Sam, Barnes, and weirdly the new king of Wakanda had been arrested by Rhodey of all people.

Sam called you when they had been taken back to Germany.

“I know you’re antsy, baby,” Sam said. “But you need to stay put. Right now they’ve confiscated my wings and Cap’s shield, but we think we’ll be let go. We went after Barnes. He’s captured. That’s it. Slap on the wrist, don’t do it again, type of bullshit. Worse comes to worst… well, it’s not the first time they’ve tried taking my wings off me, is it?”

“Sam!” You yelped. “This line…”

“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Sam said, holding his hands up in front of the screen. You knew he wasn’t.

“Anyway…” Sam continued. “I think Tony’s trying to talk Steve into signing the accords. I dunno if he will or not. Maybe just to keep the peace. But there’s no way I’m going to.”

“I want to be there with you,” you pouted. “I could help.”

“It’ll just make things messy,” Sam said. “Trust me. You’re better off there. It’s not like I can get in any more trouble now Barnes is captured.”

He was wrong.

The next you heard Barnes had broken out and Sam and Steve had taken after him. You received a text not long after the news broke with a series of hearts and a cellphone emoji.

You went to your closet, grabbed the burner phone, and went out for a run. You were just leaving the perimeter of the compound when the burner rang.

“Sam?” You said, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam said. “It’s me. Did you hear?”

“They’re saying you’re on the run with Barnes,” you said. “Please tell me you were just recapturing him.”

Sam laughed. “That was the idea,” he said. “This shit is going deep and we need help. There’s this guy - wanted to get to Barnes to find out about some other Super Soldiers and where they’re kept. So now we might have a bunch of really psychotic super soldiers being released on the world by someone even more psychotic than they are.”

“Where are you? What do you need me to do?” You asked.

“I’m tempted to tell you to stay put,” Sam said.

“Sam, I’m not…”

“No, I know,” he said. “But think about it. You do this - you come after me and we’re fugitives. We can’t go home. All this talk of weddings and babies? It’s not happening. It’ll be you and me on the run from everywhere. Best we can hope for is one day when we’re both too old to run we settle in some country that doesn’t extradite.”

“I heard Montenegro didn’t sign,” you half-joke. “It looks pretty nice there.”

Sam laughed. “See I was thinking Cape Verde.”

You let out a breath and smiled a little. “Always thinking, you are.”

“You know it, baby,” Sam said. “Now, Clint’s coming…”

“What? But his family?” You yelped.

“I know… but like you, you can’t tell him no,” Sam said. “He’s going to grab Wanda. When you get back, go to her, but say nothing. Just a little girl’s bonding time. Okay? I’m sure Vizh will be hanging around her. He always is. Don’t leave her side even if they do make it clear that you’re third-wheeling.”

“Should I pack?” You asked.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I’m even a little worried you grabbing the burner might be too much of a giveaway to what’s going on.”

“I did it while I changed into my jogging gear,” you said. “Nabbed it with my heart rate monitor.”

“Good. Well hopefully that covered that gorgeous ass of yours,” he said. “But aside from deciding you want to hang with Wanda you’re not doing anything strange, okay? Clint will get there and you go. Tony’s an asshole, but not that big of an asshole, I don’t think he’d burn our things, so we’re gonna have to trust that the compound will act as our storage until this is sorted out. If it ever is.”

“Okay,” you said with a sigh.

“I love you,” Sam said softly. “You take care of yourself.”

“You too, Sammy,” you said. “Don’t do anything dumber than you already have until I get there and can join in.”

Sam laughed. “You got it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. See you.”

You disconnected the call and shoved it back behind your heart rate monitor and turned to run back to the compound. You had a fight to prepare for.

// NEXT

#sam wilson #carol danvers #sam wilson x reader #carol danvers x reader #falcon #captain marvel #falcon fanfic #captain marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #moving on

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wastetimeandtype · 3 years

Note

37. Talk about your current wips.

Oh dearrr. I’ll pick ten WIPs I’ve worked on recently!

1) Okay so ‘firebending’ is a WIP where Korra drags Mako to the fire sage temple she visited in book 2 to learn about firebending as healing to see if it can help his arm. Wacky miscommunication occurs, but maybe,,,, they’ll be better friends at the end of it. I’ve written the big emotional scenes but it turns out I like thinking about bending and the magic system but I don’t like writing it. Slowly making progress on these scenes. Hopefully publishable soon, likely around six short chapters.

2) ‘Family Matters’ is a fic where Wu confesses to Mako at the wedding that he likes him, Mako’s like sorry, I’m straight... but then the fic is about Mako’s internalised homophobia/biphobia throughout his childhood which conflicts with the fact he realised he does have feelings for Wu and men in general. Fun stuff! Bolin is a good bro in this. Just kind of slow going, I’ve written scenes from all eras of Mako’s life but it isn’t a coherent story yet.

3) Huan and Mako— what if Huan and Mako dated? This was meant to be crack but I wrote it seriously and picked up again recently. I think Mako x Huan is a weird opposites attract pairing.

4) Cinderella— Korra is a young witch in training to her Uncle Unalaq who is the Grand Witch. Asami is Prince Charming. Her Dad throws a ball to have her get married. It’s as stupid as it sounds, it’s something I wrote last year but haven’t quite finished it yet.

5) mako arm injury depression— Mako’s injury won’t heal like he hoped, Mako spirals whilst trying to maintain a long distance relationship with Wu. Might overhaul into a non wuko platonic krew story, but I’m also still fond of the wuko, so uhhh.

6) hui sequel— sequel to ‘five dates at Kwong’s’ that NO-ONE asked for. Basically just a combination of working through some of Mako’s issues in relationships and and his past childhood trauma whilst also having the fun concept of ‘what if someone hilariously boring and normal person dated a member of team Avatar?’ I started to write a sequel to the sequel in the same document, so, I’m invested at least. The sequel’s sequel is just Mako whump idk.

7) Schitt’s Creek Au— I love this! Literally just Wu moves into the motel of the town he owns when he loses all of his money. Mako works there. Sparks fly, eventually. Slow burn. I realise I am folding a lot of my Stardew Valley AU into this but this AU easier to write than that. More of a drama than the show it’s based on, just a lot of growth for Wu and pining for Mako, with a boat load of angst in the tv show as well.

8)Personal Assistant— Korra is a single mum who co-parents with her ex Mako, whilst also managing to get a job as Asami’s Sato’s personal assistant. This is both Korra wants to bang her hot boss whilst also having relationship drama with her ex. I wrote this because I was annoyed that single parent AU’s always have the father absent. Mako is a good Dad! Maybe just a bad boyfriend. This is an old AU that I picked up again recently.

9) Lonely Hearts— Bolin writes an (obviously anonymous) advertisement for Mako in the ‘Lonely Hearts’ (personal advertisement in the USA, but lonely hearts is funnier) column of a newspaper. Mako writes a letter of complaint to the newspaper that they need a stronger vetting process for this because he didn’t submit this. The editor of the columns responds and she is bemused. Rom com hijinks ensue. This is so weirdly specific to my tastes ahhh.

10) Makorrasami fic. Me trying to write a realistic take on pair-book 4 Makorrasami where Korrasami is already canon but Mako has lingering feelings for Korra, Mako and Asami then develop a closer bond, and Korra realised she still has feelings for Mako. It’s a big mess! Very new and only a couple hundred words in, I hope I can gain some momentum with it.

#mako #lok #avatar #the legend of korra #tlok #korra #wuko #firebending will hopefully be publishable soon but I’ve been hoping that for a few months

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Like Being Submerged in Your Contradictions

She supposes she’s not surprised.

Clarke probably should have expected it. After all, her romantic track record is not really all that impressive. But. She hoped. And to say that she’s a little disappointed to find out sex with Bellamy is not as great as she wanted it to be is an understatement.

So now he wants to talk about it. Figures.

—

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.4K AN: I have no excuse for this. Also, timeline? Background explanation? Never heard of them. Also, also…writing canon terrifies me on the reg and I binged this show very quickly, so if things are wrong let’s just…assume it’s canon divergence. Deal? Deal. I have far too many fic ideas and not enough time. This is also my first @bellarkebingo fic checks off setting: sanctum and future prediction fic.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

She’s sweaty.

And out of breath.

The sheets keep sticking to the back of Clarke’s left leg. Only her left leg. Which is admittedly kind of weird, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with how much all of this absolutely, positively sucks to be too worried about the state or location of the bedding.

Damn.

It was supposed to be better than this.

Easier. Great. Time for themselves and a guaranteed few hours with no interruptions. No rush. No pressure. Less...whatever this was. Not easy.

Not great, honestly.

Pretty awful. Bumped knees and scrunched noses, no rhythm, hardly any friction, just—quick shifts and kisses that were over before they really began, like they were racing towards the finish line if only to say that they’d crossed it and she can’t cry.

That would be insane.

In the grand scheme of everything, this is not the worst thing that has ever happened to Clarke.

It doesn’t even crack the top ten.

And yet.

She’s marginally worried that she’s going to bite a hole through her lip, twisting it between her teeth while she tries to figure out where this went wrong and how this went wrong and it makes so much sense. They make sense.

Together.

They should have worked together.

God, maybe she sucks at sex because her vocabulary is also pretty lacking. God, she hopes she’s not the one who’s bad at sex. No one else has ever mentioned that before. But, then again—most of the sex she’s had has been...fuck, she seriously can’t come up with descriptors right now. The disappointment that has taken root in the pit of Clarke’s stomach is far too heavy for her to do anything except acknowledge it, lips pressed together and breathing turning shallow and there’s a considerable amount of space between them. She’s at least seventy-two percent positive Bellamy is half hanging off the bed.

Her right leg is starting to cramp up.

She does her best to move without making it obvious, a slow shift and gritted teeth, but Clarke can’t help her hiss of pain when her calf muscle seizes up and maybe she’ll just stare at that one, particular spot on the ceiling for the rest of time.

That seems like the only reasonable response.

The bed creaks.

“So, uh—” Bellamy starts, every letter sounding strained. “That was, uh—” “—Oh my God, stop it.” “No, Clarke, c’mon, that was—” “—I’m going to punch you, I swear.”

He laughs.

Clarke’s neck doesn’t appreciate the way she snaps it towards him — and maybe this whole thing is just a commentary on how old she is, or at least how old she feels and that second thing is ten-thousand times more depressing than any sort of disappointing sex with the guy she’s been wanting to have sex with for more than a century.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I don’t know what to be more offended by,” Clarke sneers, “you laughing at me, or everything that’s happened in the last fifteen minutes.” “Ah, c’mon, it was longer than fifteen minutes.” “Maybe we should have timed it.” Bellamy stops laughing.

And Clarke feels bad — she does. But the disappointment appears to be evolving into something a little bitter and a little angry, clawing its way up her throat and threatening to spill out her mouth and she can’t believe this.

Well, no—she can. That’s the problem.

She can believe the shit and the garbage and something else that didn’t play out exactly the way she never should have let herself imagine it could be.

Melodramatic idiot.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Bellamy mumbles. “You want to talk about it?” “About what, exactly?” “Clarke.” “Saying my name over and over again is not going to help.” “Yeah, I picked up on that weirdly enough. I, uh—that sucked, right?” “Did we get to the sucking?”

He lets out a strangled noise that almost immediately turns into something far closer to a groan, an arm splayed out over his still-tilted head. “No,” Bellamy agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “I don’t think we did, actually.” “Lame.” “That’s a word for it, yeah. Why?” “You’re really determined to talk about this, aren’t you?” Clarke asks sharply. He shrugs. He still hasn’t moved his arm. “People are going to be back here soon and they’re going to need—” “—They can wait a couple minutes.” “Really got a high opinion of your own in-bed prowess, huh?” Bellamy’s arm might be marble for all the moving it does, but Clarke can still see the dots of color that explode on his cheeks, in between every freckle and the few scars that have lingered on his skin.

She’s not just Sanctum’s biggest idiot. She’s this place's biggest asshole.

“Obviously not,” he grumbles. “Although, I haven’t heard many complaints before. And I—all I’m saying is that maybe that’s our problem. Thinking about...expiration dates. Time limits.” “Speak English.” “I could say it in Trig if you want.” Clarke might growl. The sound scratches at her throat and leaves her gnashing her teeth, one side of Bellamy’s mouth tugging up at the sarcasm. “Is this your way of flirting? Because it could use some work, honestly.” “That’s—this isn’t what I thought would happen.”

Clarke blinks. Once, twice, opens her mouth only to close it and, grand scheme, it is ridiculous for that to be the thing. But it is and has been and it’s been a goddamn century. “Have you?” she whispers, voice barely that. “More times than I’d be willing to admit.”

She cannot cry. She will not cry. If Clarke keeps repeating it — in her head — then she’s sure, eventually, she’ll believe it. She won’t cry. In bed. With Bellamy. In her room.

Their room, really.

Because that’s been happening too. In the days and weeks and months since the end of everything else — since shaky peace treaties and only kind of understanding the anomaly, of losses and the destruction of the flame and the creation of this, a tremulous calm that Clarke still can’t entirely believe is real, with cabins and curtains on windows and books on shelves that Bellamy built himself, there’s been this growing...thing. Unspoken, unacknowledged, because it didn’t really have to be.

Just was. Like always. Intertwined live and his boots sitting just inside the door and her head on his chest when he’d fall asleep because it’s easier to breathe that way.

And yet. Part two.

It’s an exaggeration to suggest that Clarke has grown impatient — couldn’t possibly, not after already waiting so long, several lifetimes worth of pent-up emotion, but she might be a little greedy and the words felt like they’d fallen out of her.

Maybe we could spend some time together. Just me and you.

And Bellamy had smiled. That smile. The one she’d let herself think about sometimes, when everything else was going to shit, when the world was, quite literally, coming to an end, more than once, Clarke would let her mind drift and she’d remember that smile, the way it would stretch across his face, lighten the color in his eyes and leave the skin there slightly crinkled like it couldn’t possibly contain all the emotion there.

For her.

Emotion he felt for her.

She really is Sanctum’s biggest idiot.

“You might as well say them out loud,” Bellamy mutters, practically jerking Clarke out of her reverie and they’re going to have to wash these sheets.

She can’t imagine how they got quite this damp when nothing really...happened.

“What?” “Out loud,” he repeats. “If you’re going to be thinking such obvious thoughts, you might as well tell me what they are.” “I’m not thinking anything.” “It is rude to lie.” Clarke huffs — frustration mixing with something else that feels a little bit like betrayal because she’s starting to find it insulting how endeared she is by him. And his awful jokes. And the overall length of his hair.

“I’ve got a question,” Bellamy announces, flipping onto his side so he can prop his head on his head. It makes his hair shift, curls that drift dangerously close to his brows, and Clarke’s moving before she’s really thought about it, fingers ghosting over his forehead and his eyes flutter shut.

He exhales softly, some of the rather obvious tension around them dissipating.

“Just one?”

“At least one that’s been bothering me for the last century or so.” Clarke doesn’t respond, can’t over the rising dread in the back of her brain, the feel of it creeping up her spine. Bellamy grins.

“Why’d you put me on the list?” he asks, and Clarke is glad she hadn’t said anything. It ensures that she can gasp dramatically, eyes going wide enough that they actually start to water. His expression doesn’t change. Eventually she’ll think that’s important. “Because,” Bellamy continues, “I’ve been going over it and you didn’t even ask. I mean—there were plenty of people who could have been on the list and—” “—Are you kidding me, right now? This is what you want to talk about?” He hums, ducking down to kiss the bridge of her nose. Clarke may melt. That won’t help the overall state of the sheets. “Well, you didn’t want to talk. So—what’s that old Earth expression? I’m taking the floor.” “I don’t think that’s right at all.” “Ah, well, an attempt is at least being made.”

Clarke clicks her tongue, but she can’t quite get herself to be frustrated and that is...something. She supposes. Hopes, maybe.

She wants to hope, at least.

That’s always felt like half the battle. “Can I keep going now?” Bellamy quips, eyebrows jumping when Clarke pinches his forearm. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” “Was my threat of punching you not really that threatening?” “No, it wasn’t, honestly.” “God.” “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “my question is still the same. Why? Because I—there were people you left off, and I understand why you did, but what was I bringing to the table?” “Just full of Earth clichés today, aren’t you?” “Technically, it’s night.”

Clarke yanks on the blanket, quick enough that she manages to take Bellamy by surprise and she lets herself gloat about that for approximately two and a half seconds before her gaze drifts to his suddenly exposed body and—

“You are staring, Princess.”

She cannot keep bouncing through emotions like this. Clarke’s mind feels like it’s racing, plummeting through some kind of time vortex where they can have conversations like this and moments like this and—“I can’t believe you just called me that,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders.

Like that will help protect her.

It’s a dumb metaphor.

And one she knows Bellamy picks up on almost immediately.

He didn’t really have to ask her to voice her thoughts. He’s always been too good at that. Disarmingly good, even.

“Big guns, or however the saying goes,” Bellamy grins.

“You really think this is working for you, don’t you?” “Nah, if it was working, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. But that’s kind of my point.” “Convoluted.” “A little. And you’re avoiding the question. Still staring, too.” Clarke hums, letting her head drop back to the pillow and she doesn’t try to mask the way her eyes move that time. She doesn’t actually move — is far too twisted in the sheets to even attempt that — but her gaze traces every inch of Bellamy, follows the curve of his shoulder and the slope of his back, lingers on the scars she knows and those she hasn’t mapped yet, more markers of time and years and they were supposed to have time tonight.

Finally,

And if this was all they were going to get, then—

“Clarke,” Bellamy presses. “I can’t actually read your mind.” “No?” “It’s weird, I know.” Her laugh doesn’t have much humor to it, is far shakier than Clarke would like it to be, but her lungs also don’t feel like they’re collapsing, so she assumes that’s a step in the right emotional direction. “Sometimes I used to think you could,” she whispers. “Those first couple of days after the bridge. Before the Ark came down and everything—” “—Went to shit?” “Always seems to, doesn’t it?” “I hope not. Still not an answer.” “You’re harping” “Curious,” Bellamy amends, sliding closer to her. There’s still space, enough that the heat coming off him isn’t more than a passing graze of warmth on Clarke’s cheek, and she’ll have to thank him for that at some point. For not pushing. For knowing. For understanding.

Clarke licks her lips — dimly aware of the way Bellamy’s shoulders shift as she does, and she probably should have offered him back some of the blanket.

She doesn’t.

“I didn’t want to make it,” Clarke starts, and she can’t actually get her voice above a vaguely guarded murmur. He doesn’t blink. “I mean—you know that, right?” Nothing.

She didn’t expect there to be anything.

Her mouth is very dry.

“But I—well, I just...we had to think about what people could do and what they’d bring to a bunker. You know—guards and engineers, doctors, all those things. I—” Clarke shakes her head, confusion rattling around her brain. “You know all of this.” Bellamy nods. “Yeah, that wasn’t my question, though. You picked ninety-eight names, let me fall asleep on that piece of garbage couch—” “—How long have you been holding that in?” “At least a hundred years? Can I finish now?” Clarke sticks her tongue out. He kisses between her eyebrows. “I do know all of that. Which is why it never made sense to put me on the list. Not really. Not after everything I’d done and—”

Bellamy’s breath hitches, a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, and the emotion in the pit of Clarke’s stomach shifts again. She moves, arm darting out and palm flat on his cheek. He’d shaved a few days earlier, the growing stubble scraping at her skin and the feel of it is almost comforting. Grounding, even. Like it’s reminding her that he’s there and with her and that’s always been the case.

She can’t believe the sex was so God awful.

“I couldn’t,” Clarke rasps, “not—I wanted to do it right. After everything I’d done, too. Pick the best and make the right choice and I am...greedy.” “How do you figure?” “With you?”

“That was a question.” “Yeah, well, it’ll sound insane otherwise.”

He chuckles, twisting his head so he can nip at the back of her wrist. It leaves another scratch of stumble against her, but Clarke’s lungs are evolving again and for as desperate as they’d been, now, twenty-two minutes earlier, this is somehow even better. This soft and almost tremulous thing, not quite cautious, but calm — all practiced ease and a distinct lack of personal space.

She wants to touch every single inch of him.

She wants him to touch every single inch of her.

“Greedy,” Clarke says again, only a little disappointed that it sounds like an admission. Of what, she’s not entirely sure. Not yet, at least. “I couldn’t—no, that’s not even it, I wouldn’t do anything else. Because, well—you’re right, aren’t you?” “No applicable skills?” “I mean—no, that’s not true. You are—you can do so much, Bell, and you are...well, you won’t shut up about talking and people trust you. Way more than me.” “That does sound pretty insane.” “What did you keep saying? Will you let me finish?”

He shifts again, crowds into her space like he knows he can now. Clarke’s fingers push into his hair — nowhere else to go, or so she will tell herself when she’s trying to forget about the less-than-ideal parts of this night — forehead finding Bellamy’s and there really more freckles on his cheeks she ever expects.

“People trust you,” Clarke mutters. “And that’s—ok, yeah, I mean—” She stuttering now, stammering over words and explanations because both of those things are wholly founded in feelings and she’s still kind of coming to terms with that.

Six years of radio messages are one thing.

Actually living them is another.

And she’s a pessimist.

“Why, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, dragging the question across the curve of her jaw and her back arches when his teeth nip at her skin.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

She doesn’t mean for the words to soar out of her the way that they do, half shouted and honestly meant and Clarke has to blink again. Her vision has gone a little glossy.

Bellamy doesn’t respond. Which—yeah, that’s fair. He just holds her gaze for a moment before he noses at her cheek, a hand on her blanket-covered hip and Clarke wishes she didn’t close her eyes. She wishes she could watch every shift when he manages to inch even closer to her, the way his back twists and the muscles there tense, trying to do something without actually saying anything.

So, she does, instead.

“I picked people,” Clarke continues, “all those roles I knew we had to fill and I had—I was writing your name before I even really thought about.” “High praise,” Bellamy mumbles, mostly into the side of her neck. There are goosebumps on Clarke’s skin, breath coming a little quicker than it had a few moments before.

“God, you’re annoying.” He hums, more kisses and wandering hands, and she’s got no idea when or how she moved onto her back, only that Bellamy’s forearms are on either side of her head and her fingers start tracing scars. On instinct. And something far deeper than that.

“I just—” Clarke says, “it didn’t make sense not to have you on the list. To not give you…” “What?” “Time. To have a chance, just to...be. Even after the world ended.” “That happened eventually.” “Did it?” Bellamy nods, tugging lightly at the top of the sheet and Clarke doesn’t object when he pulls the fabric down. Maybe they should just throw it all away. Metaphorically. Literally. “What do you think we’re doing now?” he asks lightly, and Clarke genuinely isn’t sure how much more of this her spine will be able to take.

She arches under him, certain her skin is actually starting to buzz, a low hum in the back of her brain and in between every single one of her ribs, like she’s about to burst from the inside out.

“Having really bad sex?” Clarke quips. “Ha, ha, ha. What did I tell you before? When I woke up from the shitty couch.” “Why do you have so many opinions on this couch?” “An answer,” Bellamy says, but there’s a hint of something just on the edge of his voice and Clarke knows the goosebumps have betrayed her as soon as he laughs.

“Bastard.” “Yes, that’s been fairly well documented over the years. Do you want a hint?” “Are you going to try and make out with me again or not?” He sighs — although Clarke can still feel the way his mouth turns up while he drags it towards her collarbone, alternating kisses with the soft graze of his teeth and the stubble that she’s really starting to be questionably into.

“I told you if I was on that list, then so were you,” Bellamy says. “And I meant it Clarke. If you were trying to give me time to—” “—Live.” “Babe, seriously, the interruptions have got to stop.” Clarke has witnessed far more explosions than any single human being ever should, has dealt with radiation and death and destruction and an almost absurd number of apocalypses. Her body has been hers and not, some scars she doesn’t entirely understand yet, and even after all of that, the bullshit and the garbage and the distinct lack of time, nothing has prepared her for Bellamy Blake to call her babe while dragging his mouth towards the top of her right thigh.

She gasps.

It’s a lame reaction, really.

Although she had closed her eyes before. So, grand scheme. Again.

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, far too knowing against the jut of her hip.

“I’ll kick you, I swear.” He chuckles, more warmth that fans across Clarke and her back almost audibly protests the contortions she’s putting it into, but something feels like it snaps in the very center of her and she can’t be bothered by the confines of normal human muscle mechanics.

She tries to grind up, to cant her hips and force something — but that might have been their problem from the get. Forced into situations they couldn’t control, a distinct lack of options or time and now they’ve got both.

And Clarke would pick Bellamy every single chance she got.

“We’ve got time now,” he says, soft and so goddamn earnest Clarke is pleasantly surprised her heart doesn’t simply burst out of her chest.

She’s glad.

That would be messy.

And probably the only thing that could distract her from what happens next — Bellamy sliding further down the bed, fingers brushing the inside of Clarke’s legs until his lips take over and she stares at that same spot on the ceiling.

She doesn’t resent it quite as much anymore.

“You know that right, babe?” Bellamy asks. “This is it. Every cliché we could come up with. The start of it all and the beginning of the end and—” “—Oh, that’s a good one,” Clarke interrupts. She’s a little breathless again, reaching a blind hand out to card her fingers into his hair. And hold him exactly where he is. He doesn’t seem all that inclined to move, honestly.

“Yeah, I’m big on that one too. We get to go slow now. Be boring.” “Boring?” “Boring,” Bellamy echoes. “Linger, even. In every single thing we do. Get greedy with all of it because that’s what I want. I want to get greedy with you too, Clarke.”

“Yeah?” “Disappointing that wasn’t more obvious.” She laughs — soft and easy and the hope that rushes through both of her arms is barely contained by the tips of her fingers, a burst of energy and want and—“Just relax, ok?” Bellamy mutters. “Let me take care of you.” “What was that about things sounding insane?” “Rude. And the definition of insanity is doing the same thing while expecting different results, right?” “Yuh huh.” “So, let’s try something different.”

Clarke doesn’t get a chance to refute, no opportunity for the continuation of vaguely playful and slightly flirty banter. Every single word she’s ever learned, in a variety of languages, disappears as soon as Bellamy’s head drops and tongue darts out and neither one of them acknowledge that something in her back definitely cracks.

Or how tight her fingers get in his hair.

If anything, that second thing seems to spur him on.

He makes this one, specific noise that Clarke will probably think about on rotation for at least the next one-hundred years, a rhythm that had felt impossible the first time they tried this. Although, to be fair, they hadn’t tried this.

That was definitely their first mistake.

Bellamy mouths at her, long swipes of his tongue that eventually turn to pressure and fingers and he must mumble something because Clarke can just make out sounds that almost resemble words and might be yeah, like that and fuck, you feel good. She closes her eyes again, can’t think of anything else to do when all Clarke wants to do is linger in the moment and the feeling.

She rocks up. He pushes down. They settle into this and each other and it’s exactly the same as it’s always been, as it probably always should have been, but, for the first time, Clarke doesn’t feel like she’s running on borrowed time.

She doesn’t even feel like she’s running, while everything is moving around her — she’s just...just. Content. Calm. She’s— “Oh, fuck,” she hisses, Bellamy's low chuckle far too pleased while she arches up and suggesting that she feels everything is absurd. Insane, even.

And yet. Version three point oh.

Clarke’s breath catches and her body goes tight before it all seems to shatter, a break that’s somehow overwhelming and perfect, rushing from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and Bellamy groans when her leg drapes over his shoulder.

Both of her calf muscles are perfectly fine.

And he doesn’t move immediately, lets the moment stay exactly the way Clarke wants it to, but then Bellamy is crowding in her space again and his mouth is on hers and it’s back to greedy and demanding, any sense of slow forgotten in how much they both want.

Hope.

“Smug does not look good on you,” Clarke mutters. It does not come out like the insult she wants it to, Bellamy’s lower lip stuck out when he nods.

That makes it easier to catch between her teeth, though. So. Whatever.

He talks even more as they start to move again, running his mouth with encouragements and promises and the word babe on loop, if only because Clarke’s hips jerk every time it happens. And it still might not be the best they could do — the nose thing is really going to be a logistical nightmare if they can’t figure out the proper angle to turn their heads for optimum kissing, but kissing also seems like something of an afterthought when it turns into just shared breath and shared space and Bellamy’s eyes close at some point.

Clarke will also think about that.

For a very long time.

Which is what they have now.

Together.

She’s out of breath again, sweat clinging to the ends of her hair and the light that drifts across the floor is a little different than it had been earlier. The shadows stretch and the curtains flutter in a soft breeze, like the whole of it all is simply waiting for—

Clarke flutters her fingers, not much space between her and the arm next to hers and Bellamy’s wrist flips. “That was smooth,” he murmurs, hand finding hers. He’s smiling. She can tell.

“Yeah, that was my plan from the beginning.” “Was it?” She hums, head falling to the side. She’d been right about the smiling thing. The same one she’d wanted when she asked for this and before she believed she could. Hers. Theirs, really. “Absolutely,” Clarke says. “You think it worked?” “I think it will.” “Yeah, me too.”

They do eventually put new sheets on the bed, but only after they’ve woken up from asleep in it, a tangle of limbs and feelings and the beginning of the end.

#bellarke #bellarke ff #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy x clarke #bellarke fan fiction #still trying to get my head around new fandom tags #hopefully one of those sticks #also surprising title from a jason mraz song #it was sunny out the other day which meant it was time to play jason mraz

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professorspork · 4 years

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Frozen 2: first impressions

Hello friends! As you know, Frozen was a HUGE part of my fandom life ~back in the day.~ So of course I saw the sequel opening night and of course I have thoughts after ruminating on it for 24 hours. I’m sure there will be many things I forget or don’t cover--after all, I’ve only seen it the once. And I make no guarantees that my thoughts are coherent or consistent. (If I contradict myself, I contradict myself-- I am large, I contain multitudes.) I’m also sure my opinions will evolve upon rewatch. Lord knows they did last time.

Is that enough disclaimer yet? OKAY. Some of my thoughts are negative! Some are positive! It’s a grab bag! Here we go!

Spoilers under the cut, pals.

IN SHORT: As an expansion on the world and the characters I adore, I pretty much loved it! As an extension of uh Big Capitalism and what it means in terms of real world ramifications... I have questions/comments/concerns!

IN LONG: I think I’ll start with what didn’t work for me and work my way around to fangirling at the end.

the meh

I feel like... part of it is that Disney has just gotten worse and power-grabbier in way more blatant ways in the last few years, and part of it is that I’m ever-more cognizant of these things. And the fine line they want to walk of “We can tell stories about progressive concepts! Princesses are woke now, actually!” without taking a single financial risk when it comes to alienating foreign markets, homophobes abroad or Nazis domestically is just a fundamentally untenable position to be in. You don’t get to retcon Elsa and Anna as being somehow less white than they clearly are and then try to tell a story about reparations in which no one actually gets reparations. You don’t get to get points for that. It’s in some ways admirable to want to try, but all you do when you’re coming at it from the position of being Disney when you tell this story is show the cracks in it.

I can see how, on a purely storytelling level, having Papa King Arendelle Agnarr be of Arendelle and Iduna be of the Northuldra and having their daughters be the bridge between the two communities is a really tempting, tidy, tie-a-bow-on-it narrative. And I also see how creating the backstory of the war and the mist neatly explains the absence of indigenous faces in the first film. But like... come on. Introducing an indigenous group like the Northuldra and then declaring that Elsa and Anna are a part of it is insulting. There’s no other way to say it. It just feels gross. I’m glad that Disney consulted with the Sámi on the movie, and I acknowledge that both real-life Sámi folks and the onscreen Northuldra come in a broad variety of skin tones and phenotypes. But even with the most generous possible reading of the choice-- that it’s well-intentioned, albeit misguided-- falls flat for me. It feels like Disney trying to have their cake and eat it too. And I don’t really see any way around that. It just... gives me tremendous pause, and it’s so core to so many of the things the movie chooses to be that it’s really disquieting and disappointing.

But then again, Disney being racist isn’t exactly news, and there’s still plenty of flaws to tackle even when we put this (massive) issue aside.

This movie is... weirdly allergic to stakes? It’s not like I wanted Elsa to stay dead, or that I expected Olaf to (more on that in a minute). But Anna’s decision to go full Thor Ragnarok and, as @theseerasures jokingly put it to me last night, “throw the first brick at Stonewall” and destroy Arendelle felt right. It felt appropriate to the story they were telling, and it would have had the film put its money where its mouth is re: how atoning for the sins of our forebears requires massive systemic change. So having Elsa charge to the rescue on her water-type Rapidash extremely queer steed daemon Gay Horse and save the city felt cheap. (Also, side note: is Arendelle really just... that one seaside port town and nothing else? Are there only like fifty people in Arendelle?) The citizens had already been taken to safety. The society would live on; they’d all get to rebuild. What was the point of saving the castle, just for saving the castle’s sake? To what end? I don’t see how that’s more inspiring or reassuring or worth it than watching the sisters lead their people from the ground up and starting anew. I don’t understand what they thought was worth protecting, when, again, all of the people were safe. Stories need stakes in order to have meaning! HTTYD has impact because Hiccup loses his leg in his attempt to save his dragon and his people. You know? You don’t get to just... keep everything the way it is and call that restorative justice, and the film clearly wants us to. And I don’t understand why. The only reason that makes any sense at all to me is that they thought it would scare little kids, but like. THIS COMPANY HAS PORTRAYED WAY MORE TRAUMATIZING THINGS THAN THAT. MANY TIMES.

Point in fact: Olaf’s death! Genuinely disturbing! Sad! For the most part I really liked the way it was handled, but it also felt very. Y’know. “Mister Stark, I don’t feel so good.” This is perhaps my most uncharitable nitpick, so I’ll keep it brief, but having Olaf drift away Snap-style just felt like an extremely synergistic, Disney+ nod at Infinity War instead of an organic decision. Which maybe isn’t fair, because it makes more sense for Olaf to become a flurry than for the Snap to make people dust! But nevertheless, the weird wink-and-a-nudge feeling of it totally pulled me out of what should have been an extremely poignant moment. Elsa’s revelation during “Show Yourself” felt similar--like. Not to take away from your moment, Elsa, but the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me was already covered by this larger canon, and in a more elegant and eloquent manner.

Which--tbh, the music overall was a bit of a letdown (though “Into the Unknown” slaps and a boyband of five joshes “Lost in the Woods” was perhaps the best sequence in the whole movie). I respect that they clearly wanted to give everyone a solo this time around in a deliberate way, but the songs felt perfunctory for the most part--describing moments instead of advancing them. This film was such a departure from how Disney normally makes sequels (mostly in a good way, actually) and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have looked like to make a version of this movie where no one sang at all. It didn’t feel cohesive.

And, though it would kill me to get rid of “Lost in the Woods” because it’s perfect... I kinda wish Anna and Kristoff had gotten engaged at the end of act 1, as I think they pretty clearly did in the first draft of this script. Their relationship drama felt like a hat on top of a hat, and they could still have addressed their codependency/insecurities while being engaged. Leaving the proposal for the end just made it an anticlimax after everyone’s been brought back from the literal dead. And it maybe would have left them with more options than having Kristoff just vanish from the narrative for the entire back half of the second act.

Also Honeymaren should have had at least two more scenes. I can’t justify this on a narrative level; the movie didn’t actually need more of her. But like. If you’re going to go out of your way to keep Elsa carefully single, and even give KRISTOFF a new boyfriend, I feel like the least you can do is let us get to know the obvious throw-us-a-bone offering a little bit better. Like. Literally. the actual least you can do.

anyway. all of that said.

the yay!

I can’t tell you how gratifying it was to me, personally to open with a flashback of the girls that demonstrates as clear as day that Elsa is an ace lesbian and Anna is bi and polyamorous. Thank you, snow action figures.

And like. Overall the way the movie tackled the sisters and their relationship was pure *chef’s kiss.* (And I think for me, the strength in this particular bullet point probably outweighs all of my complaints and concerns from above, in the end. At least from an “I still derive enjoyment from this flawed thing” standpoint, though perhaps not from an “I’d recommend this to anyone without caveats” standpoint.) THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH. THEY WERE SO THEMSELVES. I do think part of the fear of any sequel where there’s been a significant amount of time since the last one and you were so emotionally invested in it the first go-around is like... what if everyone feels OOC? What if what I saw wasn’t what was really in them after all? What if they feel like strangers? What if they let me down? And there was none of that, even for a second, with this movie. Their parallel journeys were character-appropriate and impactful. Elsa finally gets the freedom she’s always been looking for. Anna finally gets the responsibility she’s always been ready for. Anna, the caretaker, is positioned to take care of everyone. Elsa, the lesbian, runs away to the forest to hang out with beautiful powerful women. Elsa, the force of nature, is finally allowed to commune with it. The scene at their parents’ ship truly anchors the whole movie in the best possible way. And also, like... this movie showed how fucking weird Elsa is, and I feel so vindicated. SHE’S SUCH A DORK. I can’t believe I never realized that Elsa would totally choose Charmander as her starter, and the way she talked to the fire salamander was literally the most charming thing I have ever seen. “They’re staring at us, aren’t they?” GOSH. [IMDb says the salamander’s name is Bruni, and I’m very sad they never spoke it aloud.] [Someone do a rotoscope of the Tangled short where Pascal and Max almost ruin Rapunzel and Eugene’s wedding by losing the rings but it’s Bruni and Sven at Kristoff and Anna’s wedding, thank]

Anyway. All of that goes double for Olaf, because I really wasn’t sure they could pull off the miracle of him not being annoying twice. And they did! Olaf’s grappling with his burgeoning maturity was adorable and profound in equal measure, and his plot reenactments were sublime. And when he realized to Anna for the first time that he was feeling angry, that he was capable of feeling angry... what a tremendous moment. (Actually, I’ll extend what I said about the boat scene to include the Earth Giants river sequence in total, because. Again. Wow.)

And I have to say... as much as I am given real pause by their execution of the concept, “you just do the next right thing” is such beautiful (*cough* Jewish *cough*) praxis. I love that. In the broader Disney Revival canon of Tiana’s work ethic and Rapunzel’s abuse narrative and how Wreck-It Ralph talked about PTSD and all of the myriad things the first Frozen did, I might love “the next right thing” most of all. What a simple, powerful, evocative message. It’s so lovely. A perfect gem.

Also worth acknowledging that the animation was straight-up stunning. Which I expected, generally, but the water droplets in the ship? The way Elsa just loses it sobbing when she sees her mother’s face in the ice? The tender, shattered way Anna pulls Olaf in closer to her as he fades? W.O.W. And, y’know, while I stand by what I said above about stakes, I will say that the moment we first see that Elsa is experiencing cold, that Elsa is freezing? Genuinely--and please forgive the pun--genuinely chilling.

I love Gail the Gale. I love Mattias and Yelana and Ryder and Honeymaren. But mostly I just... loved the dialogue and these characters and that I got to spend a little more time with them. And I’m sure I’ll do so at least two more times before it leaves theaters.

... apparently this is over 2k words now so that seems as good a place to leave it as any. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#does #anyone #use #tracked #tags #anymore?#either way #let's stay out of them #that should do it #frozen 2 #frozen 2 spoilers #frozen #frozen spoilers #spoilers

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lostbutterflyutau · 4 years

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The Second Navidad

Feliz Navidad, Gui! How weirdly convienent is it that I’M your secret santa?! So those headcanons I was asking for? Yeah. Ulterior motives.

Note: Several elements here are purposefully canon divergent. Because he is my friend and I know all about @ograndebatata’s AU and the way he has chosen to build certain characters, this story is based off of that AU. That means it includes HIS version of Ash Delgado, who not only left for a longer amount of time, but had a more concrete reason for doing so. His version of her is a far better person than in canon and still holds a lot of love for her husband and daughter, even if it took a few months to really restore those relationships. If you want to know more, check out his posts about it.

That being said, I really, really hope nobody minds! And that I did it alright for you! I really did try!

******

Ash sighed as she turned over the dress again, turning it to the front and then the back and around again before looking up at her and the garment’s reflection in the mirror. Every detail she had sketched out was before her, perfectly sewn in and secured. Even the candlelight reflecting off of the silver beading was perfect and confirmed her thought that it would look amazing in the sunlight against the backdrop of the snow of their white Navidad – Or, Christmas, as they called it in Norberg. And yet, she still wasn’t satisfied.

She thought about adding even more beads, but then wondered if that would be overkill. Then she considered adding another ruffle or two to the bottom.

“No. That would make it childish…” She muttered to herself, following the statement up with a low groan as she turned and carefully draped the dress over a chair. Carla wasn’t a child. Not anymore. Though it was hard to remember that at times, particularly in those moments when she was snuggled up to her mother on the sofa or curled up with a blanket just like she was now. Except, instead of her own, she’d fallen asleep in her parents’ bed after helping her mother wrap up the gifts for her father. They weren’t anything big and in truth, Ash didn’t really need the help, but it gave her a chance to spend time with Carla in private.

Ever since they reunited the previous Navidad and she realised just how little she actually knew about her daughter, Ash had made it a point to take the time to get to know her, what she liked and how she liked them done, which is how she had picked the base dress for her Navidad gift. Not that she had many choices. With Carla being so petite, the second-hand shops they visited were very hit-or-miss and she couldn’t pick something that had to be tried on, not when it was supposed to be a gift.

‘There has to be something I can do…’ Ash mused, pushing a stray piece of hair from her eyes as she sat to rifle through the small box of embellishments on the floor, only looking up when a soft knock came at the door before it cracked open.

“Am I allowed to come in now?” Victor asked even as he pushed the door open, frowning when he got no response from either woman, the expression only deepening at both the sight of his wife on the floor surrounded by stray pieces of wrapping paper and a handful of sewing tools and the dismissive way she waved him off before turning back to the materials. He raised a curious eyebrow, asked as he crossed over to the bed, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine,” Ash replied, rolled her eyes. She didn’t need or want his help. She had made it a point to keep him out of the process. This was her gift to Carla. The first Navidad gift she’d given her since she was two. As petty as it was, she wanted to have all the credit for being the one the put such a smile on her daughter’s face. At least, that’s what she had hoped to do before that evening.

“It doesn’t look fine,” Victor retorted, adjusting Carla’s blanket and then smiling at the soft noise she made before snuggling back into it. He knew he’d have to move her eventually but was content to let her stay for the time being – even if she was taking up the whole bed.

She ignored him, muttered as she continued to shuffle things around, “It will be.”

Victor paused, considered his choices for a moment before opting for a different tactic once his eyes fell on the dress. “That dress looks beautiful, Mi Amor. Certainly, better than the things I used to come up with.”

“You’re just saying that,” Ash huffed, held in a frustrated groan when, even after two through searches, she hadn’t found anything useful.

“Why would I lie to you? Especially about something so small?”

She gave another huff and closed the tin, only looking up when she felt a hand come down on her shoulder.

“So…” He started, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you just going to be in a mood all night?”

“What part of ‘everything’s fine’ don’t you understand?”

Victor only sighed as he shifted, moved to sit next to her. Even after a year of being back together and working to repair their relationship, she was still a bit rough around the edges. He supposed she’d always been a little hardened, but it hadn’t been this tough all those years ago.

“Pluma…” He finally said.

Her eyes flicked up briefly before turning back down to the container in her hands which were idly playing with the decorative ribbon on the top while she contemplated her options, tried to decide if she wanted to tell him or not. After all, it was pathetic. Finally, she gave a defeated sigh, quietly asked, “What if it’s not enough?”

“And what is it?” He replied, running his hand gently up and down her back.

“The dress!” She finally admitted. “You saw the way she was looking at the one in the market. This isn’t even close.”

He didn’t respond at first, only gave her a sympathetic smile before turning to the garment draped over the desk chair. While he thought it looked beautiful, he also completely understood where the insecurity came from. More than once over the years he wondered if his own efforts were enough for his daughter and felt terrible that they had to skip formal events and festivals due to a lack of proper clothing. Carla loved dressing up. Always had. And not being able to let her indulge in something she loved so much often made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough. For all her strength and stubbornness, he wondered now if his wife felt the same way.

“What if she hates it?” Ash suddenly said, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“She won’t,” Victor reassured.

“How do you know? I don’t even know if it’ll fit properly.”

“It will. There’s a reason you picked one that laces up,” He pointed out, resisting the instinct to frown again when she merely continued playing with the ribbon. He gave another small sigh, gently reach for and removed the tin from her hands, saying when he set it down by his side, “Pluma, look at me.”

She bit her lip, unsure if she could actually do what he asked. If she did, then she really wouldn’t be able to hide. He’d see it in her eyes. The fear. The worry. The insecurities she kept hidden deep down. She knew in the back of her mind that she shouldn’t have to hide those things from him, but there was also a part of her that just couldn’t sacrifice her pride when it came to this project.

He saw her hesitation, gave a reassuring smile as he slipped his hand under her chin, tilted her head up. “She’s going to love it. Trust me.”

Ash glanced from him to the dress and back again, tried to convince herself that he was right. Of course Carla would love it. Her mother made it. And she’d never had any complaints about the things made for her before, in fact, she always complimented the pieces and seemed thrilled with both the fact that her mother was back and willing to make her clothing and that the things she made were just as good as those she saw in the high-end shops she was always staring into. Maybe they weren’t designer evening gown quality, but Carla liked them. Then again, this was her first “real” Navidad with her mother in years.

Finally, she spoke, “And if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” He reassured and then stopped for a moment, considered his words before admitting, “I know it’s hard. I often wondered if I was doing enough for her myself.” He paused, stole another look at his daughter, who muttered something in her sleep and shifted over. “Still do, actually.”

There had been several holidays and birthdays where Carla only got the smallest gifts. Things like little trinkets he’d stolen in their travels and cheap jewellery from market stands. There had even been those where he wasn’t able to afford anything extra. She said she never minded, but he always felt terrible about it, particularly during those few months he had attempted to settle down in Parasio and she was targeted at school due to her status as “the poor girl.” He looked down; his thoughts being broken when his wife sighed again before forcing herself up and stalking back over to the chair to pick the dress up again.

Victor was right, it was pretty. In fact, she thought it was some of her best work. And, while she couldn’t completely shake off her doubts, she knew that there was nothing more she could add to it. Not without it becoming a complete mess or having to redesign the whole thing, which would take far longer than the few hours she had.

‘I guess there’s nothing else I can do,’ She thought to herself, startling when she felt a hand on her back and realised she hadn’t even heard Victor move, something that was extremely rare for her given that she’d been taught for years how to always be aware of her surroundings even when distracted.

“Why don’t you get that wrapped and I’ll take her to bed?” He suggested and she nodded. He then waited until she had transferred the dress into a nondescript box before heading over to the bed and carefully coaxing their daughter awake.

“Carla…” He whispered, delicately caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. He knew he had to be gentle. Carla was often in a mood whenever she was woken up, especially if it was rough. She had always preferred to be awoken with soft touches and gentle whispers.

Despite his consideration, she still made a discontented noise, curled further into herself, getting a small smile and a laugh in response as her father moved to run his hand along her back.

“I know, Mi Hija. But you can’t stay here. You have your own bed,” He coaxed, watched as she stirred, rolling over one direction and then the other before moving onto her back and sleepily blinking her eyes open.

“Papa?” She murmured.

He smiled, reached over to brush a piece of hair from her eyes. Even though she was about two months shy of eighteen at this point, there were times he couldn’t help but see her as an adorable little girl who still needed him, and this was no exception.

Carla gave a soft groan and she forced herself up, said after she looked around and processed what had happened, “Where’s Mami?”

“She’s still here,” Victor reassured, ran a gentle hand over her hair. “Now, come on. You need to go to bed.”

“But I’m…”

“Your own bed,”

She pouted, took a minute to weigh her options. She could keep arguing until he agreed to let her stay, but she knew that would make her look more childish then she was already being. But there was a part of her that just couldn’t help it. With it being her first proper Navidad with both parents that she could remember, she’d become clingier than usual. She wanted to do everything she could with them, even if she was well past the age where activities such as cookie decorating at the marketplace and wrapping presents with her Mami was supposed to be fun. She bit her lip as she again thought about how to respond.

“Carla…” He pushed, interrupting her before she could fully gather her thoughts and receiving a huff in response before she held out her arms in surrender. He chuckled as he scooped her and the blanket up, his expression immediately softening when she snuggled into him, her head settling just so in the crook of his shoulder.

“You’re spoiled. You know that?” He teased.

She didn’t respond, only nestled even further into her spot, the motion drawing a smile out of her mother as she approached and moved a piece of hair out of her eyes, her smile widening slightly when Carla turned her head.

“Mami?” She said sleepily, almost as if she couldn’t believe her mother was still there.

“Goodnight, Mi Hija,” Ash whispered and gently kissed her daughter’s head, giving a light laugh when she smiled back and curled back into her father. There was a time where she had been jealous of the affection Carla had for Victor and the bond that they’d developed in her absence. The logical part of her knew that it made sense. For fifteen years all they had was each other. But the emotional part – the part that she hid so well – couldn’t help but feel slighted. She knew now though that Carla did in fact want her around, even if she made mistakes and didn’t always know the right thing to say and could only hope that her gift wasn’t one of those mistakes.

‘Stop it, Ash!’ She scolded herself as Victor made his way out of the room and she crossed it, heading back over to grab the gift box and deciding as she wrapped it that she was going to stop fretting over it. The dress was done, simple as that.

***** Once she finished off and cut the decorative ribbon, Ash gathered up the two small packages containing her and Carla’s gifts for Victor and carried them out to the tree. It was the nicest one they’d ever had. At least, that’s what Carla claimed when they had brought it back to their small, refurbished cabin. They’d never been able to afford anything larger than a tabletop tree and honestly, still couldn’t afford to actually buy a tree. So, they’d cut one down instead. It wasn’t the big, fancy storybook tree that Carla admitted to always having dreamed of, but they didn’t have room for such a thing.

They’d had the best time making ornaments together to go along with the few little things they’d picked up at the market on the cheap, most of which had started as half-finished craft projects the merchants were trying to clear out that became beautiful, sparkling pieces of art with just a few creative touches.

She smiled at the memory, at the thought of her daughter smiling and laughing while she followed her mother’s careful instructions, her eyes full of nothing but pure happiness as she delicately layered glitter on snowflakes and perfected the small details on their previously blank glass ornaments that now reflected the magical sparks beautifully. The tradition was to light the tress with candles, but the idea had never sat well with any of them. And since they had the ability to use magic, they did.

‘There. Perfect,’ Ash decided, taking a few steps back to admire their – okay, mostly her – handiwork. Even if it wasn’t exactly like those storybooks Carla mentioned, it still looked perfect.

“It’s beautiful,” Victor cut in, his voice and touch interrupting her thoughts.

She let out an uncharacteristically dreamy sigh at the feeling of his hand on her back, leaned her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, appreciated the warmth and feel of his touch as that hand slid down to settle on her hip. After everything they had been through over the past year, she was grateful to have some peace and time to just be a family. It had been a long road since that first Navidad. She’d never meant for them to be separated for so long -- or at all, for that matter. But in the fifteen years she was forced into hiding and training, she thought about her husband and daughter often, wondered how they were fairing. The day they reunited had been one of the happiest days of her life. But the feeling quickly faded when reality set in and she realised that she knew nothing about her daughter.

Carla was far from the two-year-old she left behind. She didn’t play with plush blocks and toy tamboritas anymore. She liked makeup and theatre and art. Ash felt like she had to start from square one. She had to learn everything all over again -- from her daughter’s favourite foods to how she liked her hair brushed. It took some time, but they got there. Together. And now they were getting the change to have a real Navidad. One with a tree and snow and all the little, cheesy activities in between.

She gave a soft laugh at the thought, glanced up just as Victor glanced down, bright blue meeting dull green as he asked,

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ash replied, laid her head back down.

Despite his curiosity, Victor decided against pressing her. By the look on her face, he gathered that it wasn’t a particularly important matter. Instead, he said as he tightened his hold on her, “I meant it when I said it was beautiful.”

She smirked, said coyly, “Not as beautiful as me though, right?”

He laughed, smoothly slid around from his position at her side to take her hand in his free one. “Of course not, Mi Amor,” He declared, drawing her towards him.

“What are you – ?” She started even as her own hands inactively found their proper places.

“What do you think?” He interrupted as he started to move, carefully guiding her along until they fell into step. It’d been a long time since they had danced together, but they found their rhythm easily and, for a moment, were brought back to that second Sunflower Festival. The one where they had meticulously planned their meeting and spent the whole night dancing and laughing and talking the same way they were doing now as they made their way across the room, weaving their way around the various pieces of furniture and décor until they stopped where they had started, the glow from the magic illuminating the adoration they saw in each other’s eyes. Something that had been denied and then hidden for so long. Too long.

Ash took a step forward, slid her hands up and around his neck, whispering as she started to carefully, slowly, toy with his hair in the way she knew would drive him crazy, “So…” She started, drawing out the word. “Any plans for the night?”

He chuckled, pulled her in just an inch closer, “Why? Do you have an idea?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She teased back as she leaned up, ending the question with a tentative kiss that quickly melted into a soft, renewed passion as they embraced the spirit of the holiday together. ***** The following morning was far less quiet as the couple bustled about the kitchen and dining area, alternating between cooking and place setting, moving the decorations and dishes one way and then another and back again before deciding that it looked just right. Well… almost. There was still an important piece missing.

“Is she really still asleep?” Ash thought aloud as she glanced towards the clock, setting the breakfast platter on the table with a frown.

“You know she’s a late sleeper,” Victor pointed out with a shrug. It was true. Carla had never been a morning person. She had a bad habit of staying up late and sleeping late that he admitted was partly his fault. Being on the run was much easier at night.

“Even on Navidad?”

Victor thought for a moment. “I have an idea,” He declared as he moved to set up one of the plates, motioning for his wife to follow when he finished.

Together, their made their way down the hall and into Carla’s room, both smiling at the sight of their daughter still curled up in her bed like a kitten. Just the way her father had left her the night before.

“Carla?” Ash called softly and made her way over to the bed to sit. She carefully jostled her, startled at the noise she made as she shifted over. “Come on, Mi Luz,” She coaxed. “You don’t want to sleep through Navidad, do you?”

Sensing the familiar touch, Carla shifted again, softly groaned as she finally stirred and blinked her eyes open.

“Feliz Navidad, Mi Hija!” Both parents said as Carla forced herself up and rubbed her eyes with another groan, earning soft laughs as they were again confronted with the fact that she definitely did not do mornings well.

“We brought your breakfast,” Victor informed her, carefully handing over a plate with two, small pieces of Pan Dulce as he set a glass down on her nightstand, smiling at the way her eyes immediately lit up once she realised what was in front of her.

“Pan Dulce? For breakfast?” She asked, her gaze a mix of joy and confusion.

“It used to be our Navidad tradition,” Ash said.

“Do you remember her first Navidad?” Victor asked, moving to join his wife on the edge of the bed.

“Of course I do. I think it was only the second or third time she had it.”

“And she just couldn’t get enough of it,” He turned towards Carla. “Then there was the second one where you – ”

Ash cut in, “Knocked the plate over because you weren’t tall enough to actually reach the table.” She laughed, both at the memory and the faint blush that appeared on Carla’s cheeks when she turned her head away. She wasn’t sure if her daughter actually remembered or if it was simply second-hand embarrassment, but, either way, it was adorable and though she rarely ever said it out loud for fear of being perceived as too soft, she had missed those kind of moments during her time away. There was so much she had missed. So many birthdays, holidays and milestones that she was doing her best to make up for. It didn’t matter that her daughter was so much older now. All that mattered was that she was happy as she eagerly cut in and out of the conversation, switching between talking and eating and then handing back her plate when she finished.

“We’ll worry about it later,” Victor said, set the dish down on the nightstand with the empty glass. “Right now, you have presents to open,” He reminded his daughter, who brightened even more at the statement. With the memories of those few, tough Navidads where he hadn’t been able to afford even a small gift for her still playing in his mind, he relished in the way she practically bounced into their small living room. Of course, it still wasn’t much. But he knew she was grateful. How could she not be? She had her mother back. Her parents had reconciled. And, now she was getting her dream holiday. It was even snowing! Something that they’d never had on Navidad due to staying in mostly warmer areas.

“Slow down, Carla,” Victor said as he settled himself on the couch, holding back another laugh at the sight of his daughter impatiently pawing through the boxes underneath the tree, trying to figure out what was real and what was decoration.

“But Papa…” Carla half-whined, the effect ruined by the eagerness in her voice.

“No ‘buts,’” Ash teased before ordering, “Go sit with your father.”

Carla gave a small pout but did as she was told and moved to join her father on the sofa, her smile returning when her mother picked and handed over one of the boxes before joining them.

Though she was smiling, part of Ash was still a touch nervous about her gift, which is why she had chosen it first. Better to simply get the moment done with, if only to save herself from the worry she still felt. After all, what if Carla really did hate the dress? Or, at the very least, was disappointed despite her efforts? She had been so entranced with the display in the marketplace. The flowing red fabric, the sheer layering, the intricate beading… All things that Ash was sure she could have done if she had more time and didn’t have to keep the project a secret, but she didn’t have the time or the money for the expensive fabrics needed for such a piece. This would be the moment of truth then.

Would Carla be happy with blue instead of red? With a second-hand piece that was only brought back to life by her mother’s touch? Or would she completely reject it and –

Ash startled, her through cut off by an audible gasp as Carla lifted the garment from its box. She quickly stood up so she could hold it up and see the full length of it -- from the white fuzzy trim lining the top and ends of the sleeves to the carefully-sewn beading that gave the bodice a shiny but elegant touch and ended at a sash set with a snowflake shaped charm on the left side and gave way to a long, flowing skirt with the cutest transparent ruffle on the hemline.

Seeing the look on her daughter’s face as she turned the dress over once, twice, three times before holding it against her body was enough to finally dispel all of Ash’s fears.

Carla giggled, revelling in the way the dress brushed against her feet as she twirled with it. It was beautiful and perfect and… she stopped, took a moment to study the beading again and then gasped when she recognised the familiar stitching patterns. The same one that was on her one and only ballgown.

“You did this,” She said, her thoughts carrying over into her words as she looked towards her mother.

“I know it’s not as elegant as the one in the market but – oh!” Ash startled when Carla threw her arms around her, squeezing tight.

“You’re right. It’s not like the one in the market,” Carla said when she pulled back, her smile widening as she continued, “It’s better.”

“Carla – ”

“I think I have a ribbon that matches,” Carla interrupted. “Can you do my hair before we go out later?”

Ash pulled her back in, replied as she ran a gentle hand over her daughter’s hair, “Of course, Mi Luz.” She turned to Victor, added, “As long as Papa doesn’t mind.”

“Hey, I’m just the one that does the brushing,” He said. Brushing, he could do. Sometimes even a decent ponytail or braid, but that was about it. Since he just never quite got the hang of styling her hair, he was more than willing to let her mother do it. Besides, it made them both so happy.

Carla smiled at them both before finally pulling away to place the dress back in its box, impatiently awaiting the moment when she would get to pull it out again and finally put it on. ***** When the time came that afternoon, Carla stood admiring her reflection in the mirror as her mother carefully tied the back of her new dress. It was a perfect fit and fell in exactly the right places, the dark blue looking great against her skin tone and eye colour. Her hair was only partially pulled back and tied with a large ribbon in the same shade of blue. She would have preferred to put it up but knew that changing her appearance made it harder for her to be recognised when they were out and about, though she wasn’t sure if anyone would really go as far as Norberg to look.

“You look great,” Ash complimented, settling her hands over her daughter’s shoulders when she finished.

“I know,” Carla joked with an exaggerated twirl.

Her mother shook her head, moved to grab both of the cloaks lying on the bed. “Come on,” She said once they were in hand.

They headed out together and found Victor -- who had been flipping through the book Carla had gifted him -- waiting in the living room. He stopped, immediately closed the book once he heard the familiar footfalls.

“Papa!” Carla exclaimed, asking as she repeated her twirl for him, “What do you think?

“I think you look beautiful,” He said, carefully taking her hand and twirling her again as she laughed, something her parents noticed her doing a lot of lately.

Maybe it wasn’t always easy -- especially being on the run from both the Avaloran Guard and trying to avoid the Evergrowing Forest – and maybe sneaking around wasn’t always fun, but they made it work the best that they could, both parents determined to give their daughter some semblance of the normal life she’d barely gotten to experience over the past fifteen years.

Even if it was just one day, it was a day filled with love, lights and the smell of freshly baked cookies waiting to be decorated.

#Elena of Avalor #My fanfiction #eoa secret santa 2019 #Carla Delgado #Victor Delgado #Ash Delgado #Delgado fam #Family Feels #canon divergent !u #My friend's AU!

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