Secret Santa: Gifts for hithelleth from mustbethursday3
Dear, Hithelleth
I hope you had a lovely Christmas. And I really hope you like your present. Warning: there is ranting included, but only because you kind of made me ship something by accident...(I ship so many things by accident)
T.
__________________
Below the cut:
- Ficlet
- Gifset
- Mini Fanmix
- Sidebar Gifs
__________________
Ficlet//
Becoming a Legend, Charlie/Bass (sorta), AU Angst-ish with some dashes of hope, PG, (1,393 words)
AU: Miles brings Ben, Rachel and the kids to Philly.
Author's notes: Loosely based on 'Charlie was raised as the heiress to the Republic'. Unbeata'd, and rough as hell. I'm so sorry. I wasn't even going to write anything and then I changed my mind because the gift seemed half done...and then I was all - OKAY be fluffy. But when I struggle to write something I always go angst. It's default for me, so the first 90% is a kinda un-holiday cheer. In fact this isn't very Christmas-y at all. But there's a lot of Bass and Charlie and some Jeremy slipped in there because HE DOES THAT WITH ME ALWAYS.
- - - - - - - - - - -
She doesn't know how many have died by his hand (his will); he won't tell her. And when he wants to be, he can be as bad as her mother is, when it comes to secrets.
She knows his are just as blood soaked, only instead of her mother's numbness, he feels everything; every slight against him a fresh pulsing wound, as if they're happening all at once. Past, present, future, it makes no difference, they never stop, they never heal, and they're never forgiven. He counts them - collects and arranges them - the way her mother counts her mistakes. Fingers first, one hand to the next, back and forth; the first name on her lips always a whisper, always her own.
(Charlie had once caught her mother marking lines on the walls of her bedroom, the jagged little marks representing the dead. But there had been too many, even then, to be counted, and not enough wall...
She knows Monroe does it all in his head, so he never runs out of space.)
She sees his eyes dart around the crowds of men always protecting him - from imagined and real dangers alike - and wonders how many he trusts, truly, trusts with his life, and how many he suspects. All of them, maybe, 'waiting to turn on a dime' is an expression he mutters sometimes when they're alone in his study.
He likes to be alone with her; he can't be alone with himself anymore. And sometimes he tells her stories about her parents, although she doesn't recognise the people he talks about. The mother she knows is flint; brittle and hard around the edges; ready for a fight. The woman he speaks of smiles with her eyes as she chases a chubby cheeked child from room to room. The father she knows is quiet, his frame occupying just enough space and not an inch more, his faraway gaze a constant; in him she can see none of the frenetic energy and wry smile that Monroe speaks of. Though she knows that her father wasn't always this way, when they were newly arrived, he'd reach out and squeeze her hand through the bars as she told him about her day. He has a room now, in the house, just as her mother does, but with less guards.
He mostly listens these days, thinking his half of the conversation, and it's her who squeezes his hand, hoping for a smile.
Sometimes after a few drinks Monroe even tells her about her uncle. His words growing fuzzy at the edges, as he tries to continue pacing under the weight of the whisky in his system. His feet slipping on the rug each time he walks over it, sending droplets of whisky out of the tumbler to pool on the floor. She likes those stories best. They sound like the man she remembers. The man who fights too long for lost causes, but not long enough for what he wants. The man who runs from himself at every turn. The man who rescued her from the ashes of the village he'd set alight, dodging her questions, as he thrust her towards the nearest uniform while he went in search of her parents. The man who read her bedtime stories when her father stopped speaking for weeks at a time. The man who taught her to fight and read maps, hunt and follow command.
The man who left in the middle of the night without a word. Who abandoned all of them, not just Monroe.
She misses Miles almost as much as she hates him. And sometimes when she says this, Monroe will let her have a sip of his whisky. But only when he's too drunk to stand. His legs having collapsed under him, as he sits on the floor like he never wants to rise again.
He always lingers at the end of the Miles stories, like he's trying to hold onto them and stop them leaving too.
And when he hasn't said anything for a long time, she'll get up from her spot on the couch and take the tumbler from his hand, setting it on the edge of his desk. Before she reaches down to pull him to his feet. He doesn't like his part. He doesn't like needing her, but she's persistent, it's in her blood, gripping his hands in hers, tight, like she won't ever let go until he relents and stands. She tries not to touch him; she tries not to touch anyone, but in these moments, when she could easily kill him in fifty different ways she allows herself to pretend he's a stranger. Someone helpless and nameless and new.
He's the only one left who will talk to her like she's not a captive, like she's not dead yet. And maybe with Danny away at training she's gotten soft, but she can't help it, she enjoys listening to someone tell her the truth without an ounce of apology. She accepts this world as it is, not as it should be, and certainly not as it once was. And his ability to forget who he was then is a kind of relief.
Once he's standing upright, she walks him into the bedroom connected to his office, it's where he sleeps when he's too drunk (or too stubborn) to go further.
Removing his boots when his fingers are too clumsy for laces, unbuttoning his jacket the way she would a child, murmuring to him reassuringly so he'll sit still, it all comes from practice. From doing the wrong thing the first ten times and learning what works best. When she's done, she pushes him backwards. He falls back with a huff. And she grabs his legs and swings them up onto the bed too. Sometimes she pulls the covers from the opposite side over him, and sometimes she covers him with a blanket; if she leaves him like this she knows he'll sleep all night.
The older she gets, the more she hears the Miles stories (and not just from Monroe), and the more often she finds herself looking down at him like this; wondering whether to smother him with a pillow and put him out of his misery. Or climb in with him.
By the time she's twenty, they've developed habits that exist outside of his office. She's never been put through training, not officially, although Jeremy puts her through her paces sometimes. Jumping out from behind corners with a yell that has her reaching for the sidearm she's not allowed to carry within the building. He won't spar with her though, knowing she'd use it to get her own back, he leaves that for Bass.
And she can give as good as she gets these days, Bass is still quicker, striking out like a snake, but she's got flexibility and youth of her side, and she adapts. Using her feet, her elbows, that weakness he has in his left knee, to her advantage; she knows he's too set in his ways to recover when she switches up tactics and pace.
When they leave the training room, breathing heavily, sweat dripping through their clothes, she avoids the gaze of the men they pass.
She hears all the rumours (Jeremy makes sure she does) about her and the General. Gossip has a life of it's own in Philly where everyone has a story, a secret; some of the things make Jeremy blush, those are her favourites. When she's angry, which is rare - as she's not usually denied anything - she'll list them off, one after the other. Every disgusting detail. Until Bass gives up trying to ignore her, his stride bringing him close enough to grip her shoulders as he orders her to stop. Not even Jeremy dares to fill him in on the dark side of the rumour mill. And maybe it's wrong of her to use it that way, to make her point. That he's not in control of everything; That he can't protect her from everything.
But when he stops listening to her it feels like no one is.
- - -
It takes more than idle gossip to get Bass to agree to let her go to Chicago.
Even with Neville and Jeremy going (especially with those two going) it's a sore subject; she's never actually asked to leave before. Not once. Not even when things got bad.
But by the same token, she's never been invited outside the walls either.
And that's what she holds in her hands, an invitation; right at the end of Miles' terms for the 'sit down'. It's disguised as an afterthought, but it's there, in black and white: and if she's up to the trip, send Charlie...
As the arguing starts around her, she perches on the edge of Bass' desk and frowns down at the letter. Miles must know she hasn't stepped one foot outside the city since he brought them to Philly (like a prize, a bet, he'd won to prove Bass wrong).
So, there's something about the letter in her hands that feels like Miles is issuing her a challenge.
One she's been waiting for for six long years.
__________________________________________
Gifsets//
Your Prompt: Jeremy/Emma (an au when neither of them dies based on that single moment when Jeremy led her away ever so carefully.
My interpretation: FINALLY a reason to gif pretty hair and Jeremy's face.
Notes: Now I'm a little annoyed at you btw, coz I don't like Emma. Not many people do. But I know you love her. And I love rare pairings, so I actually wanted to be your secret santa, and I was really gleeful when I got the PM that I was. And I let my mind get into it a bit, I had noticed (when I was making icons of 1.15 once,) that her hair is AMAZING (red hair is my favourite colour of hair) and the actress is really pretty and perfect...if you ignore the storyline and insert your own headcanon where she and Jeremy are totally a thing. Or an almost thing. And there's flirting and goofing off and the lending of hankies and - yeah she grew up with his boss/BFF, but there's no deep dark secret. And she doesn't die so no one goes crazy. AND ANYWAY - the point I'm making - YOU MADE ME LIKE EMMA AND JEREMY. HOW COULD YOU! *sighs* ... But look at their stupid faces. It would work. And they can live in Canada, and raise alpacas or something. If I end up making a Jeremy side-blog I'm blaming you. And I have headcanons for both of these but I don't want to influence you or tell you to see a certain thing (story) when you look at them. The second one is maybe a fictional TV show. It's maybe pre-blackout. It's maybe an alternate universe. It can be whatever you want. I did add stuff in the tags, but feel free not to read the tags.
Gifset 1:
Emma & Jeremy |
Revolution AU: This isn’t Jeremy’s first visit to Bass’ hometown.
(Tumblr)
Gifset 2:
Emma x Jeremy |
Revolution AU: Red & Blake
Spy AU: There is no right or wrong, only shades of grey.
(Tumblr)
*They're posted as 'private' so only people who click the link can see them. I'll 'unprivate' them, once you've had a look :D
__________________________________________
Mini Fanmix//
01. Leave My Body // Florence + The Machine [4.2mb] ♫
I'm gonna be released from behind these lines
And I don't care whether I live or die
And I'm losing blood, I'm gonna leave my bones
And I don't want your heart it leaves me cold
02. Move Me // Lemolo [3.2 mb] ♫
I don’t want to be away from you too long
We’ll run away again
We’ll run ‘till the sand ends
You know how to move me
03. Metal & Dust // London Grammar [8.0 mb] ♫
And so, you built a life on trust
Though it starts, with love and lust
And when your house, begins to rust
Oh, it's just, metal and dust
04. Emmylou (Vance Joy Cover) // Little May [3.3mb] ♫
Oh if you’re losing sleep, scared of shadows.
See it’s just a chair, see the clothes hang there.
Oh don’t go losing sleep, scared of shadows.
05. Skin // Zola Jesus [4.0 mb] ♫
Safety net, don't hold me now
In this hole I've fallen down
Secret home I made and found
And you wait to breathe
(Tumblr)
__________________________________________
Sidebar Gifs//
And I know you run thelateemmabennett so if you ever change layouts (and since I was gifing her anyhow)...
2 Sidebar options (245px wide):
I hope you had a lovely Christmas. And I really hope you like your present. Warning: there is ranting included, but only because you kind of made me ship something by accident...(I ship so many things by accident)
T.
__________________
Below the cut:
- Ficlet
- Gifset
- Mini Fanmix
- Sidebar Gifs
__________________
Ficlet//
Becoming a Legend, Charlie/Bass (sorta), AU Angst-ish with some dashes of hope, PG, (1,393 words)
AU: Miles brings Ben, Rachel and the kids to Philly.
Author's notes: Loosely based on 'Charlie was raised as the heiress to the Republic'. Unbeata'd, and rough as hell. I'm so sorry. I wasn't even going to write anything and then I changed my mind because the gift seemed half done...and then I was all - OKAY be fluffy. But when I struggle to write something I always go angst. It's default for me, so the first 90% is a kinda un-holiday cheer. In fact this isn't very Christmas-y at all. But there's a lot of Bass and Charlie and some Jeremy slipped in there because HE DOES THAT WITH ME ALWAYS.
- - - - - - - - - - -
She doesn't know how many have died by his hand (his will); he won't tell her. And when he wants to be, he can be as bad as her mother is, when it comes to secrets.
She knows his are just as blood soaked, only instead of her mother's numbness, he feels everything; every slight against him a fresh pulsing wound, as if they're happening all at once. Past, present, future, it makes no difference, they never stop, they never heal, and they're never forgiven. He counts them - collects and arranges them - the way her mother counts her mistakes. Fingers first, one hand to the next, back and forth; the first name on her lips always a whisper, always her own.
(Charlie had once caught her mother marking lines on the walls of her bedroom, the jagged little marks representing the dead. But there had been too many, even then, to be counted, and not enough wall...
She knows Monroe does it all in his head, so he never runs out of space.)
She sees his eyes dart around the crowds of men always protecting him - from imagined and real dangers alike - and wonders how many he trusts, truly, trusts with his life, and how many he suspects. All of them, maybe, 'waiting to turn on a dime' is an expression he mutters sometimes when they're alone in his study.
He likes to be alone with her; he can't be alone with himself anymore. And sometimes he tells her stories about her parents, although she doesn't recognise the people he talks about. The mother she knows is flint; brittle and hard around the edges; ready for a fight. The woman he speaks of smiles with her eyes as she chases a chubby cheeked child from room to room. The father she knows is quiet, his frame occupying just enough space and not an inch more, his faraway gaze a constant; in him she can see none of the frenetic energy and wry smile that Monroe speaks of. Though she knows that her father wasn't always this way, when they were newly arrived, he'd reach out and squeeze her hand through the bars as she told him about her day. He has a room now, in the house, just as her mother does, but with less guards.
He mostly listens these days, thinking his half of the conversation, and it's her who squeezes his hand, hoping for a smile.
Sometimes after a few drinks Monroe even tells her about her uncle. His words growing fuzzy at the edges, as he tries to continue pacing under the weight of the whisky in his system. His feet slipping on the rug each time he walks over it, sending droplets of whisky out of the tumbler to pool on the floor. She likes those stories best. They sound like the man she remembers. The man who fights too long for lost causes, but not long enough for what he wants. The man who runs from himself at every turn. The man who rescued her from the ashes of the village he'd set alight, dodging her questions, as he thrust her towards the nearest uniform while he went in search of her parents. The man who read her bedtime stories when her father stopped speaking for weeks at a time. The man who taught her to fight and read maps, hunt and follow command.
The man who left in the middle of the night without a word. Who abandoned all of them, not just Monroe.
She misses Miles almost as much as she hates him. And sometimes when she says this, Monroe will let her have a sip of his whisky. But only when he's too drunk to stand. His legs having collapsed under him, as he sits on the floor like he never wants to rise again.
He always lingers at the end of the Miles stories, like he's trying to hold onto them and stop them leaving too.
And when he hasn't said anything for a long time, she'll get up from her spot on the couch and take the tumbler from his hand, setting it on the edge of his desk. Before she reaches down to pull him to his feet. He doesn't like his part. He doesn't like needing her, but she's persistent, it's in her blood, gripping his hands in hers, tight, like she won't ever let go until he relents and stands. She tries not to touch him; she tries not to touch anyone, but in these moments, when she could easily kill him in fifty different ways she allows herself to pretend he's a stranger. Someone helpless and nameless and new.
He's the only one left who will talk to her like she's not a captive, like she's not dead yet. And maybe with Danny away at training she's gotten soft, but she can't help it, she enjoys listening to someone tell her the truth without an ounce of apology. She accepts this world as it is, not as it should be, and certainly not as it once was. And his ability to forget who he was then is a kind of relief.
Once he's standing upright, she walks him into the bedroom connected to his office, it's where he sleeps when he's too drunk (or too stubborn) to go further.
Removing his boots when his fingers are too clumsy for laces, unbuttoning his jacket the way she would a child, murmuring to him reassuringly so he'll sit still, it all comes from practice. From doing the wrong thing the first ten times and learning what works best. When she's done, she pushes him backwards. He falls back with a huff. And she grabs his legs and swings them up onto the bed too. Sometimes she pulls the covers from the opposite side over him, and sometimes she covers him with a blanket; if she leaves him like this she knows he'll sleep all night.
The older she gets, the more she hears the Miles stories (and not just from Monroe), and the more often she finds herself looking down at him like this; wondering whether to smother him with a pillow and put him out of his misery. Or climb in with him.
By the time she's twenty, they've developed habits that exist outside of his office. She's never been put through training, not officially, although Jeremy puts her through her paces sometimes. Jumping out from behind corners with a yell that has her reaching for the sidearm she's not allowed to carry within the building. He won't spar with her though, knowing she'd use it to get her own back, he leaves that for Bass.
And she can give as good as she gets these days, Bass is still quicker, striking out like a snake, but she's got flexibility and youth of her side, and she adapts. Using her feet, her elbows, that weakness he has in his left knee, to her advantage; she knows he's too set in his ways to recover when she switches up tactics and pace.
When they leave the training room, breathing heavily, sweat dripping through their clothes, she avoids the gaze of the men they pass.
She hears all the rumours (Jeremy makes sure she does) about her and the General. Gossip has a life of it's own in Philly where everyone has a story, a secret; some of the things make Jeremy blush, those are her favourites. When she's angry, which is rare - as she's not usually denied anything - she'll list them off, one after the other. Every disgusting detail. Until Bass gives up trying to ignore her, his stride bringing him close enough to grip her shoulders as he orders her to stop. Not even Jeremy dares to fill him in on the dark side of the rumour mill. And maybe it's wrong of her to use it that way, to make her point. That he's not in control of everything; That he can't protect her from everything.
But when he stops listening to her it feels like no one is.
- - -
It takes more than idle gossip to get Bass to agree to let her go to Chicago.
Even with Neville and Jeremy going (especially with those two going) it's a sore subject; she's never actually asked to leave before. Not once. Not even when things got bad.
But by the same token, she's never been invited outside the walls either.
And that's what she holds in her hands, an invitation; right at the end of Miles' terms for the 'sit down'. It's disguised as an afterthought, but it's there, in black and white: and if she's up to the trip, send Charlie...
As the arguing starts around her, she perches on the edge of Bass' desk and frowns down at the letter. Miles must know she hasn't stepped one foot outside the city since he brought them to Philly (like a prize, a bet, he'd won to prove Bass wrong).
So, there's something about the letter in her hands that feels like Miles is issuing her a challenge.
One she's been waiting for for six long years.
__________________________________________
Gifsets//
Your Prompt: Jeremy/Emma (an au when neither of them dies based on that single moment when Jeremy led her away ever so carefully.
My interpretation: FINALLY a reason to gif pretty hair and Jeremy's face.
Notes: Now I'm a little annoyed at you btw, coz I don't like Emma. Not many people do. But I know you love her. And I love rare pairings, so I actually wanted to be your secret santa, and I was really gleeful when I got the PM that I was. And I let my mind get into it a bit, I had noticed (when I was making icons of 1.15 once,) that her hair is AMAZING (red hair is my favourite colour of hair) and the actress is really pretty and perfect...if you ignore the storyline and insert your own headcanon where she and Jeremy are totally a thing. Or an almost thing. And there's flirting and goofing off and the lending of hankies and - yeah she grew up with his boss/BFF, but there's no deep dark secret. And she doesn't die so no one goes crazy. AND ANYWAY - the point I'm making - YOU MADE ME LIKE EMMA AND JEREMY. HOW COULD YOU! *sighs* ... But look at their stupid faces. It would work. And they can live in Canada, and raise alpacas or something. If I end up making a Jeremy side-blog I'm blaming you. And I have headcanons for both of these but I don't want to influence you or tell you to see a certain thing (story) when you look at them. The second one is maybe a fictional TV show. It's maybe pre-blackout. It's maybe an alternate universe. It can be whatever you want. I did add stuff in the tags, but feel free not to read the tags.
Gifset 1:
Emma & Jeremy |
Revolution AU: This isn’t Jeremy’s first visit to Bass’ hometown.
(Tumblr)
Gifset 2:
Emma x Jeremy |
Revolution AU: Red & Blake
Spy AU: There is no right or wrong, only shades of grey.
(Tumblr)
*They're posted as 'private' so only people who click the link can see them. I'll 'unprivate' them, once you've had a look :D
__________________________________________
Mini Fanmix//
01. Leave My Body // Florence + The Machine [4.2mb] ♫
I'm gonna be released from behind these lines
And I don't care whether I live or die
And I'm losing blood, I'm gonna leave my bones
And I don't want your heart it leaves me cold
02. Move Me // Lemolo [3.2 mb] ♫
I don’t want to be away from you too long
We’ll run away again
We’ll run ‘till the sand ends
You know how to move me
03. Metal & Dust // London Grammar [8.0 mb] ♫
And so, you built a life on trust
Though it starts, with love and lust
And when your house, begins to rust
Oh, it's just, metal and dust
04. Emmylou (Vance Joy Cover) // Little May [3.3mb] ♫
Oh if you’re losing sleep, scared of shadows.
See it’s just a chair, see the clothes hang there.
Oh don’t go losing sleep, scared of shadows.
05. Skin // Zola Jesus [4.0 mb] ♫
Safety net, don't hold me now
In this hole I've fallen down
Secret home I made and found
And you wait to breathe
(Tumblr)
__________________________________________
Sidebar Gifs//
And I know you run thelateemmabennett so if you ever change layouts (and since I was gifing her anyhow)...
2 Sidebar options (245px wide):