#Brief Encounter of the Interdimensional Kind Tumblr posts

[randomfoggytiger]

*-*-*-*-*-*-* Brief Encounter *-*-*-*-*-*-*

-*-*-*- of the Interdimensional Kind -*-*-*-

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

Words cannot express how deeply your work and your ways have impacted my experience in this fandom (and life, as a whole.) So, I shall keep all speeches short; and only observe that-- having spent a month first watching, then writing, then thinking and rewriting-- I hope this endeavor does credit to your favorite movie. You deserve it, and much, much more~.

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

We're neither of us free to love each other. There's too much in the way.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

The clouds had gathered for a storm, but only succeeded in blocking out the sun. 

Whimpering drizzles pattered the windshield, streaked tears across the windows, glistened occasionally in the waxing moonlight. The road stretched on and on; and the wind, the rain, and the engine roared with cacophonous, irrepressible force. Her head thrummed with pain, drumming in time with Nature’s protestation. 

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think. 

The trees on either side began to gather around fences. Then farmhouses. Then neighborhoods, landmarks taking shape in the mystic dark. Turns, lanes, and the final road. 

Then home. 

Five more minutes. 

Purse, keys, exit. 

Her mother met her at the door, gloved and coated and anxious. “We were worried sick-- are you okay, sweetheart, where’ve you been?” 

“Yes, Mom. It just took a while getting back.” 

“It’s been over an hour, Dana.” She paused, snappish and loving and hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” Purse, shoes, coat. “I won’t keep you, it’s late.” House slippers.

“Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk after your shift.” 

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?” 

“You should ask him, he’s still up.” 

Ask him, ask him. Can’t ask him. “Why? Does he feel sick--”

Her mother’s hands, warm and clean, gently touched her face, gently drew her chin away from the stairs. “He wouldn’t say. But he loves you, Sweetheart-- he needs you.” 

Scully stilled, stayed in that spot until her mother kissed her cheek, said her goodbyes, drove down the driveway and into the night. 

“But I don’t, Mom,” she confessed, startling as the wind howled and the house groaned. Their anniversary clock ticked its seconds loudly in judgment. I no longer love him.

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

I'm a happily married woman - or I was, rather, until a few weeks ago. This is my whole world, and it's enough, or rather, it was until a few weeks ago. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him. 

She saw him; and doubted herself, doubted the familiarity he shed in passing. Set aside the prickling sense of deja vu and kismet and every other word she’d once learned to give meaning. Dismissed the force of loneliness pinching, squeezing, crushing her heart. Labeled these sensations under false names and placed them in faulty categories. Stood in the weakening sun of a small-town airfield and refused to think until the skies opened up and the rains fell.    

It wasn’t unusual for rain to sweep the airfield and wash five to five dozen soggy souls into the small, stapled airport. Workers and servicemen, mothers and children were fractured into groups and driven off to their chosen recreational areas-- chaos and skinned knees and runny noses often mingled in the lunch hall; restraint and sopping boots and rustling purses often flocked to the lounge. 

Four weeks ago, only two wandered aimlessly down the long, rangy hallway. 

She heard his voice behind her, stumbling curiosities to an attendant; and turned, turned, turned against every force of nature to drink him in with her eyes. 

“I’m Fox Mulder, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he was rambling, patting at his coat, rifling through his empty pockets. “Um, I don’t have my badge on me, but…. I need to use your phone so I can call my boss-- my boss, Assistant Director Skinner-- if I could just call him--”

“Mulder.” 

He stopped, a toy unwound with its key removed. Lost, vulnerable; a breath away from flustered, furious. 

His hair was dark, bangs flat. The creases in his forehead were smooth, the hollows under his eyes filled, the ridges of his cheekbones soft and young. He looked for all the world like a boy, innocence barely tainted enough to be searching for a badge in a coat. 

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring. 

That ring shook Scully from fantasy to reality; and she stared at this man, this stranger, and didn’t run. She didn’t run, but maybe she should have.  

“Do I know you?” he asked, ring sweeping back and forth as Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation ran a hand through his hair. Stepped forward in cheap leather shoes and a mismatching cheap, polyester tie. “Ma’am?” 

“No,” she replied, but it felt like a lie. “But I overheard; and… and you can use my phone. Here.” 

He stared at her, stepped back, wrinkles appearing above his furrowed brows. Took her phone carefully, flipped it open like it might explode. Studied it like a holy relic. Looked back as if she’d given him a miracle. 

“You know where I can get one of these?” 

*-*-*-*-*

They ate lunch together. Something small from the food court, something he could eat one-handed while pressing buttons, opening and scrolling and marveling. She sat across and watched the wonder wash afresh over his face with each discovery, wondered herself what would inspire this abject devotion. 

A new song kicked on, overhead-- something the composer must have thought was heady on paper, in the sound booth; but was cheap and tawdry and overdone, pitchy and nichey, among the living. Fox Mulder slammed his thumb one last time, turned around, and tilted his head from side-to-side until he located the speakers. “Never heard that one before.” 

“Hm, neither have I.” Scully unwrapped her sandwich, delicately nudged the ingredients apart, and handed him a pickle with the tip of her manicure. 

“You don’t like pickles?” he asked, plucking it from her finger, trepidatious. 

“I do,” she realized, set her sandwich down. “My husband, William, used to love pickles. I never got out of the habit of trading for his onions, I suppose.” William’s fingers, cold and slack. William’s voice, damaged. William, changed. 

“My partner, Diana, prefers mustard on everything. Plain, only mustard. She’d take it with her coffee, but the Bureau’s got rules against that.” 

“Your wife?” A funny detail to neglect-- a wife at home-- with a female partner at the FBI. A funny detail she’d neglected, too, until his mouth softened around Diana. 

“Not my wife.” He let the statement rest, clicking a few more buttons until her stare realigned Earth’s gravity, pivoted his eyes back up again. “My partner. She put a ring on it,” Fox Mulder of the Federal Bureau explained, twitching his fourth finger, “but not my wife.” 

“Why not married?” Scully caught a new notification sliding across the screen, looked up in time to catch its reflection in his pupils. 

“We’ve never really found the time.” 

“I and my pickles, you and your ring?”

“No,” he chuffed, “Your husband's pickles and my partner’s ring.” 

“Well,” she conceded, crumpling up a wrapper to bide time. “You still haven’t called your boss. How do I know you’re actually with the Bureau?” 

“You wouldn’t have handed me the phone if you didn’t believe me.”

Perhaps there were moments that made as much sense, as much nonsense, as this, in recent years. Scully couldn’t remember them, couldn’t help wondering when life had started making too much sense. Stopped herself from wondering because she knew; she knew when. “And how do you know that?” 

“I’m a profiler-- ‘t’s what I do.” Fox Mulder stopped his idle investigation, drummed his hand on the table, wiped a stray dot of ketchup off his forefinger, and clenched his jaw. “I don’t even know if he’d answer my call. Can I tell you something?” 

“Tell me what?” She was eating the last of her fries, not quite sure when she’d started, not quite sure how they’d quickly disappeared. Not quite sure where this conversation was going; but suddenly sure, absolutely sure, where it was going. 

“I think I’m from an alternate universe.” He waited, shoulders tense, for her reaction. Waited longer, exasperated, when she paused, mid-chew, to weigh his seriousness. 

As if waking from a dream-- from a nightmare, its funk still putrid in her mouth-- and finding the world brighter and more beautiful for it, Scully blinked, sat back, and whispered, “I thought you were going to suggest time travel."

*-*-*-*-*

Though not out of the realm of possibility, dimensional travel was a topic neither wanted to explore in the din of the food hall. Reclaiming her phone and navigating them down the hall seemed the best option. Picking the cafe or the lounge or the tourist traps to settle did not. 

Fox Mulder spotted the rec room, old-school projector queuing up a movie as they scuffled in and settled in the back. In the darkness, they crackled with anticipation, the energy of like-minded intrigue and challenge flowing between them like an entity, like a conduit of another world, bearing messages and olive branches to fortify communication. 

It was 1991 and Fox Mulder was 30. It was 2004 and Dana Scully was 40. 

“If your theory is correct and we’re locked in an unfortunate crossover, then there would be some sign, universally, that the fabric of known reality was being torn through, or punched through, or, or, burdened, in some way, in order to break the known laws of physics. And there isn’t, as far as we know. I mean, have you noticed anything odd, Mulder, about our reality?” 

“I have, yeah.” He had snagged a bag of peanuts, the mainstay of all liminal spaces, during a brief but necessary cooldown from string theories and Copenhagen Interpretations. “You keep calling me Mulder.”

“What?” Scully moved away, jolted from the security their heated debate had given. Aware of the dangers a dark room with a relative stranger posed; began to seriously question how long they had been exchanging strange and alluring ideas. 

“Not Fox, but Mulder. The only ones who call me Mulder are field agents, or my superiors. But you knew.” He was reaching past her to the empty seat where they’d flung the coats; and she half-thought Mulder was going to grab his things and run, half-afraid she’d grab her things and run after. 

“Knew… what?” 

“That I preferred to be called Mulder. That I was going to propose something as wild as time travel. That I needed help calling my boss,” he added, mouth slipping into an easy grin, tap-tapping at the phone lying by her purse. 

An old, uneasy feeling slid into Scully’s gut, crawled up the back of her spine and clutched at her throat. “You think I’m behind whatever happened to you?” 

Mulder stopped, surprised she’d assumed his assumption of her guilt. Surprised he hadn’t assumed her guilt. “I think you’re connected to it, somehow. I believe the sooner that we--”

And Fox Mulder vanished, snatched away by the inscrutable universe. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

You see, we're a happily married couple and let's never forget that. This is my home. You're my husband.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She searched: the rec room, the lounge, the food court, the cafe, the terminal, the front desk, every space in-between. No one answered to his description: tall, hazel-green eyes, flat hair, Fox Mulder-- “a gold ring on his left hand”, she’d remember, then forget again. The day spent, she drove home, bereft of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t place. 

Her mother answered the door, updated her on the home health nurse’s instructions while Scully tucked away her purse, slid off her coat, unbuckled her watch and placed it with the keys. Listened as Captain Scully’s widow promised to drop in tomorrow afternoon.

“William’s asleep, but he finished a sudoku puzzle today. Dana, you should have seen his face-- it lit up with pride.”

“Oh, Mom….”

“I know, dear,” she cried, gripping them both in a long, tight hug. “He said Mom just like he used to. He even asked for his special candy afterwards.”

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a good sign. Oh--!” Maggie darted away, disappearing into the kitchen where the faint whistle of a kettle began to shriek. “I made tea to take up with you. Hopefully it’ll help settle his stomach after the medications.” 

“Thanks.” Acquiescing and agreeing were all Scully felt up to, the smell of peanuts on her hands, on her sleeves narrowing her abilities to a singular focus. To the mystery of the vanishing Mulder, and his theory of her connection to his displacement. He was no longer displaced, now; or, rather, she hoped he was back where he came from. 

The house was emptied, dinner eaten and tea drunk, before she was aware time had moved on and left her behind. 

She was at the table, and William’s scratched-up worksheet hung proudly on the fridge. Her mother had written Time: 8 hrs., 8 min., 8 sec. in the top-right corner and -William underneath. A thin, whispery line under -William was drawn from dash to ‘W’ before the writer changed his mind and started afresh, tracing badly over the old one but following it through to completion. (William’s line) was scrawled underneath, with a neat, precise arrow pointing upward to his contribution. 

William no longer finished crosswords, no longer lobbed her questions across the table, across the couch, across the room; no longer asked her, in Trebek accent, “What’s Mount St. Helena?” to make her smile. William no longer drove, no longer left home, no longer left bed. 

Time had left Scully behind again: it was seven thirty, it was eight, it was going to be eight fifteen. She was tired, it was late, her husband was awake by now. It was eight twenty by the time her dishes were done, eight twenty-five when she began to trudge up the steps and realized her heels were still on. 

“William? Are you awake?” 

His door was already open a crack, wooing her with lamplight and weeping violins. Sharing William’s secrets, or the allure secrets, to draw her closer and closer in. Her iPod was playing Bruch’s Fantasía Escocesa Op.48, the third on a playlist he’d requested she or her mother or the nurse cobble together. Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy. 

“Violins are beautiful,” she’d told him one night when he was relearning her. “I can always hear them on the opposite end of the house.” And he’d laughed, the mirth of one relearning himself, and kept asking which were her favorite songs. She’d express a preference once, and he’d forget; and ask her to repeat it countless times. Bruch and Grieg and Mendelssohn had worn thin, then reinvented themselves through necessity-- for both their sakes. 

Her husband driving home from work, dashed on the road, split open, by a drunk. Her husband seizing on the table during major surgery. Her husband surviving, a miracle of God. Her husband becoming gravely ill, losing two years of recovery due to brain lesions. Her husband losing his job, losing his independence, losing himself, completely. 

She’d misspelled Grieg as Grief, once. 

“Yeah,” his voice piped, long a smothered under the coverlet. Sleepy, accomplished.

“Your meds on the desk?” 

William’s second “Yeah” was quieter, drifting off before Scully finished shuffling across the shag carpet. Shaking one of the pill containers softly by the bed lump made it shake, further evidence he’d fallen neatly into a doze; but his hand slowly maneuvered out from the pile of blankets, grabbing at the air until she secured it with her arm. 

“First one,” she dictated, humming affirmatively when he echoed her. “Don’t chew, remember?”

“Not for the night pills.”

“Right. Not for the night pills. Do you want to take them all at once, or with some water?”

A head-shaped lump shook-- no-- and she guessed that meant no water. 

“All right. I saw your sudoku today. You finished it in eight hours?” 

“Yes.” The s stretched out, theatrically. “I still don’t like it.”  

Knowing he couldn’t see, Scully squeezed her eyelids shut until stars behind them faded into darkness. “I know. Do you want to do something else? I can have Mom bring you a different puzzle in the morning.”

“No, I. I want… to like it.” Voice matter of fact, smooth. As smooth as extensive damage would allow. William Smooth, as he called it on his good days. 

“I know, William.” 

“I want to like things, Dana.”  

“You’re still healing.” Slipping onto the bed, she patted him to scoot backward. Cautiously. He’d fallen on his side again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He played with her arm, rubbed and smoothed the fine hair there. “And I solved kid sudoku today.” 

“It’s still sudoku, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Long s, tired. 

“Do you want me to read tonight?” He hummed, groaned. A broken but healing sound that reminded her of Mulder’s frantic, searching eyes. “Moby Dick? Just skip the…?”

William chuckled. Light, tonight. “Just skip the kissing parts.” 

“All right, all right. But you owe me when it’s your turn to read.” Moby Dick, collector’s edition, hardback, lay face-up on her end table. With practiced ease, she heaved off the bed, around the baseboard, and back again before her husband had a chance to nod off. Pushed his Thursday treat into his hands and settled while he thumbed it absently. “Chapter 16, The…. Oh, my mistake. There’s no title for this chapter.”

“Hm. Melville?”

“Yes, Melville. ‘Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side--’”

Scully read; and the candy dropped to the floor, and William slept. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 3

I imagined being with him in all sorts of glamorous circumstances. It was one of those absurd fantasies, just like one has when one is a girl being wooed and married by the idea of one's dreams. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She saw him, again, at the airport. 

“Dana!” Mulder yelled, bursting from the teeming crowds of collected newcomers. “Dana Scully!” Hurried, harried, haggard, he rushed down the hall where she stood, wallet in hand, by a food stall. 

“Mulder--” He was here, he was here, and what did it mean? 

“What day is it?”

“Mulder, how did you--”

“Dana, what day is it!” He was gripping her arm; she was dropping her wallet. “I need to know.”

Someone was asking if she needed help, someone else was handing her her wallet, and a third person had recognized her, she could see it in his eyes. “It’s nothing, we’re fine, my friend’s just upset, Mulder, let’s go to the--”

“Dana!”  

“It’s Thursday, Mulder! Let’s go--” But where would they go? “Let’s go, Mulder.” 

Tugging his hand, plucking his sleeve, pulling at his arm, Scully caused him to yield. The fight left and he followed, shoulders drooping, to the car where she swiftly undid the locks, threw on the air, and told him to loosen his collar and take deep breaths. He was sweating, and flushed, and stank. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked, handing him a bottle of water always kept in case of emergencies. 

“All morning. All night, I think. I woke up to someone patting my face. Didn’t have my badge, didn’t have cash, didn’t have your phone.” 

She snapped away, glaring thunderously up at him. So used to standing above William that it annoyed her having to look up to a man. “You stole my phone?” 

Mulder’s head rolled from right to left, trying not to blink when a flat, sweaty bang fluttered, caught in his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to, Dana, it was in my hand when I teleported.”

The fight curled and snapped and wanted to bare fangs, but now was not the time to lay blame. Not when they had a crisis on their hands. 

“Where were you before you… ‘teleported’?”

“Home. I think. I came home from work and went to bed. I woke up, here.”

“Was Diana there with you?” 

Mulder scowled-- at her, or in recollection, or over some third thing he hadn’t shared. “No, Diana wasn’t there. She was out of town.”

“Was she there last week?” 

“No.” The scowl deepened, and he drew upright to analyze her evenly. “Do you think she’s involved in some way?” 

“I don’t know, Mulder. I just… want to solve this as much as you do, and we have no place to start except the variables. What changed from last week to this? What changed from last week to the week before? Any, any difference in routine, in, in professional or personal relationships?” 

His face smoothed, conscious diving deep into the unconscious for answers. The shift and the click of his mind, its turning and butting and rerouting, were visible/through the green of his eyes, in the tugs of each zygomaticus muscle. 

“Dana, I never made it home.”

“I thought you said--” 

“No, no, I thought I did, too. I was flying back to D.C. after wrapping a case. And I… I stayed behind, got a late flight, and slept on the plane. I don’t remember waking up.” 

“Were you traveling last week?”

He nodded. 

“On a case?”

“It’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI’,” Mulder shrugged, lips curling, eyes twinkling when she gave him a pity smile. 

“Did you fall asleep at the airport?”

The gears, turning. Without another word, he leaped from the car, blinking against the sunlight. 

“Mulder, where are you going--”

“The airport, Dana. I was here, at this airport, last week.”

Evil can lurk behind the heart of any man, she knew. But it was hard to imagine 1991 rural West Virginia in such turmoil that it had to personally call in an FBI profiler. “Really.” 

“Yes. And yesterday, the plane would have had to fly over this airport to land in D.C.” 

“So, I’m not the problem,” Scully whispered, watched his inconsistent double growing and shrinking on the hood of her car. “I didn’t cause this.” 

Mulder was quiet, too quiet. He was waiting for an explanation, his arms bending, melting over each other in the car wax. 

“Last week, you said I was connected to… this.” 

“I thought you were, Dana. And I was wrong.” 

A wail from the mercurial wind promised rain; and they both looked up to see distant clouds gathering, blackening. She dipped down, grabbed her spare umbrella, and closed, locked the car. He shut his door, too. 

“Lunch,” she decided. “Bring your wallet next time. You owe me two meals and a phone.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was expertly juggling two green salads dripping in bacon grease, two wraps coated in garlic sauce, and two supersized, overpriced waters when he drifted back to her side, looking from her to the display and back again. “This where I found you?”

“This is where you made a scene, yes.” Rich vanillas and caramels, salty toffees and shortbread, woody almonds and pecans, butters, creams, and chocolates blended, broke apart, came together in an unmistakably luxurious scent. One that deceptively passed itself off as simply coffee, simply butter, simply vanilla, all while evolving into unimaginable decadence. Simply delicious. A matter of survival. 

The server looked up and grinned-- a regular. “What’ll it be for William today, Ms. Scully?”  

“Two Billy Butters, please.” 

“They make fresh candy here?” Mulder asked, chest swelling as he took methodical, insatiable gulps of air. 

“Yes,” laughed the server, punctuating her statement with a smack, catching the register with ease as its door sprung open, “every day a new batch.”

“You must be talented bakers.” 

The server laughed again; and Scully smothered a chuckle, knowing what was coming. “No, no one’s a baker here! We simply make up the treats.” 

“They serve family recipes,” she explained, “passed down to the owner.” 

“Yes-- and very good ones, too. Anika learned them from her grandmother; and she follows the instructions, and we follow her instructions. And every Thursday,” the server chattered, pleased to have a captive audience, “we put secret messages inside William’s wrapper for him to read.” 

“He’s always pleased to read his messages. Thank you.” Fishing out her change, Scully handed a five and declined the receipt, tucking a candy into her purse and handing the other to Mulder. “For you.” 

“Sweets for the sweet?” he returned, palming his reward with unexpected tenderness. 

“Alms for the poor. Let’s go find a place to sit.”  

*-*-*-*-*

It happened while she was trying to tell him a story. 

Melissa was perpetually slipping in the creek because Scully couldn’t get past that part without giggling. Mulder was chuckling, too, trying to help her rework a sentence or start the story someplace new-- in vain. 

“You look so young,” he said; and the world stopped, it melted, it was consumed by the burning flesh of the sun. Cold, beautiful, fearfully made wonders bloomed from the stars, stretched their wings into nebulas, formed their magic into galaxies. 

“How?” she trembled, fearing, believing. 

“Your eyes.” His voice was impossibly soft, his gaze immovably fixed. “They contain… everything, Dana.” 

Languages of the ancient dead thrummed and rang and sung inside his eyes. Immutable strengths that fell greater men and plunged down, down into the deep. Love, she knew, that was more precious because it could not be taken, only given. That would not let her go until she turned away. 

“Scully. Call me Scully, please.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 4

It's awfully easy to lie when you know that you're trusted implicitly. So very easy, and so very degrading. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

I no longer love him. 

The rain keeps falling, she mused, afraid to move from the door. Scully didn’t know what she meant to think; only that she did, and that was what she thought. 

“I’ll be here next Thursday,” Mulder had warned, grin splitting his face when she gave up the act and smiled, too. “I’m buying.” And that had seemed too wonderful for words, too tender, too glorious. 

That’s why she thought of the rain: the night had shuttered in and the heavens had opened, dashing down their young ones against her windshield, trapping the moon in their little bodies splattered on the car wax. It was too wonderful, it was too glorious, warned Icarus’s wings. It had to end before it started. Before it continued. Before it came to a filthy, fleshy conclusion.  

The rain had flooded in as her mother left, dripping, dripping from her hair, dripping, dripping from her clothes, dripping, dripping from the walls and ceiling and onto the floor. Spreading inescapable mirrors Scully must tread through to ascend the stairs. 

The server will recognize him. We’ll have to stay in the car, with the sun visor up. But my car will be seen, and the visor will add to suspicion. Someone I know will be there, and will spot us.

And it would break William, irreparably. 

He was sitting up in bed, head bent towards a sudoku booklet in his lap, shocks of silver hair sprouting from sutures sewn lengthwise across his skull. Her irrepressible, unbeatable, unsinkable Molly Brown sinking into a man she didn’t recognize-- one without likes, dislikes, preferences. One who clung to the booklets handed to him because they were handed, to her books and her music because she volunteered them. Who shied away from stories before the accident, before the illness, before the lesions and the loss of that last bit of himself. He loved her. He needed her. 

She had believed she loved him, too. 

William shuffled to the next song, and the next before she could face him. 

“'She walks in beauty,'” he quoted, painstakingly looping a circle before looking up to her. 

“'In the night',” she finished, settling on the bed, under the quilt before unfolding her palm. “For you.” 

“Ah, a Thursday surprise.” William carefully closed his fingers, one by one, around the gift before slowly lowering his arm to the bed. One by one his fingers pawed at the wrapping, one by one they peeled back this, then that corner. “Did Anika make this looser just for me?” 

“Hm, no. I think your fingers are getting stronger.” 

“That’s good. One of these days I’ll be able to hold your hand properly.” 

There existed a violent and fierce love in her soul for the wounded fighters with odds stacked against them. She knew it. She needed it, craved it. “Give me your hand. We can try now.” 

He became still, muted in the face of challenge. “I… think we should wait until I’m stronger. I don’t want….”

“William,” she pleaded, dabbing at the tips of his fingers, closing them in her doctor’s hands. “I’d never hurt you.” Please, she thought as his exhale shuddered and creaked. 

Slowly, slowly, he nodded. Slowly, slowly, she slid her palm over his, slowly, slowly pressed on it until the candy wedged between them. 

“Try,” he whispered; and she clasped his fingers and tugged them towards her own. 

Scully waited for the Eighth Wonder of the World. She waited for resurgence: for the disintegrated terra firma to reconstruct its borders, for the galaxy to be shrunk, infinitesimal, and swallowed by the immeasurable pull of a black hole. But there was only waiting, then wincing, then a noiseless yield in William’s stifled groan. Her hand sprang back, wrapper sticking to her hand like flypaper. 

“William--” 

“I’m fine, Dana, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, William--”

“You’re not, either.” 

The wind machine whirred and the iPod played Mendelssohn and neither moved. Could move. 

Working her throat past the taste of hot iron, Scully dipped her chin and focused on breathing. “Do you still want to hear what Anika says?” 

Yes, he nodded. “Yes.”

She peeled the wrapper off, held it between both her index and middle fingers, worked her thumbs under the smudged, smeared, illegible script. Sighed, aimed for a believable lie. “She sends her love.” 

He nodded yes, no, or perhaps nothing intelligible. “Will you help me lie down? I, I can’t….” 

“Yes, William. Always.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 5

As it is, you're the only one in the world that I can never tell. Never, never. Because even if I waited until we were old, old people and told you then, you'd be bound to look back over the years and be hurt. And my dear, I don't want you to be hurt. 

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

She didn’t go Thursday. 

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t, not after the week William had. Not after she’d watched him meekly tailor his preferences to hers, watched him choke down a tasteless bran muffin not because it was tasteless but because he was proving himself. Not after he’d clung to her hand like a failure and tried to solve a sudoku a day for the nurse to hang on the fridge-- proof that he was better. 

Scully couldn’t stay home, either. 

She told her husband, “I can’t swing by the airport today”, and drove as fast and as far as possible before coming back to herself. 

The breeze sighed into her window, unfamiliar with its scent of golden sunshine and golfer grass and white flowers and old metal; twisted somewhere concretely in her chest. It was the type of breeze, the type of day, that siphoned wishes from the ether, transmogrified them into reality.

She couldn’t be here, either. 

*-*-*-*-*

Scully drove into the hospital, let the car idle in the parking lot, and listened. Wondered if it was fate that the sky remained cloudless. Wished Mulder would materialize from the oppressive heat like an Arthurian legend, a mirage that promised unconquerable hope. Hoped he wasn’t wandering lonely and hungry, distraught she hadn’t shown. Wondered if he did bring his wallet, wondered if she was missing out on a king’s feast. 

It hadn’t rained today; and she wondered if that was a sign. 

*-*-*-*-*

“Dana!”

Scrubbed, prepped, and reading through the schedule, Scully knew, knew it wasn’t Mulder; but her hands wouldn’t pry away from the clipboard no matter how she willed them. By the time she’d straightened and released a breath, a fellow doctor flanked her, throwing intrusive questions and curious glances behind a cup of coffee and two, three, four scratches on a sheet of desk paper. 

“Dana, I thought you took off today--” It was Dolly: innocent curiosity in one hand, rumors and unending speculation in the other. A far cry from Mulder; an inescapable force of her own. “Was there an emergency autopsy? I didn’t hear about one, mind; but then again, I’m hardly ever up to date on morgue affairs--” 

Scully grit and bore it, chastised herself for not anticipating gossip. Smiled at a passing student as she mused on the inescapability of Thursdays-- how they attracted run-ins and questions and mysteries she wanted to avoid after William’s escalating traumas. One transfer hadn’t escaped them; a second was not only impractical, but cowardly. She’d resigned herself to fate and chose her battles.

Then Mulder appeared. 

“It’s not William, is it?” Jerked back to reality, Scully stared, eyebrow up and eyes slit and sharp while her interlocutor rambled on. “He was doing so well this past month, y’know. Maybe he just wanted some alone time with your mom--”

Scully cut in, sharp and demanding. “How did you know my mother stays with William on Thursdays?” 

"Now, now, Dana, don’t get your back up. You told me before, remember?” Had she? “You poor lamb, it’s all the stress you’re going through with… your situation. And understandably--”

“Excuse me,” Scully mumbled, speeding away from the desk, mentally lost to time slots and autopsy assistants and trying, trying, trying to remember if she’d mentioned that fact before. No, I haven’t. She must have learned it from Mary or…. She paused, feeling an immense rush to sit down; and resisted the impulse. I didn’t tell her. I know that much. 

Thursdays were Thursdays, Mary would be spoken to, and everything, she reassured herself, was fine. 

*-*-*-*-*

William was pretending to be asleep when she came home. Her mother, puzzled, greeted her at the door, ushered her in with a worried, “He said he was tired.”

“Did he have any headaches, Mom?”

“No.”

“Lethargy? Speech irregularity? Did he skip meals?” 

“He missed supper, but… do you think anything’s wrong, Dana? He kept asking when you’d come home.”

“Mom--.” Scully did not want to have a conversation-- not now, and definitely not with her mother. “I’ll go check on him, okay? He’s probably catching up on some sleep he missed.” 

Unappeased, unabashed, Maggie Scully grabbed her daughter’s elbow before the latter could retreat. “Dana,” she warned, and Scully stalled, head down and mouth flat. “Is there something wrong I should know about?”

‘Something wrong.’ How wrong and right that word is. “No, there isn’t. I’m going to try to coax him to eat, all right? I love you.” And she hurried into the kitchen, hurried past the bare fridge-- No sudoku, today-- hurried back with his cold supper, hurried away from her mother’s parting, “Careful, sweetheart!”, and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway. Wished that she were hurrying farther and farther and farther into an abyss to think.  

William was pretending to sleep, but at least he had the decency not to snore. 

Releasing a breath, Scully laid the tray down on his end table and navigated the thin strip between his bed and the wall until she came to the master bathroom. A long, relaxing bath; a short, cleansing shower; and a detailed skincare ritual ate up close to an hour of her time, pushed her nearer to the crucial nine o’clock when she could climb into bed and end Thursday. 

The house was groaning with age-- young in comparison to other houses, young like the houses her family would inhabit at each Naval station. It was a comfort to her to own something so closely linked with carefree times, to offset a recovering spouse and longer, demanding hours with the sense of ‘settling in.’ But there were no haunted voices to fill up the attics, or the basement, or the corners where William’s wind machine whirred, and Mendelssohn was whippled on repeat. 

“Dana?” Her husband called, scratchy and retiring. Old before his years. 

“Yes?” She sat on the toilet and clasped her hands before her face. Waited, listening. 

“Did you bring home… something?” 

It was Thursday; and he’d forgotten what she’d said in parting. 

Scully straightened the bathroom, swept out in a cloud of warm vapor, settled on the edge of his bed and touched his fingers, his elbow, his shoulder while he worked it out. 

William waited, waited, waited; then couldn’t meet her eyes. “I forgot again, didn’t I?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

He stiffened under her touch, tried to pass off a lean-away by readjusting his posture. She didn’t chase him. “I’m sorry,” he echoed; and pretended to sleep. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 6

This can't last. This misery can't last. I must remember that and try to control myself. Nothing lasts really. Neither happiness nor despair. Not even life lasts very long. There'll come a time in the future when I shan't mind about this anymore, when I can look back and say quite peacefully and cheerfully how silly I was. No, no, I don't want that time to come ever. I want to remember every minute, always, always to the end of my days.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She was late. 

She was late, she was late, and she wished she could be later. One glance between them and he knew. It was over. 

Mulder remained fixed, a statue with dark stubble and dark eyes, deaf and dumb to the irregularity of the busy crowds swirling around him. So, Scully went to him, reaching out to grab his hand in a way she hadn’t in many, many years. It was sure, and it was true: Mulder’s hand from another life, another world. 

“I haven’t been honest with you,” she admitted, swiping her tongue across her lip in shame. “You know I’m married to a man named William.” 

He nodded, tender. Serious. “His full name is Fox William Mulder-- isn’t it, Scully?” 

She missed that beautiful, beautiful mind. Knew her Mulder missed it, too. “You knew.” 

His eyes were the same microcosm of green, growing things, his voice the same fathomless deep. His heart the same tinderbox that set fire to the world. “I haven’t been honest with you, either.” 

Of course he has secrets, this unfathomable man. 

“Diana and I aren’t partners.” His hand slipped through his bangs, his hair, ring thudding against his head as a reminder, as penance. “She transferred to Europe a couple months ago.” The hazel in his eyes was gone; and they were brown, lonesome and dark. “I’m joining her in the spring.” 

“Mul-- No.” Diana Fowley, perched sympathetically next to a victim, cataloging wounds and weaknesses. Compiling names for the abduction census. Mulder by her side, bangs and ring and penance. “Not with her. Not like this.” 

“I was recruited, Scully. They know where she is, my sister. I’ve told you about Samantha?” 

“Yes.”

“They told me they knew where she was. That they’d take me to her.” 

He could not sacrifice the altar of his mind for so little, could not lose it there as he had here. “Mulder, she’s dead. They took her, and they kept her prisoner, and they experimented on her. She died in California six years after she was taken.” 

“That’s what they said, too.” And his eyes were green, sick. Resolute. The stars behind her lids were falling, falling, falling.

“You can’t go to Europe, you can’t give in, Mulder. These men have no conscience-- the evil they do to save their own skin is beyond words. But we don’t become like them. We fight, Mulder. We fight, and we survive, and we win.” 

“We don’t, Scully.” 

She paused, and a tremor of premonition passed through her. Cold, foreboding. Her tongue couldn’t form the word cancer while the world spun and Mulder looked at her with strange, dead eyes. 

“Dana Katherine Waterstone died in a car accident one Saturday afternoon with her husband and his daughter. The driver, Maggie Waterstone, took a wild turn into traffic. She wasn’t road-ready but had insisted on driving. Dr. Waterstone and she survived most of the impact. Scully… did not.” 

There must be another explanation. “She, she might have been a different Dana Katherine. Maybe your universe’s way of playing a cruel joke.”

“I had some friends look up the obituary. Read the memorial. Visited her grave.” Mulder’s shoulders dropped, his neck drooped, his young face looked impossibly old. “I had a busy week.” 

Her fingers launched forward, clung to his cold arm like ivy. “Don’t do this.” 

“I have to, Scully.” His resolve: unmatched, unchanged. Still the same man who ran after her to the ends of the earth. Who questioned her, challenged her. Who laughed with her in the rain. There would be no Bellefleur graveyard in his universe.  

“Mulder, I love you.” 

Mulder looked up from the impossibly polished floor, a secret smile tugging at his mouth. In another universe, it seemed to say, I would have said, ‘I know.’ “You have William.” 

“He’s not--,” and she clung tighter-- couldn’t, wouldn’t, knew she had to let go, “--you.” Tried to swallow the tightness in her throat, tried to blink back ineffectual tears. Icarus had warned her. 

“But he’s stable.” Yes. “Dependable.” Yes. “Won’t blink in and out of your universe at inopportune times.” Yes. 

There was one last terrible look-- she peered up, fixed her gaze, and opened the gates of her soul. He’s not you. Mulder looked, and looked; was touched to the quick, and opened his mouth in reply.

And Fox Mulder vanished for the last time.  

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 7 

I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again.

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks after it began, it ended. 

She was home early-- very early, because there was nowhere else to go. 

Scully made record time leaving the outskirts of society, passing, unawares, by the woods, the fields, and the roads until the house’s pinched and preening veneer rose from the earth like a tomb. She shooed her mother away with a simple, “I need to talk to William”; then sat in the kitchen, sat in the living room away from his pinned paper on the refrigerator; fell into the gloom of late afternoon, and dozed. 

She was wakened by an animal cry of pain, deep and wrenching screams echoing through the house. Scully shot off the couch, shot out of the room, shot up the stairs, shot through the hallway, shot to his room, chanting, “I’m coming, William, I’m coming!” He continued to scream, continued to thrash when she burst through his door, wouldn’t hear her, “William, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” above the terror that gripped him, that turned his face red and sent sweat dripping across his quaking body. 

“William!” She yelled, finally desperate, giving his shoulders a shake until he burst from dreamworld and glanced wildly about him, locking onto her with his one good arm as unto salvation, gripping her to him as he howled, tearless, voiceless, into her hair. She heard “-ully, -ully, -ully” tumbled clumsily in his mouth. 

“Mulder--”

“William,” he whimpered, clumsy and reproachful and terrified. “William.” 

“William, William, it’s me, it’s Scully, shhh--” 

“Dana.” 

“It’s Dana, William. It’s all right, I’m here, shhh, I’m here.” 

His poor broken body would spasm if he continued this abuse. As gently as she could, Scully rolled over him and tucked herself into the dilapidated quilt, ignoring the tear her husband’s foot had rent near the bottom, ignoring the burst of humid, sweaty air that billowed from the coverlet. Pulled him closer, let him pull her closer. “William, it’s me, it’s me.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, clutching at her with his good hand, pawing at her with his other. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“For what, William?” Waited for his words, wondered if his breath would have slowed or his heart would have stopped or his brain would have burst if he’d kept on howling, trapped and alone and afraid.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” 

His eyes were fathoms and fathoms deep, hurt and broken and humbled. And they watched the storm break, and Dana Katherine Scully crumble.  

*-*-*-*-*

Acknowledgments

All my thanks to Anika, whose support embraced and encouraged me in the fandom. Happy Birthday, and many more years to come~! :DDDDDDDDD

*-*-*-*-*

I shall be uploading the chapters to Ao3 here.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[enchantedquill-40]

Chapter 1: Endless Echoes

The morning sun hung low over Sunnydale, casting long shadows that whispered of the secrets hidden within its quaint streets. Fox Mulder, FBI agent and paranormal investigator, awoke with a sense of déjà vu that sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced at the clock – 6:00 AM. It was the same time as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.

Mulder's mind raced as he retraced the events of the previous days, realizing he was trapped in a time loop. The supernatural tendrils of Sunnydale seemed to have ensnared him in a relentless repetition. Determined to uncover the truth, he headed to the local coffee shop, where the day always seemed to begin.

As he entered, he noticed a familiar face – Buffy Summers, the Slayer. Her expression mirrored Mulder's confusion, and recognition flickered in their eyes. Unbeknownst to both, their paths were entwined by a force beyond their understanding.

"Mulder, right?" Buffy questioned, sensing a kindred spirit in this strange loop.

Mulder nodded, "Yeah, and you're Buffy. Looks like we're stuck in the same time warp."

The duo decided to join forces, combining Mulder's expertise in the unexplained with Buffy's combat skills. Days blurred together as they investigated the eerie happenings in Sunnydale. Supernatural creatures, cryptic messages, and a pervasive darkness surrounded them, leaving Mulder and Buffy to decipher the puzzle that bound them to this perpetual day.

Little did they know, the key to breaking the cycle lay hidden in the convergence of their shared experiences, as the town of Sunnydale held secrets that transcended the boundaries of time. As Mulder and Buffy delved deeper into their investigation, they found themselves taking a brief respite at the local diner. The atmosphere was charged with an unspoken understanding of their shared predicament. Seated across from each other in a dimly lit booth, Buffy couldn't help but notice Mulder's intensity.

"Why do you believe in UFOs?" Buffy asked, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she observed the earnestness in Mulder's eyes.

Mulder leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've seen things, Buffy. Unexplained phenomena that defy conventional logic. There's a truth out there, hidden in the shadows, waiting to be uncovered. UFOs are just a small part of a much larger mystery."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Mulder's conviction. "So, you're saying you've had close encounters of the third kind?"

Mulder chuckled, "More like close encounters of various kinds. From abductions to sightings, the truth is out there, and it's not always friendly."

Buffy leaned in, her tone shifting to a more serious note. "I've faced my fair share of supernatural threats, but UFOs and extraterrestrial stuff? That's a whole new level, Mulder."

Mulder nodded, his gaze fixed on a distant point. "Sunnydale isn't just a hotspot for vampires and demons. There's something deeper, something interdimensional. I've seen patterns in the occurrences here, like the town itself is a convergence point for the unexplained."

Buffy's curiosity grew as Mulder shared his experiences, each word revealing the weight of his convictions. "You really think breaking this time loop involves something otherworldly?"

Mulder met her eyes, his gaze unwavering. "I do. There's a connection between the loop and the supernatural forces at play in Sunnydale. We just need to figure out how to disrupt it."

Buffy's playful demeanor softened as she considered Mulder's words. "Well, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the supernatural tends to leave its fingerprints all over the place. Let's follow the breadcrumbs and find the source of this loop."

Their alliance deepened as they continued their investigation, combing through Sunnydale's dark corners. Mulder's unwavering belief in the unexplained resonated with Buffy, creating a camaraderie born out of a shared pursuit of the truth. Together, they faced each day with newfound determination, determined to break free from the temporal chains that bound them.

As they navigated through the town's mysteries, Mulder and Buffy found themselves entangled not only in the supernatural web of Sunnydale but also in the enigma of their own connection. The chemistry between them sparked like static in the air, a subtle tension that neither of them fully acknowledged.

Amidst the cryptic symbols and unearthly occurrences, Mulder and Buffy discovered a hidden chamber beneath Sunnydale, a nexus of mystical energy that seemed to be the epicenter of the time loop. Together, they faced a formidable adversary, a being that reveled in the manipulation of time and reveled in the chaos it sowed.

In the climactic confrontation, Mulder and Buffy combined their strengths. Mulder's knowledge of the unknown complemented Buffy's formidable combat skills. As the battle unfolded, the temporal disturbance began to unravel, reality itself warping and shifting.

In the aftermath, as they stood on the precipice of breaking free, Mulder and Buffy shared a lingering look. The echoes of their shared experiences lingered, leaving an indelible mark on both. The time loop shattered, releasing them from the repetitive grasp of Sunnydale.

As the sun set over the town, Mulder and Buffy faced an uncertain future, forever bound by the strange tapestry of their encounter. The truth may have set them free, but the mysteries of Sunnydale continued to whisper in the shadows, leaving the door open for new adventures and unexplored realms beyond the ordinary.

Buffy and Mulder, standing amidst the remnants of the temporal disruption, exchanged determined glances. Buffy, always ready for action, took charge. "We need to trace our paths, figure out the origin of this loop. Maybe there's a clue we missed."

Mulder nodded, his analytical mind already in motion. "Agreed. Let's revisit the places where the loop started each day. There must be a common thread or source tying this all together."

They retraced their steps through Sunnydale, revisiting the coffee shop, the diner, and the mysterious chamber beneath the town. Along the way, they encountered remnants of their previous loops – fragments of conversations, subtle changes in the environment, and lingering traces of the supernatural.

As they approached the hidden chamber, a surge of energy pulsed through the air. Buffy's instincts kicked in, sensing the residual power that still lingered. "This is where it all began. Whatever's causing the loop, it has to be linked to this place."

Mulder examined the symbols etched into the chamber walls, recognizing patterns from his own experiences. "These symbols are a key to the disturbance. They hold the secrets of the loop, and breaking them might release us from this temporal grip."

Together, they deciphered the symbols, their collaboration blending Mulder's expertise with Buffy's instinctual understanding of mystical forces. A revelation struck Mulder as he connected the dots. "Buffy, the loop is fueled by a malevolent entity drawn to the convergence of supernatural energies in Sunnydale. It's feeding off the distortions it creates."

Buffy clenched her fists, ready for the final showdown. "So, if we take down this entity, we break the loop and free Sunnydale from its grip. Let's do this, Mulder."

The duo faced the entity, a swirling mass of dark energy that seemed to defy the laws of reality. Mulder, armed with knowledge, and Buffy, with her Slayer strength, launched a coordinated assault. The battle was intense, each blow striking at the very fabric of the temporal disturbance.

As they fought, the symbols on the chamber walls flickered and waned. The entity, weakened by their combined efforts, lashed out in a final desperate attempt to maintain control. But Mulder and Buffy stood strong, united in purpose.

With a final surge of power, they overcame the entity, shattering the remaining fragments of the time loop. The chamber trembled as reality itself stabilized, returning to its natural course. Sunnydale, once ensnared in a perpetual day, now breathed with newfound freedom.

As Mulder and Buffy caught their breath, the weight of their shared experience lingered. The town may have been liberated, but the enigma of their connection remained. With a glance, they acknowledged the unspoken bond forged through the crucible of the time loop.

Sunnydale, bathed in the glow of a setting sun, stood silent witness to the duo's triumph. Mulder and Buffy, having unraveled the mysteries of the supernatural, now faced an uncertain horizon, their destinies forever entwined by the echoes of a time loop that had tested the limits of their beliefs and abilities.

Supernatural Investigations

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[genyasglockk]

warnings: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts. like very brief. this is a steve whump. nothing super awful but i do make my boy very sad.

Nobody was there to celebrate Steve Harrington finally getting his high school diploma. Steve didn't look out to the crowd and search for familiar faces when he walked across the stage. He knew he wouldn't find any. Nobody came to the ceremony just for him. There wasn't an uproar when his name was called. There wasn't anyone proudly shouting that's my boy! Steve wasn't anyone's boy. He was barely anyone's son. After the final speeches and the "congratulations class of '85. you've made it. we know there's so much in store for all of you," Steve drove himself home. He pushed through the clusters of families and slowly made his way to his car. He tucked his diploma into the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot. The radio didn't play, and Steve didn't notice.

He decides to stop at the diner and treat himself to some pancakes to go. When the waitress brings him his box of food, she smiles and asks "Oh, you just graduate? Congrats! These are on the house then, big guy." Steve had forgotten he was still wearing his cap and gown. He desperately wished he'd remembered to take them off as he sat in the car and tried not to cry over the fact that some stranger decided to be nice and give him some free shitty pancakes because he graduated and that's something worth celebrating. Steve had spent every day for the past month telling himself that he didn't care about people celebrating him today. He didn't care. He didn't want anything from anyone, and he didn't need anything from anyone. Especially not today.

He graduated from high school. Big fucking deal. Plenty of people get that done all the time and they do it way better than he did. Graduating was something he was supposed to do. He wasn't special. Today was not special. It's not like he fought tooth and nail to be able to walk across that stage. It's not like earning his diploma felt more special than surviving literal monsters did. Because Steve hadn't expected to graduate. He hadn’t expected to scrape by the way he did. When he realized he’d actually passed, he was surprised. The kind of surprise that wasn’t present when he survived his first Demogorgon. Don’t get him wrong, the thought of holy shit I’m gonna fucking die had most definitely crossed Steves mind a few times during every encounter with the Upside-down, but deep down, Steve knew that some interdimensional monster wouldn’t be the thing to end him.

That would’ve been too kind. Too merciful. Life was too cruel to Steve Harrington and that’s why he was so sure it wouldn’t let him have the easy way out. Steve wasn’t suicidal. He’d never kill himself. His will to live was just weaker than others. The only reason he tried so hard to keep himself alive was for the sake of protecting his kids.

The diploma in his passenger seat meant more to him than the life flowing through his veins. And wasn’t that just sad? 

The drive home was long and silent. Steve could barely remember pulling into his driveway and making his way to the front door with his pancakes and diploma in hand. He didn’t come back to himself until his back hit the couch. 

The house was as quiet and sterile as he left it. Pathetically, a small part of Steve, the part of him that was still young, had thought that maybe his parents would come around this time. That he’d see his dad’s car parked out front and his parents would be waiting for him inside with a cake. Waiting for him with a kiss on both cheeks from his mom and a pat on the back from his dad. As if his parents had ever bothered to do anything like that before. As if they’d care.

Steve opened his box of food and decided to dig in with his fingers. He chewed quietly and stared forward at nothing. His pancakes had gone cold. He was still wearing his cap and gown. 

“Congratulations to me.” 

[imaginependergast]

Bloodless: The Hot Take

Moving is a minor hell and I’m not even done but I took time last night to read the book. I finished after 11pm so I’m writing  now. Most of my thoughts are related to one thing... Everything under the cut. Spoilers!

I think I liked it? I feel kind of conflicted and I’m trying to parse out how much of that is because of the the ending.

I felt like it dragged a bit and, as per usual, I didn’t like the B plot. I didn’t give a shit about Betts and Wellstone and their pissing contest. I only felt bad for how Daisy was treated by both. 

I feel like a lot of the characters were lackluster or just didn’t really gel for me, Frost included (more below). I did like Quincy, as brief as he was.

The relationship between Coldmoon and Pendergast seemed rougher than I remembered, but maybe it’s been too long since I read Crooked River. I guess that ending and Coldmoon being cranky about the circumstances would explain that. 

We didn’t get any  descriptions of Constance’s décolletage or repeated references to how every man wants to bone her, so that’s nice. 

I don’t know shit about physics; never took a class in my life. I am vaguely aware of the concept of alternative realities and the like so I’m not going to call out the plot as being bullshit, but I also don’t have the brain nor background to give any informed opinion on it. I don’t know if I like it in a Pendergats novel, however. It seemed a little too far out. I can believe Constance had her life prolonged via medical experimentation easier than I can that the Air Screamers from Silent Hill attacking a major American city.

On that note, what does that mean for the world at large? I don’t think there’s every been something this wild and wide ranging. A random man-child killing randos in a small rural town isn’t the same as giant fucking interdimensional monster killing a major politician. 

Frost was a character I liked at the beginning, but by the end was a bit cooler on. I can buy that she’s an eccentric recluse but the weapons? Having a bazooka??? Feels a little... shark jumpy. 

As a kid I watched a ton of true crime and forensics shows so I saw a bunch of episodes on D. B. Cooper. I feel like someone, somewhere has suggested that Cooper was a woman, so I don’t think that was something they authors pulled out of their ass. Or maybe they did and I’m wrong. I don’t hate that idea, but I do wonder how realistic that a woman in the early 70s would have been able to pass as a man. For what it’s worth this didn’t break my immersion or anything. 

So Frost and Constance. I’m not surprised that Frost picked up on Constance and figured her out. That felt organic. I’m also not surprised that Constance saw herself in Frost. Which leads me to...

Constance going back in time. Oh, boy. What is that, from the authors perspective? I wonder if this is their way of killing her off because they’ve either hit the wall with her (and/or her & Pendergast’s development) or feel that her story is complete. I was surprised, to put it mildly. And yet, I kind of understand. When it comes to her and Pendergast the most we ever get is a little crumb, usually one or two brief chapters where we get a glimpse of them together (in this chapter 41). I think the authors knew they couldn’t string us, and them, along forever and needed to do something. We know Pendergast has some hang-ups about being attracted to Constance but it seemed since Crimson Shore he got over some of them. When I first read pages 212 and 213 I thought it was a bit more optimistic (I was pretty tired) and we’d get a similarly intimate encounter later on, but reading it again now I think that’s when Constance finally confirmed for herself that Pendergast could never give himself to her. I think if she didn’t end up going back in time that she’d pull herself away and maybe even tell him as such. I can’t really blame Constance for what she did. She was always out of her element and Pendergast was the only thing tethering her to the time. I understand her reasoning that if Pendergast won’t be hers properly, then she might as well reclaim her past and build a future where she can get what she needs. 

In a weird way, I like that this kind of teaches Pendergast a lesson (to put it not eloquently at all). We saw what happened in Crimson Shore, then things seemed to be back to normal, but now it’s implied feelings weren’t being dealt with (that’s so Pendergast). Pendergast is so used to having insight and having the upper hand that I find it oddly refreshing he bungled this up. And not because I don’t like him, of course. But I think sometimes the character can veer into Mary-Sue territory- just being so perfect or superficially wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to see him fuck up, and it’s entirely believable that he wouldn’t deal with his feelings for Constance and just sort of roll with things, as emotionally constipated as they are.

It is now my scientific conclusion that Pendergat and Constance have not fucked.

If I had any doubt (I didn’t) that Constance’s son was a shitty plot device, that’s gone. 

What about Diogenes? Assuming Constance doesn’t come back, will we get a big blow up over that? 

Speaking of Diogenes, remember that newsletter story from a while back where Constance and Pendergast go into the New Orleans crypt and find the gemstones that signify Diogenes? Is that a thing that’s coming, or was it just a brief short? I want that story! Does that fit anymore, or is that now completely dropped?

Will the next book be another direct continuation where Pendergast tries to get Constance back? Will he have his wacky associated build him a time machine? Will he meditate into the past??

I sort of feel how I did when I finished Book of the Dead when it ended on Constance being pregnant. I’m really curious to know where things go next. 

I feel conflicted. I think if Constance didn’t pull a Steve Rogers I’d feel more sure about my feelings. It would be more status quo, but as curious as I am about the future I’m also a bit worried. Constance never coming back would probably blow. I liked her character and I liked the sexual tension. 

And yet, even taking the ending out of my thoughts I don’t know how much I’d like it. I feel like this book was weaker than I expected. It wasn’t bad like Wheel of Darkness and I liked it more than City of Endless Night, but I probably won’t re-read it.  

This one is heavy. I think it might be a bad thing that 90% of my thoughts are concentrated on the ending. Either way I am very curious about where this is going to go. What do you think?

[project-rebirth]

Toaru Majutsu no Index: Rebirth Testament

Toaru Majutsu no Index: Rebirth Testament Volume 1

Chapter I: A Certain Unknown Angel Raiser / Telesmatic Image

Starter For: @tetsuwan-atom​

****************************************************************************************************

Planet: Earth

Country: Japan

Date: December 2, 20XX.

Time: 7:13 PM.

Academy City was a metropolitan city state located within the Tokyo Metropolitan Employment Area. As its name suggests, it is a city comprised of various schools and education institutions from Kindergarten to University, with its primary focus being research into psychic powers (ESP) and advanced technology. As a result, Academy City has become what many around the world call a Scientific giant, with its technology being about 20 or so years more advanced than the rest of the world. When it came to scientific research and discovery, Academy City stood at the stop with other nations and organizations trying to catch up to them. Few have succeeded to some degree, but ultimately it was not enough to directly challenge the technological giant.

Academy City’s population consisted of 2.3 million residents, with the vast majority of the population to be students of varying degrees. Among those students were those who have been designated as Espers, people who have gained supernatrual powers through the use of drugs and other kinds of tests, producing powerful Espers like the legendary 7 Level 5s.

The level 5s stood at the top of the todem pole when it came to Espers with the first ranked being regarded as the most powerful, and others like the third ranked, fifth ranked and seventh ranked were all unique, and terrifying in their own right.

There were others such as Level 1s 2s 3s and 4s, but the most common esper you will find in this city is a Level 0.

Level 0s were the closest to normal humans, with their power being far too weak to be of any use, thus they were considered to be the weakest, though there were misconceptions about Level 0s having no power at all because of this.

The one thing all espers regardless of level had in common, was their ability to produce An Involuntary Movement Diffusion Field, (AIM) an invisible energy field from their body that is closely related to Personal realities, the source of an Esper’s power.

But let us get back on track.

Academy City was comprised of 23 districts that each had a specific purpose, and in one particular district, district 7, was a certain level 0 running for what seemed to be his life with someone pulling his hand long.

“Why does this Kamijou-san always get thrown into these kinds of unreasonable situations?! For once, I wanted to enjoy my Friday evening without getting chased around the city again! Such Misfortune!”

The boy with black spiky hair, wearing a black school uniform with a white hoodie under his blazer was being chased around district 7 by some organization from who knew nothing about. He didn’t understand the details, but apparently, the person that was leading him by the hand was apparently a wanted person.

Now why was this boy in the situation he was in to begin with?

Simply put, Kamijou Touma, the boy in question being chased had encountered a pink haired girl who was wearing black clothes and was injured. Kamijou wanted to help her to the hospital, but on the way there, they had been attacked by their current pursuers and had been running since then. The girl in question had given a brief explanation, but most of the finer details were lost on him. He knew nothing when it came to something like the Ministry of Science or the interdimensional agencies.

"Please keep running...  you will be in danger too if they catch us!”

The Mysterious girl with light pink hair spoke while running. She was the one that her pursuers were after. because she had a certain condition that was beyond her control, one that led her to be called the Angel of Calamity, which was a moniker that she hated. She hated her nature, yet she knew full well that if she let them catch her, terrible things would happen, not just to her, but to others like the boy that was caught up in this.

Her name was Kojima Yui, and she was what some called a Homunculous, an artificial human created through advanced science and another supernatrual phenomena called magic.

[roguelikeboss]

My Game of the Year 2019: Control

2019 was a strange year for a number of reasons, one of which was that for a brief moment, I kind of fell out of video games. My biggest hobby, one that I’ve had for decades, became unexciting and boring. I tried numerous new releases but nothing grabbed my attention for more than a few hours. Everything felt the same and I wasn’t having as much fun as I was in the past. Where was that big, new experience I was longing for?

Turns out, I just had to wait until August to play it.

Control was the first game of 2019 to completely take over my free time and the first game in I don’t know how long to surprise me. Control is an third-person action game from Remedy Entertainment, best known for the first two Max Payne games as well as Quantum Break and Alan Wake, the latter of which is one of my all-time favorites. Control has just what you’d expect from a Remedy game: a great narrative, tight shooting, and a unique setting. Except this time they added in an extra healthy dosage of weird.

Control takes place within The Oldest House, the mysterious home of the Federal Bureau of Control, a secret government organization that houses, studies, and protects the world from supernatural objects and occurrences. As Jesse Faden, you arrive at the FBC in search of your long-lost brother, and inadvertently become entangled in a battle against an interdimensional threat called The Hiss. To delve more into the plot would be a disservice to the game and ruin the surprise of it. Just imagine a cross between The Twilight Zone and Twin Peaks, with a dash of The X-Files thrown in for good measure.

What makes Control so memorable for me is how challenging it is, both in its gameplay and its narrative. Juggling shooting with the numerous supernatural powers at your disposal (flight, telekinesis, mind control) can be tricky, especially when fighting multiple enemies. But once things click, you feel truly powerful. Each battle feels destructive and dynamic thanks in part to the excellent level design. And I can’t tell you just how satisfying the woooosh sound effect when using telekinesis is.

Narratively, Control is bonkers. It’s weird, scary, and often hilarious. It takes itself seriously but never becomes pretentious. Most importantly, it trusts its audience. It delves into some really strange and complex territory but never handfeeds or overexplains anything, nor does it ever feel overwhelming. It leaves enough breadcrumbs to allow the player to piece things together themselves. Audio logs and collectible documents flesh things out as well, making the world feel grounded and lived-in. The characters you encounter are unusual and richly entertaining, and all have unique stories to tell. But The Oldest House is the biggest star, and its twisting and shape-shifting environments make it one of the most memorable and detail-rich settings in gaming.

Full of endless mystery and discovery, Control is a wholly unique video game. It’s big, it’s bizarre, it’s full of surprises, and it’s something you owe it to yourself to try. It’s far and away the best game I played in 2019.

[dreams-of-kalopsia]

Fictober Prompt 25

"I could really eat something."

Voltron fanfiction (Plance)

No warnings apply.

Read it on AO3.

____

Part 1 (Pidge): Timing

Timing is everything.

And Pidge can’t seem to get it right.

See, time makes sense to her; it’s universal, predictable, and measurable. When she plots spatial coordinates against a temporal point, she can pin down the exact place of anything in the universe.

Timing, though… It’s too relative, too susceptible to the influence of circumstances that can change at any time. It adds unpredictability and all kinds of confounding factors to the logical flow of space-time. That’s equivalent to inputting a value of 0.5 in Pidge’s mind, which operates in binaries of 0s and 1s; it leads to a parsing error that leaves her at a loss on what to do.

But timing is everything. It’s what got the current Team Voltron together and what makes them work so well as one unit. It’s what makes Shiro great at motivating and cheering people up. What makes Keith their best spy. What makes Hunk a master chef. What makes Lance a sharpshooter.

It’s what slapped Pidge in the face when she realized that she’d liked Lance for some time already—after overhearing him rant about his feelings for Allura.

Timing is everything, but she learns it too late, and she doesn’t know how to proceed with that fact.

“You have to talk to him,” Shiro advises as they get ready to sleep in Green’s bunk room. "At least for your peace of mind.”

Okay. But maybe in the future. Far, far, far ahead in space-time.

“It’s Lance.” Keith shrugs when he teleports with Kosmo to check up on her and Shiro. “Just walk up to him and tell him straight up.”

No thanks, recklessness incarnate.

“Love between two Paladins! Ah, how romantic!” cries Coran while they restock their supplies in some obscure planet. “Listen, Number Five. Eye contact is key. Stare at him and secrete your pheromones on full blast. Do you Earthlings have any mating calls? Any rituals?”

Holy quiznak, Coran. No.

“Look, the only way you’ll get to Lance is by using his own weapon against him,” insists Hunk on another one of their stopovers, expression serious and large hands clasping her shoulders in support. “Hit him with some really cheesy pick-up line. Something like, ‘Lance, you’re more than a snack; you’re a full meal.’”

Never.

Four pieces of advice—one reasonable and three quite ridiculous—stay tucked at the back of her mind throughout their long journey home. Shiro’s right; she should tell Lance. That, and find the best timing for it. They’re still fighting a war, after all.

Pidge doesn’t tell him after their encounter with Bob; she’s too pissed and done with that interdimensional being to think about mellower stuff.

She doesn’t tell him when they fight off that space orca-lamprey thing that messed with their minds, deciding to wait until all the issues brought up during their delirium are addressed.

She doesn’t tell him when they reunite with everyone on Earth because Sendak has the planet conquered. Besides, how can she tell him right before setting off to take out the Zaiforge cannons, when Allura comes up to talk to him first?

Now Earth is safe, and Pidge is working herself to the bone prepping the Atlas to leave Earth, and Lance is still in the dark.

Has she missed her chance again? Well, she knows he likes Allura. This must be her sign—

“You there, Pidge?” Lance’s voice rings out in the empty engine control room, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Over here,” she calls back. In all honesty, she’d rather not see him before she’s come up with an action—or inaction—plan. But she’s already replied, and his footsteps already echo in the spacious room. Nothing to do but wait for him to reach her at the center of the computer maze.

Funny how someone with limited patience such as Pidge is always waiting and biding her time when it comes to Lance.

“I knew it.”

She glances at him over the computer she’s reconfiguring. He has a brow raised and a hand on his waist in classic nagging Lance fashion. “Knew what?”

“You forgot the time, didn’t you?”

“Did I miss something?” Impossible; every scheduled briefing or meeting has its own alarm in her phone.

“You missed lunch, Pidge. And dinner.”

She blinks, fingers pausing over the keyboard. Her eyes find the time at the corner of the screen. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ Now let’s get you some food before you faint and we flip the Atlas over trying to find you.”

“That’s unnecessary,” she huffs but saves her work anyway. “Matt can just—”

“Of course it’s necessary,” he rebuts as they head out of the control room. “Never underestimate your ability to fall asleep in the weirdest places. Even Matt’s scanner won’t detect you.”

“Jerk.”

He laughs. The sound bounces off the walls of the room and her mind, nudging her friends’ words to the forefront of her thought processes.

“Talk to him.”

“Just tell him straight up.”

Pidge’s hands begin to sweat. Her heart picks up its pace. The words form in her mouth, but even if she contracts her lungs to pump them out, they just don’t want to be said.

She can’t tell him.

No, she can’t tell him. But she can drop a hint, right? Make him wonder, at least?

Timing is everything. To get a shot at someone who’s a master of it, she has to set the conditions up just right.

“Use his own weapon against him.”

Pidge sighs. She can’t believe she’s doing this.

“I could really eat something.” Curse you, Hunk.

“Sure could,” Lance quips, raising his hands to cradle his nape. “Anything you want in particular?”

She stops walking, and he follows suit, allowing her to look him in the eyes. “A snack,” she answers.

“A snack?” he repeats with a disapproving frown. “Pidge, you know snacks aren’t good for you.”

The window of opportunity opens. Pidge still can’t believe she’s resorting to this. She goes for the shot nonetheless.

A quick step back, followed by a crossing of arms.

“Pidge?”

A sweeping gaze of appraisal, scanning him from head to toe. An exaggeratedly slow bite at the corner of her lip sometime halfway.

A decisive nod—of approval or agreement, she’ll leave up to him.

Her eyes dart back to his. “A full meal, then.”

Lance’s eyes widen, jaw drops, arms fall limply to his sides. Judging by the way blood visibly rushes up to darken his entire face, she’ll say she’s hit her mark.

“Eye contact is key!”

With a lingering look as a finishing touch, she turns away and resumes walking towards the mess hall.

There. A hint. That’s all she’ll give until she’s ready to tell him. Or he starts dating Allura and she’s forced to give up. Or she gets over all of this. Whichever comes first.

Just this once, though, Pidge gladly subjects herself to uncertainty. Because as long as Lance doesn’t know for sure, she won’t be rejected for sure, either.

[thisspiderwrites]

alias h.h. (superhero au)

description: one would think that after so many superhero movies and parallel universes where they do extremely dangerous things, the killing dangerous kind, people wouldn’t dare to try and be a hero. But guess what? There’s people that do, and they founded a school and stuff... and it’s kind of a classified UN project. The governments around the world have made a deal and now the Earth’s mightiest heroes all go to school together in a deserted island near the Caribbean coast of a place that’s also classified. Once in a while filmmakers and actors get to hang out with these heroes to keep the superhero movie industry alive, because you guessed correctly, that’s what finances this program. Harry Holland, the aspiring filmmaker decides to take a shot at making a superhero movie after his brother accidentally told him about the project. Never did he imagine that he was going to end up tangled in a superhero mystery to be solved about a certain interdimensional portal located on this island. word count: 1.3 k pairing: harry holland x reader based off: a little x-men i guess and my imagination                                              a/n: i know there’s a lack of harry content and i just wanted an excuse to write a superhero au, hope you like it. thanks to @jinxstarfire @fuckyou-imspiderman @boohooiamthefool @penisprkr and @peeterparkr for helping out                      warnings: implication of violence, language

Harry felt nervous; not the ‘first day of school’ kind of nervous, more like the ‘everything around me seems extremely ominous’ kind of nervous. His palms were sweating as he held onto his camera with his life. The elevator he was riding was dark, the white walls made him feel weird, slightly trapped. On the other hand, the people riding with him couldn’t be calmer.

He was being accompanied by a small girl, dressed as a trainer; short curly hair, bruised knuckles and about ten holes on her ears. He noticed she was wearing Nike sneakers. Which he found kind of odd for a government employee. His eyes started going up her legs until he noticed her leggings were ripped. He hesitated to tell her but as he kept going even farther up he noticed a cut on her arm as well as a strand of burned off hair.

He finally let go of the camera and touched her shoulder carefully. She turned her head just enough so her left ear was facing him.

“You, uh, your pants…” he cleared his throat as she raised her eyebrow “you have a rip on your pants” he finished and pointed at it.

The guy standing next to her looked down at the girl’s leg. He immediately smirked before fake apologizing as if he was part of a sitcom. She gave him a disapproving look as he kept laughing at her.

“You know what, Fonollosa? You’re paying for my new uniform” she kept her arms crossed over her chest. “What are you looking at, Scarecrow?” This time the question was directed towards Harry’s brother.

Tom snapped out of his trance and apologized to the girl who was getting angrier by the second. The brothers were trying not to stare but then blood started dripping on the floor. There could not be a situation more bizarre or so Harry thought.

“Stop laughing, asshole!” Harry was amazed at how trivial they could make the whole situation.

“They give us new ones everyday, Drake!”

She proceeded to pinch his arm like a child and he gave her an offended look. They both proceeded to banter in Spanish. Harry’s confusion increased when the elevator stopped and a man in a military uniform stepped in disregarding everyone but the guy who had just been referred to as ‘Fonollosa’. This time there was a brief conversation in Portuguese between them and the doors opened revealing a room that resembled a police station. Everyone stepped out splitting into groups. Fonollosa and the military man going in the opposite direction of the brothers and the Drake girl walking towards what appeared to be a supply closet.

“Come on, don’t make eye contact yet” Tom advised Harry.

Yet he couldn’t help but noticed a certain figure sitting on a waiting room chair.

Y/n flopped onto one of the chair on the waiting room rubbing their wrists, where handcuffs had been only minutes ago. Their eyes studying the place; everyone seemed to be focused on their own things, except for one person. They felt a pair of eyes had fallen on them. When they looked up they could see a boy keeping his eyes on them through one of the office windows. Their eyes met leaving them both frozen. His features relaxed as he smirked in their direction. They looked down to keep themselves from blushing while trying to hide a similar smile.

“Up” they heard someone say. Their eyes encountered a girl in brand new training clothes and a poorly made small ponytail. “You have a student alias yet?”

“Yes miss…” Y/n stopped waiting to see if the girl would introduce herself.

“Drake, Danika Drake” Y/n finally stood up noticing a significant height difference. They were staring into the eyes of the embodiment of ‘tiny and feisty’.

“I see the Bond thing you just did, that was cool” Danika starred y/n up and down.

“You can call me coach… and roomie” they started walking away but before following their new so-called ally, the newbie took one last look at the boy that caught their attention. “Come on, move your ass!”

“Look Mr. Holland, I would love to give you a spot on our filmmaker program but if you don’t have a big studio backing you up with a donation, I’m afraid I will have to turn you down.” The old man who Harry supposed was a sort of dean of admissions said with a fake apology tone.

“What if I register as a hero?” Harry suggested pushing his luck.

“Do you have any special skills you want to tell us about, Mr. Holland?” the man dressed in a military uniform from the elevator pitched in.

“No sir...” He put his head down in defeat. “But I’m a fast learner and I’m a black belt…” he started lying, he had come all the way to wherever this island was located, he wasn’t going to give up so easy.

“Exactly which martial art are you a black belt on?” the military man meddled once again.

Harry stammered before Tom swooped in to save his ass.

“He’s actually working on a project with me, we just wanted to keep it a secret” both old men studied Tom. “you can call Robert, he’s also working with us.”

“The tour will be given to you tomorrow before your classes start by the nicer members of the staff that don’t really have anything else to do” Danika handed Y/n a bag of clothes. “These are the uniforms, they look pretty baggy but they actually shape to your body.”

She placed her palm an inch away from a white door. It opened revealing a small room with bunk beds on a corner and a punching bag on the other.

“This will be our room for now, the furniture with probably appear later on depending on your needs” she explained.

“Wait, what do you mean it’ll appear later on?” The phrasing of that sentence caught her ear, it had a certain video game ring to it.

“Like, if you feel like writing poems or drawing then we’ll get a desk, if you want to keep your undies apart from the rest of the clean clothes they get you every day, then we’ll get some drawers and so on.”

“So, if I want to go to the bathroom…” Y/n trailed off.

“There’s always one at the end of the Hall to the right” Danika smiled.

Danika noticed an overwhelmed look on her new roommate’s face; being a fan of running away from strong feelings herself she decided to give them some space.

“You know what? I got um… I got to teach a class right now, I don't know why the administration asked me to...” she rubbed the back of her neck avoiding eye contact “so, I’ll… I’m just going to leave and close the door behind me.”

“Fonollosa!” the dean of admissions called the other trainer after a defeat.

“Sim?” the trainer from the elevator slided next to the dean’s side.

He wasn’t exactly buff but did have his share of muscles. He gave off a jock vibe, like he was the popular kid that everyone genuinely liked; tanned skin, perfectly groomed hair and a shiny smile. They murmured in portuguese before the trainer was left alone with the brothers.

“Netherlands!” he smiled at Tom sparking confusion in Harry. “Didn’t think I would see you around here so soon” he extended his hand but Tom hesitated to take.

Harry stared at both of them and took the trainer’s hand.

“Harry Holland” they both smiled.

“Nice alias newbie” he punched his arm playfully. “Fernando de Fonollosa, your new teacher.” They stood there holding hands for a while before Fernando turned around. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“Alias? Also, who is this guy?” Harry turned to Tom for an explanation.

“I’ll explain later, just walk.”

tags: @flowering-parker @the-crime-fighting-spider @trasholland @peeterparkr @penisprkr @jinxstarfire @fuckyou-imspiderman @boohooiamthefool @midtownsparker @starboyholland @tomhollandxreader @peters-vlogs @sarsmusings @ironmanlover24 @misformarvel @afilmbypeterparkr @tomsfireheart @peachyhollands @punparker

[cartoonfan7]

I have another probably lame AU to Ducktales.

I have a new Ductales AU idea, and I promise it’s better than this one, specifically because I have expansive ideas about it.

It’s a Ducktales AU based on Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and it’s currently upcoming 2018 cinematic film adaptation. Now because I’m only ideas with almost zero writing skill, I’m hoping that @i-restuff​ and/or any other Duckfan tumblr user(s) who write Ducktales fanfiction can write stories or help me expand/flesh out the following ideas.

So first things first, we should explain where this idea came from. I was listening to the version of Sweet Dreams (Are made of this) that Mark Hadley made for the 2018 Film trailer, when I decided to listen to the original and realized how fitting the lyrics to the full song are to Scrooge McDuck’s character/life experiences.

Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas, Everybody’s looking for something. Some of them want to use you Some of them want to get used by you Some of them want to abuse you Some of them want to be abused. Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas Everybody’s looking for something Hold your head up Keep your head up, movin’ on Hold your head up, movin’ on Keep your head up, movin’ on Hold your head up Keep your head up, movin’ on Hold your head up, movin’ on Keep your head up, movin’ on Some of them want to use you Some of them want to get used by you Some of them want to abuse you Some of them want to be abused. Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas Everybody’s looking for something Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas Everybody’s looking for something Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas Everybody’s looking for something Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world And the seven seas Everybody’s looking for something

Tell me I’m not crazy for thinking this. The trailer version gives off a grand, epic adventurous vibe that wouldn’t be out of place in Ducktales.

Now to give an idea of what will happen in this AU, and because I literally can’t summarize it any better, here’s a concise plot summary of A Wrinkle in Time, feel free to stop the video when it gets to the analysis.

So the premise/summary I have for the AU is this: the Triplets (Huey, Dewey, and Louie) are beginning to feel like their lives are in a rut. Their mother, Della’s, been missing for a good portion of their lives and while their uncle, Donald Duck, has been doing his best, acting as their legal guardian, they can’t seem to completely shake the “something’s missing” feeling. On top of that, the private school they go to (which is meant to be the same one that Gosalyn goes to in the Darkwing Duck comics) has come down with a MAJOR bullying problem, leading Huey, Dewey, and Louie to become ostracized for their status as triplets (being made fun of for being “the same”, so to speak.) So the bros, are chilling in their house boat one night, unable to sleep, when they’re visited by I-actually-haven’t-worked-that-out-yet and when Donald comes to investigate, he’s told the whole, “There is such a thing as a Tesseract,” and promptly faints. He soon after goes to visit Scrooge, and takes the kids and the currently-to-be-determined-entity since he has no one to watch them, and manages to get alone time with Scrooge to talk. HDL temporarily escape the CTBDE when they run into Webby, who’s backstory hasn’t really changed in this AU. They wind up overhearing Scrooge, Donald, and Gyro and bring up a secret collaboration with S.H.U.S.H. involving interdimensional travel and teleportation, powered by some of the magic artifacts that Scrooge has donated to science. Confronting the Mrs Whatsit stand-in about this, they reveal that HDL’s mom, Della, as well as Gyro Gearloose, among others of potential note, were involved in experimenting with magic and that Della was a test pilot for the teleportation portion. They also reveal that Della’s actually still alive, held on a distant planet, Camaztoz, and that they came to HDL (and now Webby, given that she and HDL became fast friends) because they believe that they’ll be ready to save Della. HDL are given a day to decide if they want to undergo this truly perilous quest and they stay over at McDuck Manor overnight. The kids get to know Scrooge during a particularly awkward family dinner. They then talk with both each other and Webby, getting to know her better and learning more about their family’s history. Each of the triplets has a different stance on whether they want to go on this quest or not and why, but they ultimately decide to go for it. As Donald and Scrooge convince Gyro and his intern, Fenton, to restart the teleportation/portal project, HDLW manipulate Scrooge’s chauffeur, Launchpad, into taking them to an address that entity #1 told them to go if they accepted. Telling, Launchpad to wait for them, HDLW go in, meet the other two entities-meant-to-stand-in for Mrs Who and Mrs Which, and are taken via bifrost-esque warping through spacetime to Uriel. While there, they kids have some fun before they get some info about the BLACK THING, a primordial illness that is attracted to negativity and evil and encourages them, creating a cycle for it to feed. They also learn of creatures made of the BLACK THING,  the Heartless. A similar backstory to the one in the book is explained, where one of the entities used to be a star, but went supernova to kill the BLACK THING. They’re then ferried to whoever the Happy Medium is this AU (They could look like Fethry Duck?) and get briefed on what they need to do. Basically, break Della out of space prison. The entities then put the kids through Trials involving space-time fuckery, including a bit in the book where a Tessering incident briefly turns everyone 2D. They’re teleported to Camazotz after they pass and are given ‘gifts’ to help them on the quest, meant to last until the quest is fufilled, i.e. Della is free and everyone can party it up on Earth over they’re success. Huey gets the gift of knowledge, Dewey choice, Louie creation, and Webby destruction. (Possible spoilers for RWBY, but if you’re following me, I’m assuming you’re watching and are caught up or don’t watch and just don’t care.)

While all of the above is happening, Lauchpad tells the Duck Uncles™ about what happened. After Donald, Scrooge, and Beakly manage to get over the initial shock, they have Launchpad take them to the teleporting site and have Gyro examine the residual energy left behind as it might provide a clue to perfecting the teleporting experiment and provide a way to save HDLW (The Duckles™ don’t know about the Della Retrieval Arc that they signed up for.) Gyro manages to make the portal successful enough to track down locations that HDLW have been to and Donald, Scrooge, Beakly, Launchpad, Gyro (who has the controls to the Portal Gun (think the Other Dimension-inator from PnF or Rick Sanchez’s Portal Gun), and Fenton (who’s bringing Project Blatherskite with them incase something happens that Scrooge, Donald, and Beakly can’t handle). They have their own adventures following the kids, including a brief jump in-between dimensions where they encounter wild Heartless.

HDLW land on Camazotz, which initially seems normal, too normal. The creepy, synchronized citizenry soon make themselves apparent and HDLW make their way to a structure called “Central Cental Intelligence”, a massive Space Elevator/Citadel-Tower that reaches into the sky, lording over all. They also make note of the “domesticated” Heartless acting as the planet’s enforcers. Managing to infiltrate the Central Central Intelligence, they are eventually confronted by a Man with Red Eyes who briefly gets into a strife with them before inviting them to dinner and a tour. They hold their own for a while, but they are ultimately unable to keep up with his seemingly infinite stamina and ability to seemingly control the planet itself, rivaling the gifts the previously-discussed-and-still-currently-undecided-entities gave them. Taking him up on his offer, The Man with Red Eyes exposition dumps the story that Camaztoz used to be a REALLY shitty place until the man’s master, IT (Not to be confused for the Titular entity of Steven King’s Book and it’s two film adaptations of the same name) (this story is also kind of a darker version of Unity’s story with the nipple people planet, in-case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m also a big Rick and Morty fan), and actually sells some of it to DLW, but Huey’s gift of knowledge let’s him see through the smoke and mirrors. It gets worse when they eat dinner as Huey sees through the mental illusions that make the food look and taste edible to the other people and even openly brings up the concern that Della might have been indoctrinated into this society and that the food could be laced with some type of chemical to brainwash them, a point Webby instantly agrees with. The Man assures the kids that no such things have happened, but he is capable of controlling them all if he wanted to. Huey then offers the Man a challenge (or should it be vice versa): he wants to use his gift, allowing a form of telepathy to see if he can find Della (as the man earlier confessed to knowing where she is) before the Man can affect his mind. Against the objections of the others, Huey takes the massive risk and engages in the most epic staring contest. He loses. Succumbing to the Hive Mind of IT, Huey guides the horrified-at-what-they-just-had-to-witness DLW to Della, all the while they try snapping him out of it with classic anti-hypnotism gags like physical violence, water, and literal snapping. Reaching and releasing Della, she’s initially confused over who saved her until the kids introduce themselves. Huey then claims to want to show them the way out with DLW rightfully suspicious of this claim. They all wind up in the chamber with IT, which resembles a massive brain (think Andross from Star Fox 64). Getting into close proximity to IT causes their minds to be assaulted telepathically by the Hive Mind’s full power. Della, who still has some teleporting power left (the only place it couldn’t work was in her prison cell), tessers the gang, sans Huey, away to Ixchel, a neighboring planet. Unable to completely protect herself or the kids as they pass through The Black Thing, they fall ill when they land. Luckily for them, the natives of the planet decide to look after them, nursing them back to health. It’s here when Scrooge and the others catch up the party.

Heartfelt reunions are had all around as the group worries about how to save Huey. The three entities that earlier guided HDLW return to give the kids some guidance and the entire reunited party tessers to Camazotz in order to storm the Central Central Intelligence. This results in an epic climax that almost gets everyone killed, when Dewey realizes what they need to do. In a moment reminiscent of Moana’s climax, the family focuses their love to Huey, breaking him free from the Hive Mind. IT is stunned allowing, them all to warp back to Earth. The entities take their gifts back, leaving the group to catch Della back up to speed.

I have some other ideas, but this went on for long enough. I’ll make a different post for those other ideas.

[thewalrus-said]

10/21

(summary by @maxegirl1313)

Kaiva and Remi, accompanying Bob, arrive at the bar. After some idle chit-chat, the maid (from way back when, who Seru and Kaiva had encountered while trying to relocate their spooky-eyed, green-bottle-wanting mysterious patron) appears. Kaiva fobs her off onto Bob, who seems to trust and respect this mysterious woman, and openly tells her what’s been happening. She tries unsuccessfully to get any useful information from Kaiva, and leaves in a judgmental huff.

Another brief chit-chat interlude, and then some rando tries to kidnap Remi, citing Remi’s family’s wealth as the reason. Kaiva saves Remi and they are subjected to some extremely unsubtle threats: this dude’s business ain’t done, and he’ll be back for Remi in the future. It’s all very ominous.

As they settle back down, now kind of buddies, a dude with green eyes appears and approaches their table. Kaiva, uh, delicately hints to him that Remi is from a dang banishing squad. Kaiva and New Rando take their conversation outside. He wants those green flasks, but more immediately, he wants Betha (NOT SERU, WHICH I DEFINITELY KNEW THE WHOLE TIME). He puts a spell on her that makes her really, really want to get Betha to the bar before midnight.

Remi (who seems charmed by Kaiva’s sudden insistence) indulgently agrees to go to Bob’s to try to catch up with the others.

The whole rest of the group is at Bob’s. They all meet up and pretty quickly figure out Kaiva is under some sort of spell. Curious about the entire circumstances surrounding who and why would do this, they all make a plan to return to the bar. Fen scouts on ahead, hoping to get Bob as backup before they encounter New Rando.

While trekking through the woods, the main party encounters a frog. Yannic, Betha, and Fen seem to have some sort of history with this frog. She also is a demon queen who has a hyena army, which isn’t ideal. She tries to engage the group, speaking of her weapon—something called Needle, which she thinks those ragtag 3 know something about.

As she turns to leave, Betha hits her with a crossbow, and a fight begins! Betha burns the frog, it disappears, but not in any sort of satisfactory manner. The rest of the group fights the hyenas. A highlight: Remi, in an odd but inspired move, uses sleep!

Soon, a whack, gross, icky goop monster shows up. Some of the crew recognizes it from childhood. Seems like some stuff might be connected?? Hmmm. Fighting it proves ineffective at best, deadly at worst, as it is able to make certain party members attack others (in this case: Betha to Kaiva). The frog reappears and is a real jerk about the whole situation.

Seru and Kaiva, frustrated with being talked around during this whole encounter, try to bargain with the dang frog. Yannic finally decides to plead with her—he sincerely doesn’t know where the Needle is and is willing to prove it however she asks. She (now a striking and speckled humanoid woman) wants to “search” Yannic. This means grabbing his hand and performing a very painful (but ultimately effective) ritual. She now believes he’s telling her the truth about not knowing where her weapon is. She departs but not before imparting some SICK BURNS on Yannic, essentially saying: no tea, no shade, no pink lemonade, but you should definitely ditch this dude to the rest of the group.

Meanwhile, Fen has made it to the bar. She asks him to help, he demands an explanation. Fen explains that Betha, Yannic, and she had made a deal with the sassy frog when they visited the Tower. Bob is irate and very Over the whole situation. Fen accepts that the rest of the team is definitely dead, and she and Bob decide to just, like, hangout. They discuss the nature of the frog, and Bob’s whole daytime situation.

The rest of the party shows up. Kaiva is released from the spell she was put under. They all just kind of awkwardly hang around for a bit. Betha feels something poking and prodding her, and eventually gives in to what very well could be a ghost’s cry for attention (it’s not). She goes outside to confront whatever is harassing her and is promptly sucked into an interdimensional space by New Rando, who as it turns out, might not be a rando at all.

[sjohnson24]

Portals Open Up in Rancho Cordova

Date to be there: January 12, 2019 Saturday / Time to be there: 3pm.  Contact Person: Renee Torres. Address to be at: 11257 Coloma Road, Unit B8; Rancho Cordova. Renee believes he has a portal or some kind of interdimensional doorway at his warehouse. He constantly hears people talking and music from a radio and there is no radio. He hears about 8 people talking (men and women). One voice sounds demonic. One voice sounds like a woman being choked out. One entity who may have a good sense of humor told Renee in a recording that he is from Biosphere Tegos 1 from outside of our galaxy. One entity identifies itself as a Jinn. Renee saw a shadow person in the warehouse and hears constant walking and hears voices when his artificial waterfall is turned on. Very weird experiences in this warehouse.

FIRST BRIEFING AND INVESTIGATION: Renee has been at this warehouse for 2 years.  The place is filled with antiques.  Is it possible that some of the entities haunting this warehouse could be attached to some of the antiques?  Wendy thinks so.  I think so. Perhaps portals opened up, because of the old mirrors lying around this warehouse.  Deanna thinks so, I think so.  HPI Paranormal Investigators Present:  Christina Vonacek; Justin Mather; Wendy Hughes; Deanna Jaxine Stinson, Paul Dale Roberts – Co-Owner.  Christina, Justin and Wendy are empaths and sensitives and did a walk through with Deanna Jaxine Stinson – HPI Co-Owner and Medium Psychic.  Deanna picked up on an old lady who walks up and down one area of the warehouse.  Ghost Identified: WAREHOUSE GRANNY.  Renee says that there is indeed an old lady hanging around his warehouse and has heard her voice.  Deanna picked up on a monkey type of creature on the balcony.  Christina picks up on the monkey creature on the balcony too, they see it hopping around and looking down from the balcony.  ENTITY IDENTIFIED:  MOKO, THE MONKEY CREATURE.  The reason why I called this creature Moko is when Deanna and Christina was telling me about this creature, the name Moko kept resonating in my mind.  Renee confirms that there is a monkey type of creature up on the balcony.  Renee hears the impish creature moving around.  We capture an EVP (Class A) on the balcony of a man saying “go away”, but before that you can hear an unearthly growl.  That growl is possibly Moko.  Renee explains to us that sometimes he hears multiple voices in the warehouse and that is exactly what happened.  While I was trying to obtain EVPs, Wendy and Christina heard a full on conversation coming from the other room and there was nobody in that room!  Renee says sometimes he hears laughter in the warehouse.  On the first floor we capture an EVP, the entity says “no” when asking if he wanted to talk.  Justin captures a strange looking orb in one of the rooms.  Justin explored the balcony before any of us and he felt there was definitely something up there.  Christina, me and Deanna explored it on the 2nd go around.  I felt dizzy going up there and as I was coming down the steps, I felt something push on my chest, as if it wanted to make me fall from the ladder.  Could that have been Moko?  Renee says that he encountered one entity that told him…”keep walking, keep walking.”

CONCLUSION: All in all, this was a good investigation, there was a lot of cool things to look at, superhero pictures, old antiques, old paintings, figurines, etc.  No blessing is required, Renee is comfortable with the entities haunting his warehouse. Thank you to Wendy for giving Deanna 11 sets of tarot cards.  Deanna gave Wendy and Renee cleansing materials and gave Christina a cool cap that had Binx from Hocus Pocus on it.  

VIDEOS FROM THE INVESTIGATION: www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2c8afJPKmI&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR3oj7vP7iAxz2_Q3-dQLjJhDu-glIKL6IzZsZxdYeVpFS7pmuKSKqeaDe4 www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBcHGehi6GA&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=keQJYnn0wZs&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=pChDEll-L-g&feature=youtu.be www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye8yCtv7RVY&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR0vR6hCnstTZLKaPECtwyETah2kBGhQI2ROnocXQa4NkPrQmiwkW3o3IRI www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8v98PoqTkM&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR0NzPq-GyHJAdi_Edk3CgQ53ikfVMN5E-dxmjy_ZaGEx6CdBKDxCGlfAyY

By Paul Dale Roberts, HPI’s Esoteric Detective Halo Paranormal Investigations www.cryptic916.com/ Sacramento Paranormal Help www.facebook.com/HaloParanormalInvestigations/

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 54 Recovery

           It only took the better part of a day for life in Beacon Hills to return to normal. People went to work, children played in the park, high school athletes rushed onto the lacrosse field for practice. Grandfathers took their grandsons fishing, and handsome, shirtless young men jogged along trails in the woods. A sense of peace and safety, or at least the calm after the storm—an atmosphere with which Beacon Hills residents were quite familiar—settled over the town. People walked to the corner store for groceries as teenagers pedaled their bicycles to the matinee movie, no one feeling tense or exposed. Pets reemerged from under beds and in the back of garages where they’d taken refuge, eager to jump, play, use the litter box or moisten a tree after too long a pause.

           The sheriff station was once again quiet and dull. There’d been no odd reports, power outages, or bizarre weather patterns. Nothing to portend ill tidings. Deputy Parrish tapped a pencil on his desk. He looked at the clock for the fifth time in the last quarter hour, wondering why its impression of time and his were so vastly different. He shuffled through the paperwork on his desk. He’d only finished it an hour ago. Might as well proofread it and verify the facts. Again. Lord knows there was nothing else to do.

           Sheriff Stilinski walked out of his office, flipping through some paperwork of his own. “Anything to report today?”, he asked.

           “Not at all”, Parrish said. “Not even a parking ticket. It is a very slow day.”

           “Let’s keep it that way”, the sheriff grinned. He turned to go back to his office but looked back, asking, “Have you seen Stiles around?”

           “He called earlier.” The sheriff raised an eyebrow. Oh? Parrish caught the change in expression and hastened to add, “It was nothing important he said. Just that he felt like hanging around the house, making sure his jeep was really back up to snuff. And he suggested pizza for dinner. He’d like you to either grab takeout on the way home or some ingredients so he can make it himself.”

           The sheriff shook his head slightly. “Takeout it is, then.” He went back into his office and nudged the door with his foot to close partway and remain ajar. He sighed sitting down in his chair. Reports, paperwork, and file updating all lay ahead of him. But no strange creatures or interdimensional monsters. They made it so easy to love a slow day.

             Stiles stood leaning against the hood of his rejuvenated jeep, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Kira stood before him. Everyone else had gone his or her way to gather and collect themselves. The quiet time following a supernatural encounter or event was sometimes the worst part. Being alone with your thoughts, taking stock. Sometimes it called for celebration, other times not. This was the latter.

           Kira looked at Stiles and he looked back. Each knew what the other was thinking—or rather, who they were thinking about—but neither said anything. It wasn’t easy to broach the subject, despite being one they usually spoke of constantly, especially after an incident like this one.

           “So the jeep’s running now”, Kira said. Avoiding the subject was easier. At least for the moment.

           “Yeah”, Stiles said, smiling sincerely. “Thanks for that. I’ve never had a car that ran on kitsune power. Kinda cool.”

           Kira nodded. “No problem.” They stood in silence for another moment, then she said, “So everyone else—“

           “Everyone else is cool, by the looks of it. Liam dashed home, to be with his folks. His friend Mason is coming back into town soon, so I think he wants to be there for his arrival.”

           “Is he ever going to tell him that he’s a werewolf now? I mean, he is his best friend—“

           Stiles shrugged. “I try not to nudge. It’ll happen when it happens.” Another pregnant pause. “Lydia went to regain her balance. After the severity of those visions she received at the Willoughby Farm, I can’t blame her. It won’t take her long, I bet.”

           Kira nodded. “She’s strong. And Malia?”

           “Malia’s—“, he stopped for a split-second before continuing, “Actually, I have no idea where Malia is now. She’s been kind of mysterious the last day or so. She’s either up to something or she’s…pretty much up to something. She’ll turn up. Probably in my bedroom.”  Kira raised an eyebrow. Stiles slapped his forehead. “Oh, God. That did not come out the way I wanted it to. Oh, my God. I didn’t mean it that way—it’s just that she tends to just appear…see, she still comes in through the window sometimes—“

           Kira held up a hand to silence him. “I knew what you meant.”

           More silence. Stiles chose to break it.

           “So. Scott.”

           “Yeah, Scott.”

           The subject had been broached.

           “He’s taking this pretty hard”, Kira said. “The kids, what had been done to them, what they did to cause all this—“

           “--what they did to finish it”, Stiles said, completing her thought.

           “Yeah. He really believed he could have stopped that thing, the monster…the Unspoken.”

           “Maybe he could have”, Stiles said quickly. “I stopped underestimating him in that department a long time ago.”

           “He’s definitely impressive when it comes to physical strength”, Kira agreed. “To his resolve. It’s just…”

           Stiles sighed. He knew where she was going with this. “It’s not just that he wants so bad to believe in people, he always wants to—“

           “Yes. I know”, Kira said, cutting him off. They didn’t need to say it for them both to understand it. “Maybe what he needs now is some time alone, to work it out.”

           “No”, Stiles said firmly. “No time alone, no dwelling, no regretting and overloading on remorse and playing the ‘what if’ and ‘why didn’t I’ game. He really needs to not be alone right now.”  Kira began to speak, and Stiles knew she was going to suggest Scott might benefit more from time with his best friend. “No. He needs you.”

           “What do I even say?”

           “You don’t have to say anything. Just be there. That’s all. Just be there for him. Like you always have been.  Do you know whe--?”

           “Yeah, I know where he is. Thanks.”

           The two stood again in silence, appreciating the connection they shared as friends, both connected by the one young man they loved more than just about anyone else in the world. It was good to have someone to talk to about that. It was something they had previously been sorely lacking. They looked at each other and smiled, knowing that it was all going to be okay.

           And Stiles’ jeep let out a godawful belching noise and coughed up a small cloud of black smoke, which seeped out from under the hood. The jeep shuddered once, then came to rest with a horrible wheeze. Stiles jumped and Kira winced.

           “Oh, I am sorry”, Kira said.

           “It’s okay, it’s okay”, Stiles said, patting his baby with one hand and waving away the smoke with the other. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He coughed once, not as badly as his vehicle had, and repeated, “Juuusst fine.”

           Kira turned to seek out her boyfriend as Stiles jimmied open the hood and allowed the smoke to disperse, most of it in his face. As he checked to see if it was safe to reach inside and begin tinkering, he looked back to the departing Kira and said, “Y’know, you’re strong too.”

           She paused for a brief moment to absorb that. Then, after inclining her head toward Stiles in a sign of appreciation, she went on her way.

             Liam kept pace beside his best friend Mason as they walked up to the mall.

           “So tell me more about the great quality time with your folks”, Liam grinned.

           “Well, it was pleasantly free of giant men with animal skulls on their heads. And speaking of odd things to put on your head…” Mason let his voice trail off as his eyes looked intently at his best friend. Liam just stared back, so Mason knew he’d have to use the direct approach. “Dude, we are not going into the mall with you looking like that.”

           Liam looked at Mason, trying for an innocent expression and failing as he said, “Like what?”  He looked at his clothes; shirt, pants, and shoes and everything seemed just fine. Better than fine.

           “You know what I’m talking about”, Mason said. “Don’t play all coy.”

           “Why, whatever do you mean?” Liam smirked and stifled a laugh.

           He’d clearly been spending too much time around Stiles. “The hat!”, Mason snapped. “We are not walking into the mall as long as you are wearing that hat. Where did you get it, anyway?”

           Liam touched the brim of the battered straw almost-hat that could have been a cowboy hat, a farmer hat, or a sabotaged macramé project. The jury was still out. He'd done his best to repair the holes in the brim--it was not unlike patching up the mesh on a lacrosse stick, really--and it came out relatively passable. Relatively.  

           “Scott gave it to me.”

           “So, was he mad at you?”

           Liam scoffed. “I think it’s cool. You’re just jealous that you don’t have one.”

           As the neared the door, Mason gave his ultimatum. “Liam, I am serious. Loose the stupid hat or I am taking a separate door and acting like I don’t even know you.”

“You’re not even the one wearing the hat.”

“I do not want to be embarrassed by association—“

           Mason stopped mid-sentence as an incredibly handsome young man exited the mall as the two best friends were about to enter. He was tall, tan, with hair in thick auburn waves that fell partway down the back of his neck. He wore a snap-button checked shirt, skintight jeans, and cowboy boots. He paused for half a step to nod at Liam.

           “Mighty fine hat you’ve got there, bro.”

           “Thanks!”

           The young man kept on walking across the parking lot, and Mason’s eyes followed him. Even his walk looked good.

           “You coming, or what?”

           Mason turned to see Liam standing in the doorway to the mall, waiting on his friend. Mason quickened his pace, following on Liam’s heels as he walked in.

           “Okay, let me rephrase about the hat”, Mason began. “It’s not so much that it’s really all that bad—“

           “Mm-hmm.” Liam rolled his eyes.

           “It just, maybe doesn’t quite suit your head. Now if someone like, say, me were to try it on—“

           “Nope”, Liam said quickly.

           “Just for a little bit. Kind of a test drive.”

           “Uhn-uh.”

           “Can I just borrow it for a little bit? Just to see the effect? At least over at International Male.”

           Liam shook his head, loving the lunacy of the situation. Things were usually kind of dull when he’d hang with Mason, except for ridiculous exchanges like this one. After fighting for people’s lives, Liam was more than delighted to fight over an old hat. Bring it on. He was more than ready for some well-earned dull.

                       Stiles walked to his room, telling himself that everything was going to be alright. It always was, after an encounter, an ordeal, like this. It had to be. Scott was with Kira, who was beautiful and amazing and brilliant. She would be able to comfort and reassure his best friend in a way that he could not. That was a good thing. Knowing that Scott was killing himself because he couldn’t do more for those kids made Stiles ache that he couldn’t do more for Scott. But they always gave each other everything they could, and often a little bit more. Stiles hoped—he knew—that that was enough. He also knew that if he ran that thought over in his mind enough times, he could begin to believe it. That method had never worked before, but it was always worth a try, right?

           Deciding that continued worry over his best friend would do nothing to help either of them, Stiles willed the nagging thoughts away as he stepped into his room. He was still feeling down, still staring at his shoes, when he crossed the threshold. He wasn’t more than a foot through the door when a pile of folded denim landed on his feet. It was the old bib overalls he’d been forced to wear when returning from the Willoughby farm. They had been laundered and stitched up, and now lay neatly folded on top of his shoes. Stiles looked up to see Malia on the bed, smiling so wide her cheeks must have hurt.

           “So what’s this?”, Stiles asked.

           “I just thought I’d spruce up your evolved outfit for you to jump into.”

           “My ‘evolved outfit’. Is that what we’re calling the farmer pants now? Nice.” Stiles picked the overalls up off the floor and moved to put them in his dresser.

           “Unh-uh”, Malia said, stopping him midway. “Put them on.”

           Stiles let out a derisive snort of a laugh. Yeah, right. He opened the top drawer of his dresser with one hand, intending to toss the bibs inside, when Malia cleared her throat loudly. Stiles looked over to see her still smiling widely. Only now she raised her eyebrows and nodded toward the overalls. Stiles titled his head and pursed his lips, realizing what was going on.

           “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

           “Totally”, she replied, unable to hold back a slight snigger. “Go on, we could both use a laugh. Besides, you look adorable that way.”

           Okay, Stiles thought. I’m game. He stripped off his trousers and slipped into the bib overalls, buckling the straps over his shoulders and fastening them to the wide bib. “Wow”, he said. “These really feel soft. Like, uber-soft. They smell really nice now, too.” He twitched his nose over one of the bib straps and asked, “Is that--lilac?”

           “French Lavender and Wildflowers”, Malia said. “Or supposedly so. It’s what was written on the bottle.”

           Stiles grinned. He had the best girlfriend in the world. “You did laundry for me? You? That is so sweet. Thank-you.” Then he remembered exactly what had been laundered and looked down at the ridiculous thing he was wearing. “I think.”

           “That’s not all”, Malia added.

           There was a dull thump at Stiles’ feet and he looked down again to see that Malia had tossed over the old gumboots. At least he thought that’s what they were. They looked different now. Oh, they were still clumsy-looking and absurd, but they had been cleaned and polished, at least as well as they could be. Stiles picked up one of the soft rubber boots to see that although the once-black boot was still primarily gray, most of the white discolorations were gone and the surface shone in the light. Stiles’ expression was one of surprise and genuine appreciation. I didn’t even know a turd could be polished. He looked to Malia and said without irony, “I’m impressed.”

           “Look inside.”

           Stiles began to tilt the shaft of the boot toward his face, then stopped. “There’s not, like, an alpha rat in here, is there?”

           Malia’s brow scrunched. “A what?”

           “Never mind.” He looked in the boots to see a cushioned insole and caught a whiff of the fragrant aroma of…something really nice. Definitely not feet or alpha rat. “Whoa. That’s—not stinky at all. Not even remotely.” Stiles stuck his face right up to the shaft of the boot and inhaled. He pulled away with a really dopey smile on his face. “What is that scent in there?”

           “Lemongrass mint and…something. I dunno, Lydia helped me put it together.”

           “Best girlfriend ev-errr”, Stiles proclaimed. Without further prompting, he kicked off his shoes, reached down and wrapped his overalls pant legs tightly around his ankles, and stepped easily into the boots. Malia marveled at how rapidly he slipped them on. She was kind of looking forward to seeing him stumble around with them.

           “Have you been practicing?”

           “No”, he answered too quickly. He then began to bounce on the balls of his feet. “Oh, these are so comfortable. Much more than I remember them. Maybe I should start wearing these to school. Or just to practice.”

           Malia tossed him the frayed, inverted bird’s nest chapeau. “Sorry I couldn’t do anything with the hat.”

Stiles caught it easily and in one smooth motion placed it upon his head. “No worries. You have already exceeded all expectations. If I were expecting to be farmerized again. Which I wasn’t, but I’m kind of likin’ it.”  Stiles bobbed his head back and forth in a manner he thought would look bumpkin-ish, and wished he had a wheat stalk to hold in his teeth. He spread his arms wide to get a good look at himself, then realized that the costume was incomplete.

           “Wait. Where’s the shirt?”

           He looked back to Malia to find that she had pulled the newly-fresh flannel from under Stiles’ pillow and slipped it on. The old shirt draped unbuttoned over her shoulders, her arms buried in its sleeve folds. Malia patted the bed. “Come and get it.”

           Stiles sauntered across the room, doing a little do-si-do, skipping a bit, and even spinning around once before taking a seat beside his girlfriend. They both smiled, not breaking eye contact, appreciating the moment; both of them looking rather silly (Stiles more so) but enjoying how they came to that state. Gently, Malia reached up and ran her fingers through Stiles’ hair just above his left ear. The hat rustled a little at her tender touch. She held his head that way for a moment before asking, “Are you alright?”

           “I will be”, Stiles answered, reaching up and placing his hand over hers. “Thanks.”

           Together, they pulled themselves fully onto the bed and lay together in a loving embrace. Holding each other, feeling the warmth of their shared touch, they stayed that way for over an hour, neither one saying a word.

             Kira walked slowly up the grassy hill. She had her suspicions as to where she might find Scott, and her first instinct turned out to be right. Scott McCall sat atop a hill covered in thick green grass, which overlooked a large portion of Beacon Hills. From his vantage point, he could a few neighborhoods off to the far left, and before him the thick forests which had become one of the town’s most recognizable features. He could take in the rustle of branches above the trees and the scurry of dead leaves along the forest floor. Above it all, a wide expanse of beautiful sky. Best of all, this spot put the Willoughby Farm far behind him. From where he sat, he could only see forward. If only he could do emotionally what he’d found a way to do visually.

           Kira paused about twenty feet away from Scott. Stiles had encouraged her to be at her boyfriend’s side, but Scott seemed so calm and at peace at this moment, that she feared she would disturb him. She didn’t want to do that. So she turned away, thinking it best to join up with Scott later. She took only one step.

           “Don’t go.”

           Scott’s voice was a bit choked. He didn’t turn around, but Kira sensed that he had been crying. She walked up to him and stood at his side.

           “Am I interrupting?”

           “I’m just sitting here.”

           “I know. But am I interrupting?”

           Scott looked up at her, his expression weary. “I could use an interruption about now.”

           Kira sat beside him. What was she supposed to say? Scott looked back out at the scene laid out before them.

           Kira noticed a small envelope on the ground beside Scott. It was the same size as an open house or wedding invitation. Kira picked it up. “What’s this?”

           “My mom said it had been dropped off for me at the house.”

           “Can I--?”, Kira ventured.

           Scott shrugged. “Sure.”

           From the envelope, Kira pulled a small Thank-You card. She opened it to read a note in pretty horrible handwriting.

           Hey Alpha Guy-

         Nice job saving everyone’s asses again. Looking forward to kicking yours on the field.  Best 2 your friends pack.  Stay frosty.

                                                                            Jolman

           Kira raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Jolman?”

           “Someone I met during…all this”, Scott answered. “Werewolf. Seems like a pretty cool guy.” He paused for a moment and Kira knew his thoughts were already drifting back to where they were when she had arrived. “I keep running it over and over in my mind”, he said.

           “Don’t.”

           “I know. I can’t help it. If I had only gotten to the monster quicker, if I’d only help figure out how to stop it sooner…if I’d just listened and killed the damn thing when I had the chance. Those kids would still be—“

           Kira cut him off. “Do you need to be reminded of something again?”

           “Yeah, yeah. I know. I can’t save everyone.” Scott lowered his head in defeat.

           “That’s true enough”, Kira admitted. “But that’s not what you need to be reminded of.”  Scott looked at her expectantly. “One of the things that makes you such an amazing person—and yes, I’d say a hero—is that you never stop trying to save everyone anyway.”

           Scott met her eyes with a look of genuine gratitude. He never did stop trying. Kira rested her hands on his shoulder. She nodded out toward the town below. “And all those people down there are safe from another monster because you fought and didn’t give up.”

           Scott nodded just a bit. It was some consolation, he realized. He should at least recognize that. Kira nestled closer to him, wrapping her arm around him. Scott rested he head on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and took in her scent. Jasmine, with just a hint of cinnamon. He loved that smell. As he looked at the trees, listened to the leaves, and beheld the sky, he took in that smell. He loved Kira so dearly. Kira also loved Scott, with just as much passion and depth. Neither of them saw a need to voice that at this moment. Side by side, embracing and simply being together, they both already felt it. Some things could be left unspoken.

             Lydia drove up the gravel driveway slowly, parked, and stepped out of her car. She had come alone. She felt no need for a companion this time, as the danger had passed. Besides, she wanted to see this for herself before telling anyone.

           Lydia began her walk on the grounds of the Willoughby Farm. In some ways, it looked just the same as it had a day ago when chaos had been unleashed there. In others, it looked entirely different.  The patches of dead grass beyond the ditches were starting to show blades of green coming up among the brown and gray.

           Lydia strolled past the remains of the farmhouse to see more grass coming up between the weeds. The dead underbrush was crumbling and falling to the wayside to give way to new life. Lengths of yellow arrowhead and purple larkspur were stretching up from the dark ground to make their presence known. Strings of bluebells climbed up the charred rafters and dotted rotting farming tools with new color.

           Thick clusters of new grass peppered either side of the long driveway that led up to the barn. A soft rustle of branches caught Lydia’s attention. She turned to see a small fawn standing nearby. It stared at the young banshee for a few moments, wide-eyed but unafraid, then darted off through the field, revealing a new patch of amber blooms in its wake. Lydia smiled.

           Taking a moment, Lydia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and extended her arms at her sides. So much of the rancid energy, the stench of decay, that had assaulted her before when she’d been struck by her vision, was steadily receding from the area. It wasn’t gone yet, but it couldn’t remain for much longer.

           Lydia made her way to the spot where her three new friends were lost. The summoning circle was nothing but a frozen patch of earth. It still emanated cold, although not as intensely as it had before. The grooves in the earth that made up the circle’s pattern were softer now. They crumbled under the weight of the thick frost, tumbling over easily with the passing gusts of wind. Before long, the circle would be just an odd spot in a clearing behind an old farmhouse, hard and cold, but otherwise unremarkable. She knelt down and picked one of the many wildflowers growing lush and full all around the icy circle. They were bright and beautiful, multicolored and seemingly unaffected by the cold. Lydia sniffed the tiny red blossom in her hand, and she smiled at the thought that one day this horrible site would be hidden under a blanket of blooming color.

           Having seen what she wanted to, Lydia walked back to her car. This time when a bird sang, she heard it clearly. The song lightened her heart and made the loss of three remarkable young heroes just a bit easier to bear.

Lydia paused as she stood at her car’s door. Looking over the changing landscape, she felt hopeful. She sat behind the wheel and slowly backed down the driveway. Lydia was highly intelligent and aware. She knew that dark times could, and probably did, lay ahead for her and her friends. Monsters, demons, and madmen had a tendency to show up with frightening regularity. She did live in Beacon Hills, after all. For the time being, though, she opted to enjoy this quiet respite. Lydia pulled out onto the highway, giving one last glance at the formerly haunting farm.  As she drove home, she couldn’t help but notice road crews hard at work repairing both the ravaged pavement and the sections of road long-neglected. On the horizon, land surveyors took new stock of the land, investigating what crops or other riches it might yield. As if a black veil had been lifted from the region, bit by bit, people felt it was safe to return. Things were certainly changing around here. With that change, Lydia indeed felt a strong sense of hope. How could she not? Life was returning to the Wasteland.

Unseen by Lydia, or anyone else at the moment, three new blooms had begun to push their way to the surface from the formerly cursed earth. While new life was becoming more common to the area, there were a few spots where life’s arrival was still a surprise. Where these new blooms arose was such a spot. For these courageous stems emerged from the heart of the frozen summoning pattern, where no life should ever surface or find soil rich enough to take root. For the moment, the mere appearance of the buds was impressive enough. But over time—a surprisingly short time—the buds would open and bloom, and the ridges and ruts of the pattern would fill with an odd but lush assortment of wildflowers and grasses. A cross-section of extreme varieties, they would create a beautiful natural arrangement despite first appearances of having nothing in common. They still worked beautifully together.

At their center, the three stunningly-beautiful blooms. Two of a deep, rich shade with bright centers, entwined around each other. Beside them, one of brilliant orange-red, lavishly covered in endearing freckles. More than anything else in the increasingly lush surroundings, the flowers conveyed the silent message that while some things may not live long on this earth, their lives, however short, had not been wasted.