#I was lukewarm on the whole book until it occurred to me that they were sick sick freaks

[drumlincountry]

Biggest criticism of The Secret History : they should have murdered more people.

[straight-to-the-pain]

In the Hands of the Enemy

This started off as a short drabble inspired by @pythagoreanwhump​‘s OC Cormac but soon developed into a whole thing of its own and I don’t have anything to say for myself. I’m too late for this to actually count for whumptober but I’m stealing the title because I liked it. I left this pretty vague on purpose but you can read it as set in the Soviet Union during the Cold War. I’m currently reading a book about air espionage during that time and my brain won’t leave me alone unless I write it. Contains: military themed whump, descriptions of a plane crash, broken bones, bruises, restraints, a whumpee thinks about their own death and how their future will be nothing but suffering, brief mention of wanting to vomit, manhandling, slapping and being taken prisoner. 

They come to slowly, memories and sensations coming back to them like a flickering strip light. Unintelligible voices filter in from somewhere in the distance and there’s a splitting ache coming from their temple. They try to move their hands, only to find them bound to a sturdy wooden chair with coarse rope. A sharp pain shoots up their arm as they twitch their fingers and a groan slips out of them. Probably broken, they conclude. 

The room falls silent as their eyes flutter open, blurred images slowly clearing to reveal a couple sitting against the backdrop of a homely dining room. There are three mugs of tea on the table, with a plate of sliced bread and salami in the centre and if it wasn’t for the dried blood coating their forehead and their torn clothes, they could almost imagine that they were all having lunch. 

The woman asks a question in a language they don’t understand and they shake their head in reply. Maybe they should have studied better, memorised more useful phrases when they had the chance, but they never planned to be a field agent. They were just a technician with one simple job: get close enough to activate the enemy’s radar, record its signature, and get the hell out of there before they were intercepted. So much for the ‘not getting caught’ part. 

“Tea?” the man asks and this word they do understand. They nod gratefully and a cup is brought to their lips, allowing them to take small sips. The tea is bitter and lukewarm but it soothes their dry throat and calms their nerves slightly. Surely if their captors are willing to offer them tea, they might be willing to help. The man dabs at the gash on their forehead with a towel and they hiss in pain, startling him. 

Seemingly satisfied that their captive isn’t going to try to escape anytime soon, the couple goes back to their tense discussion and they zone out. Fragments of images flash through their mind: the panicked voices of their crewmates on the radio, the crash, the smoke. A bright pain in their temple as the force of impact slams their head into their console. And then falling, leaving the wreckage of their burning plane behind them as they pull their parachute open. 

The faces of their crewmates fill their mind, and they wonder if they’ll ever really find out what happened to them. They had tried to call out to them, but a tree had caught them on their way down, leaving them with a broken arm and a litany of scrapes and bruises over their body, and no sign of their team. The last thing they remember is dragging their broken and aching body over a field for what felt like an eternity, until dawn started to break. They suppose they must have passed out after that. An awful thought appears in their mind and they can’t force it down. They’ve heard what happens to people like them when things go wrong. Maybe death would have been the lucky outcome after all. 

Words filter through the fear gripping them, and they start to listen in, trying to get a sense of the couple’s reaction. Surely if they had planned on giving them up, they would have done it by now. With their limited knowledge of the language, they can’t make out much, but the words ‘spy’, ‘police’ and ‘enemy’ do little to comfort them. It was a mistake to think that just because the couple had brought them into their own home, they had any chance of getting out of this. 

Would they really act differently though, if the tables were turned? If an enemy soldier tumbled onto their front lawn, would they have any interest in patching them up, let alone helping them avoid detection? No. They would turn them in to the authorities, and none too gently at that. But it wasn’t like their government was in the business of torture and execution, not like their enemy. They were on the right side of history, and maybe one day, their current captors would see that too. 

The woman is almost shouting now, the vitriol and distrust clear in her voice even without needing to understand the words. Her husband puts an arm on her shoulder, trying to reason with her, but she shrugs him away. Putting a slice of salami on a piece of dark bread, he offers it gingerly to the downed engineer, as if he is afraid that the captive might bite his fingers. “Eat,” he tells them, and they do so, quickly and desperately, like they’re not sure when it might be taken away from them. 

It seems like his wife has made up her mind because she stops her pacing, and draws her husband to the side. She talks in a hushed and serious tone, as if she’s worried that their captive might simply be feigning ignorance, glancing at them occasionally, with suspicion. There’s a knock on the door, and she nods once, and goes to open it. 

“Please.” It’s one of the only words they know and the foreign edges of it feel rough on their tongue. They’re not really sure what it will do for them anymore. The couple definitely can’t hide them forever and there’s no doubt that they would face harsh consequences for helping them in any way. And their own people all but confirmed that there was no chance of rescue if they were taken prisoner. 

A young boy stands on the landing, summoned by the knocking, and his mother waves him back upstairs as she goes to open the door. Before he leaves, he looks at the captive and they stare at each other for a few moments, wide, innocent eyes meeting a fearful, tired gaze. It occurs to them in that moment that they might be the last innocent eyes they see in their life. Then the boy turns, and runs upstairs. 

Two uniformed men stand in the doorway and the captive’s heart feels frozen in their chest. Cold sweat prickles at the back of their neck and they can barely breathe, even as they desperately try to take solace in the last few moments of peace they will ever have. They try to imagine a future for themself, to picture their family and their home and their crewmates, but there’s nothing save for a blank space with their bloodied corpse in it. Bile rises in their throat at the image their mind presents them, but they swallow it down. Who knows when they’ll next be given a chance to eat. 

The woman invites the officers inside eagerly, gesturing at the improvised prison that they’ve made of their home. Her husband stands at the side with his arms crossed on his chest, his expression unreadable. They keep their head down as the men undo the rope around their hands, only to fasten it tighter around their wrists, biting into the skin underneath. They yelp as their broken arm is shifted with no regard to their pain, then chastise themself for sounding so pathetic. Biting their lip to prevent any further noises escaping, they let the men drag them up. 

As they’re marched out the door, they pass the couple one last time. Without warning, the woman slaps them, her cold metal ring cutting into their cheek. They gasp and the soldiers laugh, twisting their broken arm behind them to draw out more whimpers. Meanwhile, the man just stands there and looks at them with something akin to pity, opening his mouth as if there is something he wants to say but cannot. 

The last thing they see before they’re shoved into the back of a dark car is the couple standing together, arms over each other’s shoulders, and the face of a young boy staring from the upstairs window. 

[sunflowersoonyoung]

words left unsaid | sinb

w.c ↠ 1.7k

pairing ↠ sinb x gender neutral!reader

genres/s ↠ fluff, a smidge of angst, friends to lovers au!

description ↠ You regret not speaking your thoughts after potentially losing your best friend and the love of your life, Hwang Eunbi. However, fate brings you together after years apart.

warning/s ↠ n/a

author’s note ↠ this took me an afternoon to write which is extremely quick for me! I did proofread it but I'm not sure if it feels rushed. regardless, goofy best friend sinb is my favourite~

-

Your experience with Middle School had been dull and uneventful, until a fateful meeting with Hwang Eunbi.

The library was a sanctuary for you, a quiet place for you to focus entirely on schoolwork without distractions. The scent of dust mingled with old books was soothing, a smell you had learned to associate with relaxation. Back then it was not uncommon for you to be found there, tucked in the corner buried in schoolwork.

No one had ever approached you, not until Eunbi. Urgently scrawling out the contents of a closely due assignment, you had believed you were alone until she placed a hand on your shoulder, capturing your attention.

“Excuse me,” her voice was melodic, soft, pleasant to your ears, “do you think you could help me?”

A petite girl was peering down at you, silky raven hair cascading down her chest in waves. She offered you a smile and you felt a burst of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Immediately your face heated up, too shy to maintain eye contact with the gorgeous stranger.

“I-I can,” you responded, your attempt to swallow a stutter failing. Her smile only widened, perfect rows of teeth glistening back at you - a hint of awkwardness beneath the surface as she spoke again.

“Thanks. I don’t really know where anything is in here. I’m trying to find a geography textbook.”

She trailed closely behind you, weaving between bookshelves till you reached the far end of the library. You gestured broadly to a collection of books, “here.” When you turned to face her, dismay painted her features, and for a moment you thought you had lead her to the wrong section. She huffed and pointed to the top shelf out of her reach, “it’s all the way up there.”

After both of you took turns in attempting to jump and snatch the textbook, unfortunately with no luck, an idea seemed to cross her mind. She swivelled towards you with a mischievous grin, oblivious to how it made your heart flutter.

“Wanna try sitting on my shoulders?”

A coy giggle bubbled up from your throat at the image. How would this small-framed girl manage to carry you on her shoulders, let alone stand and sustain herself with you atop of her?

At her urging, you ignored the thoughts at the back of your head that warned you this was a bad idea and swung your legs over her front, flailing for purchase and grasping her hair to balance yourself. For a brief second, it seemed as if it would work out until she tried to stand on trembling legs. As you had predicted, she was not nearly strong enough to support you. With a yelp, you slid from her grasp and both of you tumbled back onto the carpet.

You both exploded with unrestrained laughter, disturbing the peaceful library. Glancing at her with her face lit up, you were overcome with joy, unable to tear your eyes away. There was no longer anything else you desired; you only wanted to see her laugh like this every day for the rest of your life.

You assured yourself that moment that you would become her closest friend, truly believing that would be enough for you.

-

The closer you were to Eunbi, the stronger your affections for her developed; in High School, she had been your universe in which no one else dared to enter. It was obvious from the outside that your bond was different, filled with a romantic tension that both of you were blind to.

It was a hot summer evening, a film of sweat sticking to your skin as you walked alone. This was a rare occurrence, as usually Eunbi would join you and overload your head with chatter along the way to your accustomed hangout.

It was a routine you both seldom broke. You would first stop at a small convenience store and spend pocket money on sweets and soda, or hot drinks in the winter. Then, whilst conversing the whole way, you would cross the road and sit on the bottom of a grassy riverbank, observing the ducks as they floated past.

Today, since you were alone, you paused only briefly inside the store for a cold drink, pressing it to your reddened cheeks. As you had hoped, Eunbi was waiting in your usual place, crouched with her back faced towards you. You neared and realised her shoulders were quivering. Sobs wracked her body, muffled but barely audible.

“Eunbi? Are you okay?”

She hurriedly rubbed her face with her forearms as if trying to hide that she had been crying, though her splotchy skin revealed all. You almost slipped as you hastily rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her as tightly as you could.

“We’re both graduating soon, and I’m scared,” she admitted, reluctant to meet your gaze, “I-I’m going to a performing arts university in Seoul.”

The abrupt confession dropped cubes of ice into your belly, overwhelming you with a dread that travelled over your skin from your toes to your forehead. You were numb as you pulled away from her, a belated response of betrayal beginning to swell in your chest.

“But...you promised you would go somewhere in the same city as me,” you finally spoke, having to pry the words from your dry throat.

“I know, (F/n), but this is my future.” She was frowning, her hands trembling in the wake of your disapproval.

“But what about us?” Your words carried a weight that you were not quite ready to explain. It meant something entirely different to you because you were worried about missing the opportunity to confess your affections to her.

You don’t realise that you are crying until Eunbi’s eyes reflect sadness at you. You are too hot with emotion to care for her sympathy, turning on your heel and fleeing. It would be a decision you would come to regret.

Closing yourself in the haven of your bedroom, the horror of the incident began to sink in. You bawled into your pillow, lamenting over every harsh sentence you had uttered.

The following day at school, you found yourself unable to speak to your best friend out of humiliation, and Eunbi seemed unbothered by this, proceeding with her day as usual - but without you. You didn’t blame her; you had hurt her considerably.

By the time graduation came, a wall of silence was still between you.

Years would pass by. Girlfriends and short flings would occur, nothing unusual for a college student - though none could take your mind off your goofy, affectionate ex-best friend. Some nights you would lay still in bed as you recounted all of the joyful memories you shared with her. You often pictured her lying beside you.

It was not until you had finally integrated into the working world that you were sentimental enough to revisit your old hangout. Usually, you made excuses to yourself that it was too far of a drive and that it would only reopen sensitive wounds. You considered turning around multiple times, but an invisible force drew you to that riverbank on that particular day.

You were mildly surprised to discover that the old convenience store still open. White paint was peeling off of the walls in flecks, but it was still upright and working.

For old time’s sake, you entered, purchasing a can of vanilla coke and a bag of potato chips. Traipsing down to the grassy slope across the road with a plastic bag at your hip, you felt invigorated by your decision to return this afternoon. Perhaps it was the association with your youth.

A woman sat at the bottom of the hillside, slender legs stretched out in front of her as she seemed to take in the fresh breeze. Her dark locks had been cut in a neat line around her jaw, the quality of her hair so silky that it shone. She was turned away from you enough that you could not see her features.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You inquired softly, and she turned to look at you.

Although so many years had changed, beautiful Eunbi had barely changed. Maturity settled on her facade like dust, but other than that she was the same. Her stunned expression tells you that you were equally as recognisable.

“(F/n)?” Her voice was small as if she hardly dared to ask. You answered with a curt nod, scanning the grown Eunbi that was struggling to her feet before you.

Abruptly she threw herself into your embrace, a sweet warmth overwhelming you as she gave you the contact you had craved from her ever since you had parted. An aromatic, flowery scent wafted from her, and you were embarrassed to admit that it made your mouth water.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumbled against her shoulder, earning a soft tut from her lips.

“I’m sorry too,” she responded, “there’s a lot I wish I had said to you.”

She withdraws, interlocking her fingers with yours tightly as if scared you would leave otherwise. An unexpected tension crackles through the lukewarm atmosphere, the kind of tension that only materializes between timid lovers.

“I love you (F/n). I’ve felt like something has been missing all these years without you. Ever since that day in the library.”

Whatever you were expecting her to say, it was certainly not that. Her confession was so confident that you immediately accepted it to be true, despite the doubt that sat in the back of your head. The air grew considerably hotter against your cheeks, warmth rising up your neck and reaching the tips of your ears.

“Me too, Eunbi,” you were stumbling over your words as you hurried to reciprocate, “I-I was always so scared you would reject me.”

A toothy grin stretched across her face once she realised what had just happened. Words that had been left unsaid had finally unburdened the both of you. She eagerly cupped your cheeks and swept you into a kiss. The sensation was far better than your first kiss, full of longing, relief and a little desperation. It was shallow but meaningful.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” she purred against your lips, that same mischievous twinkle in her eyes that you had witnessed all those years ago.

[andotherbiases]

“into the fall” deleted scene, vers. 2

writing that thread yesterday reminded me that I had so many versions of the scene where MY goes to KT’s place. They all ended up being too angsty to make it into the final version of the story, but now that I used the snuggles & storytime version in “journal of a teenage year” I feel like I can share these other deleted scenes.

In this version, MY goes to KT’s place not because she’s realized her feelings for him, but because she’s upset. I’ll lead into the scene with text from the published version in italics, so you can see where it would have been situated in the original story. This particular version has parts from the other deleted scene (let’s call that one version 1), but with a different ending dialogue. I was sad to loose the intimacy of this scene, because it shows just how much deeper their connection is, but alas, I just wanted to write a light-hearted story so... 

Anyway, I’ll post another version in the coming days. I hope you enjoy!

Version 2: Angst city

Sometimes he stays the night. Sometimes not.

Sometimes they meet and don’t have sex. Sometimes an office visit really is just an office visit.

Moon-young doesn’t really know what the rules are here. She doesn’t understand what they’re doing. Kang-tae doesn’t mention it, never brings it up, and seems perfectly happy with whatever their arrangement is. But she’s confused and unsettled, unsure of what to do or say. Mostly because, surprisingly enough, a re-introduction to their physical intimacy has not produced the hell-mouth she thought it would.

There hasn’t been a single fight. She can’t remember the last time one of them snapped at the other. When it was that one of them stormed out of a room in anger.

When they’re together, in between all the hooking up, they snuggle and laugh and share thoughts and opinions and secrets. And it is nice. Nice that they could be like this again. Nice to lower walls. Nice to share in the intimacy that had always been present between them.

It feels so natural.

But it also feels so fragile, like a spring morning, and Moon-young doesn’t want to ruin it, doesn’t want to destroy this good and beautiful thing by bringing up questions and whatever harsh reality exists for them.

If it can’t be forever, she’ll take it for right now.

And she’ll worry about the fall later.

It happens unexpectedly.

Moon-young is having a terrible day. Any contact with her estranged mother sours her mood completely, ruins any plans that she might have had. A single phone call and a shadow will loom over her for the rest of the day, dark and storming and brewing. It makes her want to lash out at the world, makes her want to be reckless, makes her want to do something big and dangerous -- something that she can throw all her energy, all her feelings, all her thoughts towards. Something to distract her. 

Something to ease her weary heart.  

She doesn’t know how she ended up at Kang-tae’s door, but he takes one look at her face and lets her in without a word. 

They’re sitting at the kitchen counter, cups of lukewarm tea before them. They’re just sitting, sometimes exchanging words but mostly just sitting in the moment, sharing the space together. Silence stretches on between them, but it isn’t empty nor is it burdensome. It occurs to Moon-young that he is the only person that she feels comfortable enough with to not have to say anything at all.  

Kang-tae is sitting by her side, nursing his mug and waiting to listen to anything that she might say. His usual suits and coiffed hair are replaced with casual t-shirts and a pair of thick glasses. On the table next to them are notes from some manuscript, the red scrawls from his pen bleed across the page.  

“I’m sorry for interrupting. You were working,” she says, only just piecing together that he might have been busy when she arrived at his door. 

He waves her off. “It’s not important.”

They lapse into silence once more. 

“Is this about your mom?” he asks, breaking into her thoughts. If the question had come from anyone but Kang-tae, she would have denied it. Would have stormed out of the room, having no desire to air out her family’s dirty laundry. But he wasn’t just anyone. He knew her whole history. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen her angry and upset and despondent. Moon-young meets his eyes and finds only sympathy, not pity. 

She nods. 

Kang-tae purses his lips, clearly displeased. “What did she say this time?”

“The usual,” she shrugs. “How I’m an ungrateful daughter. How I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for her. It’s always the same. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“I wish she would just leave you alone.”

“She had no problem doing it before,” Moon-young says bitterly. “Funny how becoming a best-selling author changes things.” 

Her mother had abandoned her just after her tenth birthday, leaving her under the care of her mostly absent father. Moon-young was raised by a series of live-in babysitters and tutors. She hadn’t heard a single word from her mother in over fifteen years. It wasn’t until her first book was published and her name was in the news that Moon-young first got a phone call from an unknown number. 

Moon-young’s long lost mother was suddenly interested in reconciling. Had seen the error of her ways. Had seen a photo of Moon-young in the local paper and wanted to get to know the woman she had become. 

But Moon-young wasn’t interested. Her success was hers alone. And if her mother didn’t care enough to go through the tough times with her, all the times when Moon-young had struggled to live as a writer and received rejection letter after rejection letter, then her mother certainly didn’t have a right to enjoy Moon-young’s success. 

Her mother, naturally, did not appreciate being so cut out, and ever so often Moon-young received a letter or call that full of vitriol from her own mother. 

In a way, she felt haunted.

Suddenly, Moon-young pushes away her tea. “I need something stronger,” she declares, already moving to stand and make good use of Kang-tae’s well-stocked dry bar.

Instead, he reaches over and takes her hand in his. His hold is so stable, so steadfast and sure. His thumbs rub circles on the back of her hand, and Moon-young finds herself sitting back down. 

“Let’s leave the alcohol for another time,” he suggests, his words calm and gentle. “How about we get you into bed, and I’ll read you a story.”

Somewhere in the middle of his tale, Moon-young starts to cry.  

Tears leak from her eyes, pouring out her sadness, and she can’t help it. Can’t stop the shaking of her chin or the sobs that crawl out of her mouth. 

And she hates it all, because her mother doesn’t deserve her sadness, her tears.

But Kang-tae is right there. 

He pulls her in tighter, brushes away her tears before they have a chance to fall. He whispers comforting words in her ear, reminds her of how brilliant she is, and how strong, and that she didn’t owe her mother anything, that Moon-young belonged to herself.

And he kisses her. 

Soft, lingering kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids. When Kang-tae kisses her lips, she can taste the saltiness of her tears. 

But also, a sweetness. A kindness.

She wants, so desperately, to capture that. To taste it on her tongue and devour it so that it becomes a part of her. To be so full of sweetness and kindness that there is no room for sadness. So that nothing bad can ever get in.

Moon-young wraps her arms around Kang-tae’s neck, bringing him in closer until the weight of his body presses down on her, and she slides her tongue past his lips. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

He didn’t understand. She needed this. She shakes her head. “No, please,” Moon-young insists, arching up into him.

Kang-tae hisses at the contact. “I think,” he starts, his voice now shaky, “that we should just try and sleep. You’re upset and I--”

“Please, Kang-tae,” she reaches up to try and kiss him again. She needs this. Needs this oblivion. “Please, I--”

He tries to avoid her lips. “Moon-young…”

“Please just make love to me,” she blurts in desperation.

He freezes. Seconds roll by before he pulls back, hovering over her. “What?” 

And for some reason she’s crying again. “Please, please. Kang-tae. Please can you just--” and she doesn’t care that she’s begging. 

Kang-tae’s gaze is probing as he locks eyes with her. He’s hesitating, warring with himself, but slowly his eyes drop from hers to settle on her lips. He gives a small nod before he kisses her.

Afterwards she’s almost asleep when the fall happens. It is so quiet she nearly misses it. 

“I love you.”

Her eyes open, she’s fully awake now, but forces her body to remain still. She stays that way, until she recognizes Kang-tae’s deep breath of sleep.

Moon-young is fumbling around in the dark trying to gather her things. It is early still, dawn is just on the horizon, giving just enough light for her to slide out of Kang-tae’s bed and make a hasty exit. 

“Don’t forget your purse is in the kitchen,” comes a voice.

Surprised at being caught, Moon-young spins on her heel, and even in the darkness she can see Kang-tae’s eyes staring at her. He sits up and reaches for his pants, but seeing his bare chest for some reason seems too intimate and she avoids her gaze. 

He turns on a lamp, and the sudden brightness burns. 

“Leaving already?” he asks as he approaches her. There is almost something predatory in his gait, the firm set of his mouth. 

Moon-young only just resists the impulse to take a step back. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she tries to explain.

“Hm,” he considers her answer. “And this doesn’t have anything to do with last night?”

Her heart is slamming against her ribcage. Did he know? Something like panic races through her veins. 

Kang-tae continues. “The part where you heard me say that I love you.” He takes a breath. “I love you, Moon-young.” 

Moon-young has to step away then. It is too much. She feels like she can’t take in enough air, not enough to breath, not enough to process what is happening. Tears begin to prickat her eyes, and she doesn’t understand why. 

She pushes him away. “I have to go.”

He grabs her hand.

“Don’t go. Don’t run away. We’re good together, Moon-young. These last few weeks, we’ve been so good together.”

She snatches her hand back. 

“Don’t do this,” he tells her, trying to hold onto her. “Moon-young!”

“This was just supposed to be sex,” she cries. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me!”

“I’ve always been in love with you!” he responds.

“What?”

“I can’t help it,” he holds her by the shoulders, hoping against hope that she’ll stay. “I’ve always loved you.”

She feels the world tilt on its axis and it steals her breath. “I have to go.” 

And she runs, right out of his room, right out of his apartment, and down the block until he’s no longer calling her name, no longer trying to follow her.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Candlelight

It takes a while for John to realize how little electricity there is in Robin's house. After all, it's not like he's there in the dark all that often. Picking Robin up and dropping him off both happen while the sky is still light, for the most part.

It's not until the day he's turning on the stove to slide in a batch of bread (because he knows for a fact Robin doesn't have any more in the house) that it occurs to him to wonder. He's never seen any electric lines coming onto the property, and the stove runs off a little gas tank like an outdoor grill would. He'd been idly wondering if Robin would have an easier time cooking on an electric range like the one John has at his apartment, since there's no real fire involved. And then wondered how much Robin has used electricity at all. 

It makes sense that Robin would exist off the grid, more or less literally. He can't exactly explain electric service to a supposed vacant lot. But he has a cell phone and...actually, there aren't lights. John doesn't remember seeing a single switch in the whole house. 

"Hey Robin?" he asks. 

"Yeah?" Robin emerges from around a corner, a small opossum clinging to his arm.

"How do you charge your phone and stuff? Or light this place?" John asks. "Just...curious." 

Robin grins. "It weirded Cody out too for a while that I didn't have any electricity here. His siblings were so into video games and watching TV. He used to come over here to read books because it was quiet." He laughs. "I got a solar charger when I...when I came back here and had to have a cell phone." 

John guesses Robin's first introduction to being around electricity on a regular basis was going to work for Silver Blade. No wonder he hasn't been too interested in adding that to his world. 

"There's enough to power a phone charger from that," Robin says. "I keep thinking I'll get around to putting up some more panels and switching out the stove, and getting a water heater..."

"You don't have hot water?" John asks.

"There's a tank above the kitchen and then one over the bathroom in the branches. Sun heats it," Robin says. "It's usually still warm when I wake up and do the dishes."

No wonder the water coming out of the taps here has always seemed lukewarm. John wonders about all the times Robin has declined to clean up in the locker rooms and insisted he'll go home and shower there. The water at his house must be chilly after sitting all night. And yet the kid prefers it to Chimera's locker rooms. Probably for some good reason John is best off not knowing. 

"And lights?" He finally asks.

"Well, the Rowan gives off a sort of phosphorescence at night; all fae trees do. It's enough to get around the house by. And if I need light to read by, I light candles," Robin says. 

Now that John thinks about it, he has seen squat, jar candles all over the place in here. He kind of just assumed it was a fae thing. Granted, it is, just not how he thought. "That's really cool, actually."  

Robin smiles. "Yeah. Cody thought so too." He shrugs. "It's kind of nice to come home and get away from the constant buzzing in the city." John didn't realize fae could sense electricity, but given that Robin's an energy fae, it makes sense. 

"Well, it seems to be working for you." John smiles. "But if you do decide to put up those panels, let me come help you, okay?"

"Okay." 

For @whump-advent-calendar‘s prompt 2, “Candles”

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[insfiringyou]

BTS - Finding Solace (Jungkook x Young-soon)

Contains: Angst. Family discussions. *Trigger warning for upsetting scenes involving an ill family member*

Set between ‘Jin’s Wedding’ and ‘A Reunion’, Young-soon’s father is taken ill, and Jungkook agnosies over how to support her during such a difficult time.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read all headcanon fics chronologically, go here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin  /   V   /   Jungkook & our full masterlist of fics and art can be found here

Content below the cut

PART ONE

The strip light overhead buzzed incessantly as Jungkook punched a code into the vending machine at the end of the hall, watching the spiralled dispenser twirl before dropping a candy bar in the tray below. He paused for a moment, before ordering another. He knew Young-soon would not be hungry when she left the ward, but it was a long drive home and her appetite was sure to return before they reached Seoul. 

The corridor was strangely silent, with only the humming bulb and the distant squeak of a nurse’s shoes keeping him company, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. During their first few visits, Young-soon’s relentless, pained sobs had echoed from the room where her father was kept, and he had felt powerless to stop them. That first long and silent drive from her apartment in the city to the suburban hospital at the edge of Incheon still played on his mind; the way she automatically reached for the handle on the driver’s side of her car after receiving the call, and how he had stopped her, knowing she was in no condition to attempt the journey. She was shaking the whole way, gaze fixed on the road ahead as he steered through the city, following the Satnav which promised to find the streets with the least congestion. Her eyes swam with tears, but she kept her jaw tightly clenched, only letting go when he finally pulled into the hospital parking lot and her mother met them in the foyer. Stepping back, he allowed them space to hug; their embrace tightening as they clung to each other; her mother briefly meeting his gaze over his girlfriend’s shoulder, with a thankful nod. 

He hadn’t known what to do when they reached the third floor. The door to her father’s suite was open, and Jungkook caught a glimpse of the older man’s pale, chalky face in the hospital bed. His eyes were closed, and for a moment he feared the worst, until the doctor led the two women into the room and murmured that he was stable. The younger woman’s shoulders dropped in relief and she turned, for the first time that afternoon, to face her boyfriend, letting out a long sigh. 

Wanting to give them their privacy and feeling a little worn from the unexpected drive, he stayed in the corridor. There was something he needed to do and looked around the ward for a phone-zone, where he could make a private call without disturbing the staff. Several signs dotted around the walls clearly forbade their use in the corridors, but he finally found one which pointed to a small room near the nurses�� station and followed the direction of the arrow, closing the door quietly behind himself.  

It took longer than expected to be connected to the right person but, satisfied he had done all he could, he looked around the ward, seeking out somewhere to sit. Slowly, he walked to a line of plastic chairs which lined one whitewashed wall and leaned back, pressing the pads of his thumb and index finger against his eyes. It seemed as though he had been awake for days but a quick glance at his G-Shock told him it was not yet seven pm. His heart seemed to stop when, a moment later he heard Young-soon let out a single cry, quickly muffled by, presumably, her mother’s shoulder in another tight embrace. He considered getting back to his feet and rushing in to see her, but knew he couldn’t help. The quiet, reassuring tone of the doctor’s voice floated down the hall from the private room, followed by that of her mother, before the door closed behind them, muffling the sounds from the outside world. 

Jungkook waited patiently, ignoring the nagging, itchy feeling behind his eyes, until he could no longer keep them open. Settling back, he urged himself to stay awake, wanting to be there when the door eventually opened again; to be told how the older man had been affected by the stroke which had occurred while pottering around the garden earlier in the day. Jungkook remembered observing the weather from Young-soon’s apartment window as he got out of the shower and towelled himself off; thinking that if he did not have to make a video call to his management it would have been the perfect day for a long stroll through the park. There had not been a cloud in the sky, and the layer of fog which usually filled the streets early in the day had been absent. He recalled thinking that Young-soon would be thankful; that her asthma which sometimes played up when the air was badly polluted would not bother her while the day was so bright and, suddenly, he felt a little guilty; as though his cheerful mood and optimism had somehow cursed the day, causing things to become messy and complicated. He thought of her father, who always hugged him so fondly when they met and seemed so proud of him the last time they spoke, when Jungkook revealed he was laying the groundwork for a solo album. Other than his own parents, he had never met somebody who welcomed him with such warmth and affection. It had crossed his mind more than once over the last two and a half years that he would feel honoured to call such a man his father-in-law and hoped, more than anything, that he would be okay; that the other man would get to enjoy another sun-filled day in the garden, admiring the bright variety of flowers he had so lovingly planted over the years. 

It wasn’t until he heard the loudening sounds of footsteps against the vinyl flooring and his eyes snapped open that he realised he had fallen asleep. The door to the hospital suite was wide open, and Young-soon was walking towards him, dabbing gently at her eyes with the back of her fingers. He got to his feet at once, wondering vaguely how long he had been dozing.

“How is he?” Jungkook asked, reaching out for her hands as she closed the gap between them. 

She sniffled quietly, voice trembling. “We won’t know until he wakes up.”

His heart sank and he looked over her shoulder, towards the open doorway. He couldn’t see from this angle, but he suspected from the almost-silent atmosphere, that her father was alone.

“Did your mom go home?”

She nodded. “She’s just picking up a few things. They’ve said it could be a while…”

“I’ve called your boss.” He reassured her, squeezing her fingers gently. “He said to take a few days off and call when you can.”

A frown lined her face, crumpling her features. “I didn’t even think of that…”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about work.” He murmured softly and she sighed, clearly drained and feeling at a loss of what to do next. 

“I’m worried about my mom.” She admitted. 

“Is she planning to stay at home?”

Her shoulders moved in a shrug. “I doubt she’s thought of booking anywhere. I just don’t want her to be on her own.”

He thought for a moment, realising that he had never been in a situation like this before and wondering whether he was doing the right thing; if there was more he should be doing. The thought seemed pointless, but it troubled him nonetheless and when he spoke next, he was a little cautious. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Her eyes met his, but her gaze was soft and grateful. “Don’t you have a photoshoot tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

That had been two weeks ago...but the look of worry on her face as they left the hospital together still haunted him. 

Pocketing the spare candy bar, he reached for the cup of lukewarm instant coffee he had left sitting on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and sipped it with a grimace as a young woman opened the door of the nurses station and joined the corridor to begin her evening rounds. She looked freshed out of training, her short black hair tied neatly in a bun, and cast a double glance in his direction as she walked past. Nervously, he moved the polystyrene cup from his mouth and pointed at it. 

“Am I okay to drink it here?” He asked, thinking he had been caught out. There were no signs telling him not to but, like the cell phone policy, he suspected the nurses could be pretty strict. She hesitated for a moment before nodding with a smile. 

“Yeah, sure. Just be careful not to spill any.”

It took him a moment to work out the expression on her face and realised it was a look he had seen before. For a second, she seemed to hesitate and he wondered whether she would ask for an autograph. The timing would be incredibly inappropriate, but it would not be the first time. Instead, she surprised him by straightening up, as though catching herself and realising where she was and, with an internal sigh of relief, Jungkook cut the silence. 

“I will.” He promised, before nodding in the direction of the door down the hall which was undoubtedly one she would be visiting on her round. “How is he?”

Following his eyeline, she pointed. “In there?” She turned back to him. “A lot better than he was. He’s got his appetite back…and his communication’s improving.” 

“Has he been out of bed yet?”

She shook her head. “Not on his own.” She must have seen the sunken expression on his face, because her gaze softened sympathetically. “...It just takes time.”

“I guess.” 

She thought for a moment. “The woman in there with him now…do you know her?”

“She’s my girlfriend.” Jungkook confirmed, realising as he said it that it was the first time he had told someone other than those he knew. It didn’t feel like such a big deal anymore. “He’s her father.”

“Oh.” Her mouth opened, as though desperately wanting to ask more, but she quickly closed it, remaining professional. “If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall.” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the station and started to walk away before turning back, just remembering... “Visiting hours are almost over.” She warned softly. “If you want to stay a few more minutes, I won’t tell…”

Jungkook nodded with a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

PART TWO

Three months later…

She took the towel as it was handed to her with a quiet thanks and began the work of wiping the cutlery which lay on the draining board, dropping them by type into the draw behind her as her mother washed up. She noticed the silver in the older woman’s hair which seemed to cover almost her head; a few strands of black still clinging to the strands in the centre while the edges were consumed. It had only been two and a half weeks since her last visit, but the stress of the last few months had finally started to take its toll. Her face was likewise adorned by a few extra grooves and lines which Young-soon did not remember being there at the time of her father’s hospitalisation, and she wondered vaguely whether she too was beginning to show physical signs of her worry. She had recently found a few greys of her own while brushing her hair in the bathroom mirror and had plucked them out with a quiet “fuck.”

Catching her gaze, her mother smiled softly; the crinkles at the corner of her mouth strangely loving as they both turned ahead to look out of the wide window in front of the sink. The view overlooked a small patch of decking and, beyond that, the stretch of lawn which was currently being mowed by Jungkook. He moved along the push-mower with some effort; its metal blades noisy as it cut through the grass in a straight line. Beside him, Young-soon could just about make out the shape of her father standing under the shade cast by the garden shed; his oversized stomach hanging over his shorts as he watched the young man carefully. This too seemed strange. She remembered her father as lean and trim when he entered the hospital, but it seemed that months of spending most of his time in bed had rounded him.

The two women subconsciously held their breath as Jungkook stopped mowing and reached for a potted plant which blocked his path at the edge of the grass, picking it up and discarding it gently by a row of sunflowers. 

The older woman tutted with a smile. “He’s going to ask him to move it.” She warned softly, under her breath. “You know he likes it in the shade.”

Young-soon watched and, a moment later, her father’s short, stubby finger shot out and pointed in the direction of the shadowed decking.

Her mother chuckled lightly, handing her a freshly washed plate.. “I told you…I wonder how much longer he’ll continue if your dad keeps bossing him around.”

Young-soon shrugged. “Probably all night.” She mumbled dryly, stacking the plate onto the drying rack. She sensed her mother looking at her out of the corner of her eye. 

“I hope you don’t order him around like that.” She taunted, a little too knowingly.. “He seems like he has trouble saying no.”

Her eyes rolled in reply, voice little more than a grumbling whisper. “Tell me about it…” The tone of her answer made her mother frown and, changing the subject, Young-soon nodded towards the outline of her boyfriend as he resumed mowing. “It was his idea to come and help.”

The older woman looked at her a moment longer before she too continued the task at hand; dipping her worn hands into the bowl to find the dishcloth at the bottom. “He’s a sweet boy.” She commented fondly, as though stating a fact, and Young-soon couldn’t help but sigh in agreement.  

“I know.” She murmured, finding herself looking in his direction once more as he stopped what he was doing to reach for the hem of his white shirt and lift it above his head. The day was unseasonably warm and his tanned skin glistened with sweat; his tattoos becoming visible as he discarded the fabric on the stone walkway which ran alongside the neat patch of lawn. She watched him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and could almost imagine her father’s sarcastic, and slightly chastising comment at the sight. Jungkook cast a timid grin in his direction, muttering something in reply before reaching once more for the handlebar. Despite having seen him topless almost every day for the past few months as he spent more and more time with her, it still made her heart beat rapidly in her chest. Catching herself, she shook her head and glanced down at the growing pile of plates she had missed being handed to her. 

“I caught him looking at apartments the other day.” Young-soon said, ignoring the churning, fluttery feeling in her lower stomach. 

“Oh?” The other woman seemed interested. 

She nodded, laughing softly. “Here in Incheon...he was trying to minimise the website when I came in, but he clicked zoom instead…”

“Do you think he wants you to move in together?”

She sensed the curiosity in her mother’s voice and couldn’t help but feel guilty that she was not as entirely convinced by the idea.

“It’s a big step.” She spoke slowly. “I’m not sure if I’d want to commute.”

“It’d only be for the weekends.” Her mother reasoned, voice raising in pitch as though unable to hide her excitement. “You could stay in Seoul with your aunt.”

Young-soon pulled a face and she tutted dramatically, hiding a smile. 

“She always asks how you are…” 

“Then I’ll call her…” 

The clattering sound outside came to a halt; the mowing evidently finished and Jungkook began the task of sorting the plant pots he had shifted back to their original place, under the watchful eye of her father.

“It’s good of him to support you going part time.” Her mother eventually murmured, cutting the silence. 

“I didn’t ask him to.” She protested weakly. “But I’m glad he does.” Young-soon admitted with a small sigh. “My wages only just cover my rent.”

“You know we’d help too…” 

She shook her head sadly. “Dad’s treatment...” She argued, feeling a small hand brush her shoulder.

“You’re our only daughter.” The voice beside her was soft, reassuring. “We’ve been putting money aside for years...for when you get married…”

Her lips twisted in a small, sarcastic smile. “That’s optimistic.” 

The other woman shook her head in disagreement. “He’d make a good husband.” She reasoned, but found herself frowning a moment later when Young-soon did not answer. “You’re not sure?” 

Sighing, she admitted defeat. “I suppose he would be…” 

“Haven’t you discussed it before?” Her mother raised a questioning eyebrow. “If you want a family?”

“Once or twice...” She admitted, looking down. “But not in a while.” Glancing back through the window, she was lost in thought for a moment. “He seems fixated on this house thing...”

“It’d be nice to have you closer.” Her mother’s tone seemed hopeful. “Your dad would appreciate it too.”

Young-soon nodded. “I’m glad he’s getting better.”

“They want him back in next week to run some more tests.” 

Her stomach sank. “You didn’t say…”

“It’s just precautionary. They don’t want him to exert himself too much. And he has a new diet plan. No red meat whatsoever.”

Young-soon’s lips curled in a guilty smile and she eyed her mother playfully. “He won’t like that.”

“I told him I’d try it too.” The older woman laughed quietly. “But he doesn’t know about the dried pork in the cupboard.”

“You rebel.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by a small knock on the kitchen door which opened onto the garden. They both turned in unison to look towards the doorway as Jungkook’s face appeared in the frame, his forehead shimmery with perspiration. 

“Hi…” He waved, a little out of breath. Young-soon suspected some of the plant pots were heavier than they looked and hadn’t been moved in years. He looked past her, directing his question at her mother. “He asks where you keep the weed killer.” He blushed, a little embarrassed to be following such an errand. 

“In the same place I’ve kept it for thirty six years.” The older woman called cheerfully, voice full of sarcasm.  

The young man looked from her to his girlfriend, who seemed more than amused, before nodding curtly, anticipating he would end up rewording the instructions so as to not frustrate the other man any further.“Alright, thanks...” He gave another timid wave, before disappearing back through the doorway, coming into view a moment later as he joined the stretch of lawn and walked over to the man now sitting in a deck chair. Young-soon and her mother both watched Jungkook open the garden shed and duck under the low-hanging door frame to delve into its depths. He reammerged a moment later, clutching a bright green bottle. 

“He cheated on me.” Young-soon suddenly said, cutting the silence. 

“What?” The low, emotionless tone of her daughter’s voice masked the meaning for a moment and her smile faded as she turned to face her. 

“Jungkook.” She sighed softly, pulling her eyes from her boyfriend’s silhouette to look her mother in the eye. “He cheated...a while back.”

The woman opposite opened her mouth, lips flailing for a moment, before pressing them tightly together; eyebrows knitting in a frown. “With who?” She asked softly, confused. 

Young-soon shrugged. “I don’t know.” She admitted, suddenly feeling pathetic. “He doesn’t either. It was at a party.”

The older woman was stunned into silence, eyes roaming over her daughter’s face as though trying to read more into the situation, but finding nothing more than what was already said. “I’m surprised.” She murmured after a moment, wanting to say more, but unable to find the right words. 

“So was I…” Young-soon admitted, turning back to finish the drying. Jungkook was, unsurprisingly, sprinkling liquid into the cracks between the decking, targeting the long, ugly-looking flowers which had started to sprout through the slits of wood while her father had been in hospital. 

Although there were a few stray items of crockery still submerged in the soapy water, her mother ignored them, instead watching her daughter carefully as Young-soon slotted the last few plates into the remaining gaps on the drying rack. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She quietly asked.

Young-soon shrugged feebly. “I didn’t know how I felt…” A frown formed on her face as she watched the young man stride back down the garden and kneel softly beside a plant pot, reaching for the small sack of soil which lay beside it. She shook her head, backtracking. “I was ashamed. Should I have been more mad?” 

Her question was directed more to herself than the woman opposite and her mother was once more silent for a few moments, before speaking up. “Has he told you he’s sorry?”

She nodded, letting out a small, humourless laugh. “He begged my forgiveness for a year.” There was a moment of hesitation before the continued, a hint of residual pain in her voice, as though unearthing old wounds. “But that doesn’t mean it’s right...what he did.” 

The voice which came from beside her was beyond tender; understanding. “Of course it doesn’t.” Her mother agreed. “But things aren’t always perfect.”

Young-soon turned to look at her, gathering herself together. “Does it change your opinion of him?” She asked, realising that she was a little anxious for the anwer. 

“As he is right now?” Her mother looked through the window, watching him for a moment. “He’s potting begonias in your father’s old gardening hat…” She commented, telling the other woman all she needed to know. 

Surprisingly relieved, her shoulders dropped and she wiped her damp hands on the towel, running it across her fingers. “I just needed to tell someone.” She confessed quietly, glancing back towards the garden, eyes fixing steadily on the figure kneeled in the distance. “Before we move in together.”

“Do you feel better?” Her mother asked.

“No…” She admitted with a small shrug. “But I can’t hold onto it forever.”

“No, you can’t…” The woman agreed, falling quiet. Young-soon watched her dip her hands back into the now lukewarm water and reach for the chopsticks which had fallen to the bottom of the bowl. “So you’ve made up your mind? About the move?” 

Young-soon nodded, unable to stop herself from feeling bashful. “I think I did, just now.”

“That’s good.” Her mother whispered, relieved to hear her daughter sounding more like herself again. The confession still played on her mind, but it seemed the younger woman had worked things out for herself. “I’m glad you told me.” She confirmed gently. “I can’t believe you got so grown up…”

Young-soon rolled her eyes, but felt her stomach grow warm at the pride evident in the woman’s voice. “My twenties are far behind me mom…”

“Your dad still sees you as his little girl.” Her mother said fondly, nodding towards the garden where the older man was seen to be shuffling forward in his chair and reaching for Jungkook’s outstretched hands as he was pulled steadily to his feet. “Let’s just keep this between us.” She said gently, pressing her lips together tightly. 

Young-soon nodded silently, watching the two men walk, side by side, across the garden. Her father was helped along by the cane, as well as the reassuring grasp of Jungkook’s hand as he accompanied him, matching his slow pace as they joined the shaded decking. 

“Looks like they’re nearly done.” Her mother observed, gaze softening at the sight. It had been a hard few months, but she was relieved her husband was well enough to walk again. “Go and ask if they want something to drink. They both look like they need a lie down.”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

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[watchathon]

Stitch Day Special: Lilo & Stitch

In case you’re finding this post just by browsing the tags I’ve used for this post, this is the Watch-a-Thon, a blog where I’m hoping to watch an episode of a show every one-to-two days, with a short blog post where I give my thoughts on what I’ve just seen. Each new point starts with a hyphen and a bolded first word.

- Like so. 

But today? Well, today I’ve got an extra-special post in the wings about a movie, one of my favorite Disney movies, starring my absolute favorite Disney character: Lilo & Stitch!

- I like the variation on the Disney logo. That is the kind of stuff that they just couldn’t do with their new big fancy CGI logo. 

- No clue why Jumba tried to deny that he created an experiment. I don’t much mind since it led to a funny joke, but c’mon, evil genius, you should be smart enough to plead guilty.

- “I would never, ever... make more than one.” *glances meaningfully in the direction of the series*

- “What is that monstrosity...?” He’s a cute widdle fluffball, that’s what he is!

- “Meega nala kweesta!” Canonically, this translates to “I want to destroy”, but that seems a little lukewarm for the reaction he got. Maybe a looser translation is in order...

There could be an entire aristocrats joke in those three words. The whole script to Batman v Superman. The opening notes to “Never Gonna Give You Up”...

Or maybe just “bitch”.

- Blood work is a lot different in space...

- Weird to imagine given the rest of the franchise, but Gantu was once a respected captain of the galactic federation.

- It’s easy to perceive Stitch as a dumb brute, but he’s pretty smart. He connected the dots all on his own, within minutes of his imprisonment, that if the guns are locked onto his DNA, he can use his saliva to trick them. Jumba wasn’t kidding when he boasted of his experiment’s intelligence.

- And not only was Gantu a captain, Pleakley was an expert on the planet Earth. Weird, innit...?

- “Are [humans] intelligent?” “No.” An exchange that only hurts more with every year.

- Love the implication that Pleakley was just suggesting several different relatives to assist with the capture of Stitch from when they were on the deck up until they got to the prison where Jumba was held.

- Now this is what we (or rather TVTropes) call an establishing character moment. A fish floats by holding a sandwich in its mouth, implying (soon confirming) that Lilo was the one to give it the sandwich, before rushing to the hula practice that she was late for, stopping to take a picture of a tourist along the way.

- And then after she arrives at hula practice, she explains that she had to give Pudge the fish a peanut butter sandwich because he controls the weather.

- No clue why the other girls are disgusted by Scrump. I always wanted a Scrump when I was a little lass.

- “Did you ever kill anyone?” Lilo asks the right questions.

- Nani, y’could’ve avoided this if you’d given a thumbs up instead...

- I don’t get the glare Cobra gives Nani after Lilo says that her friends need to be punished. Voodoo isn’t a failure of parenting. In many cases, at least...

- Licking Nani, growling after her capture, Lilo already has a lot in common with Stitch.

- Lucky that Lilo is such a quirky kid. The scene (semi-)explaining why she takes pictures of tourists was deleted, but it doesn’t feel like anything is missing because she already has a few habits that just plain inexplicable, like feeding Pudge, practicing voodoo with a pickle jar...

- Lilo wishing for an angel because of how lonely she is, that’s a sad moment. But also kinda funny in hindsight after she sarcastically names Stitch’s love interest Angel in the series.

- Lord give me the undisturbed...ness, of that frog who watched Stitch get run over by several trucks and only tilted its head.

- If they thought Stitch was dead, why did they keep it in the shelter? I mean, Lilo would probably adopt a dead dog, but she’s the outlier.

- I like how Jumba programmed, as part of Stitch’s destructive tendencies, an urge to steal everybody’s left shoe.

- You can just about pinpoint the moment where Stitch’s heart drops at learning that he’s on an island with no major cities.

- Just occurred to me that the badness level is red, and Stitch’s evil counterparts in the series (627 and Leroy) are both red.

- Ah, David. One of the best Disney love interests, mostly because he isn’t entirely a love interest. There is a mutual attraction, but Nani just isn’t ready for that with everything going on in her life, and David respects that and is happy to be a friend.

- I like how everyone except Lilo heavily suspects that Stitch isn’t a dog. 

- Ohhh, the thought of Stitch having drank coffee. I mean, I’d love to see it, but it’d be Hell for Nani.

- Stitch looks just plain adorable with a lei.

- Well, Lilo, you did tell Stitch he should create something. And he did, he just destroyed his creation afterward.

- Pleakley is a gender-nonconforming icon.

- The first time we see Stitch doing something without even the intention of destroying anything is when he finds the book about the Ugly Duckling. It’s clear that he’s fascinated just by looking at it. And when Lilo explains the story? It resonates with him. Or, well, perhaps he wants it to resonate with him.

- I wish I had an evil koala dog that played records.

- Are we sure that “Meega nala kweesta” means “I want to destroy”? Maybe it means “I was born to dance”, ‘cause Stitch learns about dancing and in less than a minute he’s already an expert.

- I imagine this montage, or slightly earlier, would be when that deleted scene of Lilo trolling the obnoxious racist tourists originally came into play. And I like this scene, but, I do wish that scene hadn’t gotten cut. And I wish that they fully animated it and inserted it into the movie like Warner Bros did with The Iron Giant.

- Nothing cheers me up more than this scene of Stitch and his newfound family going surfing. And especially since Stitch is aquaphobic. He’s very much aware that he cannot swim, and likely wouldn’t survive if he fell off the board into the ocean. But even he eventually gets into the spirit of it, asks Lilo himself to go surfing, and enjoys a nice bonding moment with his family. And David.

- Of course Jumba and Pleakley had to ruin a perfectly sweet moment.

- And so we transition from a heartwarming wholesome moment, to a heartbreaking tearful moment. You can just see Nani holding back tears as she says that she needs to take Lilo home. 

As for Stitch, David probably didn’t even realize that Stitch could understand him when he said that Lilo and Nani had a chance until Stitch came along. But Stitch did understand, and he’s visibly hurt by the idea. He always wanted to destroy, but in this moment, he’s ashamed of how he might have destroyed Lilo’s family.

- And the Ugly Ducking metaphor comes back, when in this moment, as Stitch is coming back to a family that he fears he may have ruined, he sees a lone duck... before that duck is followed by a big family of ducklings.

- Lilo says that Stitch cries at night. So, it would seem that even before he completely learned how to be nice, Stitch wasn’t entirely emotionless.

- This whole act of the film is heart-wrenching. First Nani gets confirmation that she and Lilo will be separated, then Stitch starts to fear that he may have caused it. Then because of that? Stitch leaves, taking only the Ugly Duckling book with him. And he can only see in himself the page of the Duckling, lost and crying.

- Then Jumba tells Stitch, who’s already in a bad place emotionally, that he was made to destroy, has no family, and could never have one.

- I don’t want to think about what happened to that chainsaw.

- There’s a certain feeling that comes up in the middle of this fight scene, where you realize that a house is being destroyed, a house belonging to a family that was very much at risk of separation. And you realize that this will only hurt their case beyond any repair.

- If the past day hadn’t been bad enough, Stitch is told by his best friend Lilo that he ruined everything, and to get away.

- And so Nani really does have her sister taken away. Now, taken away by aliens is a lot different than taken away by social services. It’s worse. This way Nani knows that Lilo definitely won’t get a loving family, and Nani will definitely never see her again.

- The confusion is visible on Jumba and Pleakley when Stitch goes and comforts Nani with a quote about family. All they know about Stitch is that he was made to destroy. And then, once he’s captured, he does just about the opposite.

- “Ih.” To this day I sometimes say Ih on reflex when asked a yes-or-no question. Guess I watched this movie way too many times as a kid, huh? ...I regret nothing.

- Originally, the big red plane-looking thing was supposed to just be a plane, and it would’ve flown through a city. And it was changed because it was too soon after 9/11. But me personally, I think the big red thing is real cool, and I like it flying through the valleys.

- “Stitch is unconscious.” I like that Jumba calls Stitch by his name here. In the series, he always calls Stitch “626″ but his name is Stitch. And I like the rare occasion when that’s respected by the mad genius who created him.

- I want to believe that Stitch dodged that laser for the sake of the frog he was holding more than for his own sake. Stitch is strong enough that a few moments later, he survives an explosion of a whole truck that he’s lying on top of.

- Stitch proudly calling himself “cute and fluffy” is another thing I just love. Might be reading too much into it, but I like that he can call himself by those descriptors and still have total confidence in his ability to kick Gantu’s patookie.

- My favorite scene in the movie, and the scene I took the picture from.

Stitch corrects the Grand Councilwoman about his name. And when he’s told that he needs to go in the ship (the implication being that he’ll be punished like he was meant to be at the beginning), he doesn’t rebel or try to escape. He only politely asks that he be allowed to say goodbye.

He explains that his family is “little and broken, but still good”, both explaining it to the councilwoman and reassuring Lilo and Nani.

This is the ultimate display of how Stitch has grown. And he grew because, despite what Jumba said, Stitch could find, and did find, the one true place he belonged: With a good, loving family.

- The Grand Councilwoman is clearly remorseful that they’ll have to separate Stitch from his family, but she can’t bend the law for this one case. And she doesn’t, but it just so happens that, legally speaking, Lilo owns Stitch. And, well, what self-respecting Grand Councilwoman would steal a child’s property?

- A lot of people (including middle-school me) say that the stuff with Stitch and the aliens get in the way of the story of Lilo and Nani. I disagree. These two stories are intertwined, both about people wanting to stay with the family where they know they belong. I just couldn’t, at all, imagine one without the other.

- Now this is the kind of ending I love. It’s become common for animated movies, sequels in particular, to end on the two main characters getting separated. But here? Stitch is now a definitive part of the family, and won’t be separated from them anytime soon. Anime? What anime?

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I guess I’ll be doing this on the rare occasion I cover movies...?

Anyway, this is a great movie. A modern classic. And one of very few things that doesn’t just hold up from when I was a kid, it gets better. When I was a tiny kid, I was only interested in the space aliens. When I was in my early teens, I thought the aliens were kiddy stuff. 

But nowadays, I can truly appreciate it. I can appreciate how both aspects are vital to the movie. Lilo and Stitch are both equally important. You can’t have one without the other.

And most of all, I can appreciate the story of Stitch (as well as Jumba and Pleakley) finding a family, and Lilo (as well as Nani) saving theirs from being torn apart.

Lilo & Stitch brings me to tears of both joy and sadness every time I watch it. And I guarantee I’ll be watching it many more times in the future.

...Does it still count as a Stitch Day special if I’m posting after midnight? No, probably not. I thought I’d only take two hours, then I took four and a half. Guess that means I had more thoughts than I thought I did!

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

The events of Biogenesis. Mulder learns the truth about Diana.

This is chapter 14, to go back to the beginning click here.

Chapter 14: The Betrayal

THE WATERGATE APARTMENTS

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JULY 1999

It’s over.

It was truly all over.

Diana sat alone in her apartment with the copy of Native American Beliefs and Practices that Spender had given her months ago in the hospital. She’d read it cover to cover multiple times, and often turned to it in times of confusion and hopelessness. It seemed she had little to live for anymore and whenever she felt that way her mind always crept back to the work.

The savior this book promised hadn’t turned out to be Gibson Praise. It hadn’t been Cassandra Spender. So who could it be?

Not only did the work feel particularly hopeless at this point, but having any kind of future with Fox felt so, as well. As each day passed Diana knew there was nothing to be done to win him back; short of kidnapping him, brainwashing him and somehow forcing his heart to feel something it didn’t, she was out of options.

She wondered why, if Fox were truly in love with Agent Scully, he hadn’t done anything about it. And why hadn’t Agent Scully? What exactly was holding them back?

She thought about her own past, and how she’d avoided romantic entanglements like the plague until Fox had come along. Even now, she couldn’t explain it; it was just something that had happened. Maybe there really was no explanation for why nothing was happening between Fox and Agent Scully either. If there was a reason, she’d probably never know it.

Alone in her thoughts, her cell phone buzzed from the pocket of her jacket, which was strewn across the arm of her couch. She dug around and looked at the caller ID.

Fox.

“Hello? Fox?” she said, answering after the fourth ring.

A familiar voice answered, but it wasn’t the one she expected. “I’m sorry, he can’t come to the phone right now.”

Diana felt her stomach drop. “...Alex?!” She hadn’t spoken to him since the fertility clinic.

“Your boy isn’t looking so good.” She heard a rustle, then moaning she couldn’t deny was Fox. She could hear him whimpering in the background, in a clear state of distress. “ Scully… Scully…” she could hear him saying. “Fucking Krycek…”

Fucking Krycek was right. What the hell was going on?

“Looks like Mulder wants to be where the action is,” Alex said cryptically. “Although I think you should come get him before somebody else finds him.”

“Alex, what action? What are you talking about? What is going on?” She could hear Fox mumbling “Scully” over and over. She couldn’t decide if she was more hurt or annoyed.

“I’m thinking maybe I called the wrong person,” Alex said, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “Maybe I should have called Agent Scully instead.”

“No!” she responded immediately. “Tell me where you are.”

“American University, southwest stairwell of the biology building.” The phone clicked off, and she was on her way.

When she arrived she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her. Fox was curled up into the fetal position and grabbing his head, wincing in pain. His cell phone was next to him, crushed beyond repair.

“Scully...” he was moaning, and every time the name escaped his lips it pained her. “I need Scully.”

“Fox, it’s me, it’s Diana,” she said. She bent down and touched his shoulder.

“Scully…”

She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t Scully, she couldn’t be Scully. But she could tell he was in pain and she wanted to help him.

“We should get you to see a doctor,” she suggested. She realized as the words came out how stupid they sounded, considering the only thing he’d asked for since she’d arrived had been, in fact, a doctor. But she couldn’t bring herself to call the woman she knew he was in love with.

“I just need to go home, I have to rest,” he sputtered, and she nodded, knowing that was something she could do. She helped him up slowly and they made their way down the stairs, across the campus and to her car without drawing any unnecessary attention.

When they arrived at his place she dug his keys out of his pocket and helped him inside. It was unusually hot in his apartment and she wondered if perhaps his air conditioner was broken. They made their way into his bedroom.

“What are you feeling? Can you describe it?” she asked him.

“I don’t know, I just… my head,” he said as he stumbled towards his bed. He started to take his shirt off and winced again, so she helped him undress down to his undershirt and he got into bed. “I’m hearing voices.”

This gave her pause. “Voices? What kind of voices?”

“They come and go,” he explained. “It’s hard to describe. I think… I think I feel a bit better now.”

“Just relax, Fox,” Diana said as she pulled the comforter over him. “I’m going to get you some water. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

She searched his kitchen for the glasses, which he’d moved since she last used his kitchen. The tap blasted lukewarm, surely from the blazing hot weather, and as she watched the stream of water swirl around the sink, waiting for it to cool, her mind raced.

Voices. He’s hearing… voices?

She might have thought nothing of it if she hadn’t just been thinking about Gibson Praise and his abilities, and her search for the one person who was going to save humanity. But now her wheels were spinning wildly.

Eventually the water cooled and she filled the glass, taking a dish towel and dampening it. She returned to his bedside and he drank the water, sighing and sinking back into his pillow. “Thank you for helping me get home.”

“Of course,” she said, and held the damp cloth to his brow. He immediately moved his own hand to hold it, pushing hers away. She became aware in the moment he had no intention of letting her touch him in any intimate way and although he was unwell, although she suspected it was over between them in any event, it still stung.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“I think I just want to sleep,” he said.

“You won’t even tell me how this started?”

He hesitated, and she wondered briefly if he was deciding how much to reveal. Things had been awkward the last time they’d seen each other, but it had been purely personal. She had no reason to suspect he was suspicious of her.

“Scully and I were investigating a case, and I don’t know exactly how, but I’m having some kind of reaction to… an object we found.” He winced again, every word probably causing him pain.

“And this object didn’t affect Agent Scully?” she asked.

“No, she…” he trailed off, again hesitant to reveal more, but seemed to change his mind. “I think it’s only happening to me. I was exposed to something years ago, something… alien.”

Ten years ago she might have been a bit more skeptical of this revelation. But she knew this was all quite real, and that by the very nature of Fox’s work, exposure was entirely possible.

Just then his phone rang. Fox turned over and made no effort to get it so she answered it.

“Hello?”

“Yes… I’m looking for Fox Mulder…? ” It was, of course, Agent Scully. She sounded confused and slightly irked, and Diana still found her behavior amusing in spite of everything.

“Hold on, please.” She held out the phone, and only because she wanted to annoy the other woman, she added, “...Fox?”

He took the phone and she sat silently next to him on the bed, listening to his end of the conversation. They were arguing about something, probably the very X-File he’d been just referring to. Fox didn’t seem to mind what Diana heard and it was a small comfort. But then she heard words that piqued her interest.

...Artifact...

...Extraterrestrial…

...Genesis...

These words weren’t uncommon in the files themselves; she’d gone through most of them during her tenure in the basement. But used together… her mind continued to reel.

This artifact, whatever it was, had been drawn to Fox. Why? Was it truly the source of whatever was causing him distress?

“Well then, go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully,” Fox grumbled into the phone.

He was exhausted and Diana knew his head hurt, and she wanted to enjoy his annoyance with his partner but she couldn’t. Maybe it was the familiarity with which he’d dismissed Agent Scully; despite his frustration Diana knew he wasn’t really angry.

Fox handed her the receiver and turned his back to her, covering his head with his comforter and seeking sleep. His body language indicated clearly that he had no more use for her; she’d served her purpose this afternoon.

It was in this moment, this final rejection by the man she loved, that a strange feeling came over her: that the timing of all of this had been preordained somehow, driven by destiny. Any nagging doubts that had clouded her mind and perhaps her better judgment over the past few months were drifting away like sand through a sieve, and she felt her old reliable modus operandi creep over her like camouflage.

The work.

Could Fox himself be the very person the Company had been searching for, for years?

She wasn’t stupid, and she hadn’t been a believer in fate her entire life for nothing. Fox had to be the one. Very suddenly, she’d never been more certain of anything. And she remembered what Spender had told her. The three of them seemed to indeed have been thrown into the mix together, just as he’d said, for a singular purpose: to finish the work.

If Fox knew, if he only knew what he was, how important he was, surely he would agree to what needed to be done. To save the world. When he came out the other side a hero, he’d understand.

It occurred to her she was at a crossroads. Her first instinct was to turn Fox over to Spender. But when she thought of Fox ending up in the hands of the man he hated, the man who’d controlled so many aspects of her own life for years, she hesitated.

She could warn Fox, tell him what was going on. Let him decide what to do. She’d never fooled herself into believing she could keep her deception from him forever, but she had entertained the hope that if he did learn of it, he might understand. That when he learned everything she’d been doing, the sacrifices she’d made, and the reasons she’d made them, it would all be worth it in the end for the truth.

For his truth.

She stood to leave his bedroom, knowing what she needed most desperately of all right now was time. She was due to check in with Spender and the unanticipated distraction of the fox had kept him waiting. Spender didn’t like to wait.

She clicked the receiver back on, dialing. She then removed her jacket as she waited for an answer.

“Yes?”

“I received a call from Agent Mulder this evening, he was in a particular state of distress.”

“Distress? Why?” Spender asked.

“I don’t know why,” she lied. “But I’m staying here until I find out.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She hung up the phone, knowing she didn’t have long to make a decision. Her mind was reeling with possibilities, choices and consequences and feelings and it was all wrapped up in what she now suspected Fox could discern with his newly forming powers. If she wasn’t careful, he might learn everything. And there would be no stopping it.

There were questions she needed to ask him, important questions that would ascertain her beliefs and help her make the right decision. Perhaps there was a way to keep his mind off her thoughts and on something else. She began to undress, a strong suspicion coming over her that between his half-conscious state and her half-naked body in his line of sight she could easily get the information she needed.

Fox was a smart man, he always had been. But he was still a man. And from everything she’d witnessed over the past few months, everything she’d known about him since the night she met him, he could be incredibly stupid around women.

She’d just pulled her shirt off when she rounded the corner and found Alex sitting stock still in a chair in the corner of the living room.

“Jesus- ” she dared a glance into Fox’s bedroom. Still not moving. She closed his bedroom door quietly. “Alex!” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I had no idea you two were still so cozy,” Alex said.

“What, are you jealous?” she challenged, hands on her hips, standing there in her bra.

“No,” he said smoothly, and she believed him. It didn’t matter. She’d never cared before, and she certainly didn’t intend to start now. “It just irks me when I’m the last one to know something.”

“There’s nothing to know,” she said, bristling. “He’s sick and he’s resting.”

“Ah,” he said, with a smirk on his face she found all too familiar. “Is this ‘nothing to know’ why you’re undressing in his apartment?”

She shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest. “It’s hot, and I’m getting comfortable. I’m going to be here for a while. As if it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business,” he said. “Especially if you have a personal relationship with the guy who’s quickly becoming the most important man on the planet.”

It occurred to her then that Alex was the link between Fox and Spender she hadn’t anticipated. She wondered how he knew about Fox, his current condition, any of it, then the answer came to her. Skinner. Alex had had Skinner under his control for months now, and if AD Skinner knew, Alex knew.

And if Alex knew, Spender certainly wouldn’t be far behind.

“It’s over between us,” she said flatly, not wanting to believe it.

“Doesn’t look over,” he indicated, his eyes raking over her body. “Surely you wouldn’t be… so foolish as to put the project at risk for the sake of your personal pleasures?”

A line straight from Spender’s playbook. She shook her head. The nerve.

“What are you doing here, Alex?” she asked. She stole a glance back towards the bedroom where Fox was snoozing away. “You have to go. If he finds us here together-“

“Then… what? He’ll know you’ve been sleeping with the enemy?" He smirked. "Seems like he’s the one who’s been doing that.”

She drew her lips into a tight line, wanting to say no more. Wanting to reveal no more. And she felt oddly protective of Fox. “I can handle him, Alex. Please go.”

Alex stood and moved towards the door. “I know you know what he is, what he's become. And the old man’s going to know now, too.”

A chill ran up her spine at this; that her suspicions were in fact correct, and she wasn't the only one who knew about it. Fox was in danger now that was beyond her control.

“Think carefully about your next move, Diana.”

He took one long look at her, then at Fox’s bedroom door, and as he left the apartment she had the crippling realization he had taken all of her options with him.

***

Fire. His brain was on fire.

It had been smoldering since Diana found him in that stairwell and brought him home. What he remembered was bits and pieces: her helping him to his feet, just barely. Walking, driving; it was all a blur. He didn’t even remember calling her. Had he called her? He only wanted Scully. But here was Diana, walking with him through the door of his apartment once again.

“Fox, what happened? What’s wrong?” he could hear her asking him.

“My head…” he answered, holding it with his hands. The pain was intense. “Before, I was hearing… voices, loud voices…”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “When did this start? Do you know what’s causing it?”

He wanted to talk to Scully; that’s who he needed to tell. But Diana was here and she had been on the X-Files, after all. And she wanted to help. “I don’t know, I…” He wasn’t sure how much he should reveal, but he knew she would probably believe him. So he told her.

Diana was silent, looking at him hard, and he wondered what she was thinking. The aural dissonance he’d experienced in Skinner’s office had been returning in fits and starts, but right now there was nothing.

She wasted no time getting him undressed and into bed, and he was in such pain he let her. He remembered asking for Scully as he drifted in and out of consciousness, knowing she could somehow figure this out, that she was the only one who could help him.

When Scully did call, he could immediately detect the annoyance in her voice.

“Mulder, where are you?”

The question was pointed, but it wasn’t the question she was really asking. She’d called him at his apartment, not on his cell phone. She knew exactly where he was.

“I’m here. I’m resting.” I’m doing exactly what you asked of me.

“Who answered the phone?”

It wasn’t lost on him that her first questions, those that would typically inquire after his health, were instead focused on the woman answering his phone. The woman whose voice she must have recognized.

Fucking Diana, answering his phone. She was too comfortable here, and he’d allowed it. He was more annoyed with himself than anything else, but his head hurt too much to care right now.

“I’m home. It’s okay.” He’d promised Scully that Diana’s name wouldn’t come out of his mouth again. This was awkward enough, and there were more pressing matters.

He wanted to tell Scully about his condition, but she clearly hadn’t been just patronizing him when she told him she’d find the artifacts. She’d actually found one. She was in New Mexico, hours away, and he’d have to wait to see her again anyway. He didn’t want her rushing back on his account; not when they were so close to the answers they’d sought for so long, again.

What she described didn’t surprise him, however; somehow he’d known the truth ever since he saw that artifact. There was something inside him that had reawakened, and he knew not what exactly, but it was most definitely alien. It had to be. This wasn’t a theory, or a hunch. He felt it deep down inside him; he knew it in his soul the same way he knew he was human, the same way he knew the sky was blue. It was simply the truth.

Scully, however, didn't have the luxury of being in his position.

“Mulder, that is science fiction. It doesn't hold a drop of water.”

“You're wrong,” he said. “It holds everything. Don't you see?”

See it, Scully. See.

“All the mysteries of science- everything we can't understand or won't explain, every human behaviorism; cosmology, psychology, everything in the X-Files, it all owes to them… it's from them.”

“Mulder, I will not accept that. It is just not possible.”

They were dancing again, and through it all, through everything they’d been through in the past several months, it felt wonderfully familiar. And as frustrating as the dance could be, he loved it now more than ever.

I’ll always want you around to prove me wrong.

“Well, then, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully.”

His head pounded as he handed the phone back to Diana and dove back underneath the covers, desperate for sleep. He hoped she’d take the hint and leave. It felt as if his mind wouldn’t rest, couldn’t rest.

Tunguska. This all went back to what had happened to him in Russia, he knew it. Whatever vaccine he’d been given had merely rendered the microbial alien life inside him dormant and the artifact must have had reawakened it. It was all so clear to him now.

He needed to see Scully in person. When she saw him, the state he was in, she would have to believe. She couldn’t prove him wrong this time, he was sure about that. But he also knew she’d go to the ends of the earth for the truth if she had to.

That truth was inside him now. She would have to believe.

He squeezed his eyes shut and time passed; he was vaguely aware of voices in the living room, which was odd, considering he’d thought he was alone with Diana. But his aural dissonance had been coming and going so frequently it was difficult for him to discern which voices were real. In any event, the silence soon returned and he could feel sleep approaching at last.

***

He awoke dazed, distracted, and in pain. For a moment he forgot where he was; the room was dark, only dim lamplight from his living room illuminating the form of Diana sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Fox…” she whispered.

“Where’s Scully…?” he moaned, rolling over, his back to her. “Please, go.”

“Tell me about this artifact, Fox… let me help you, please.”

“I don’t...” he said, pain reverberating within each word. “I want Scully…”

He heard her sigh. “It’s never going to work with her, Fox. You have to see that.”

Besides the fact that he was in no state to navigate this love triangle at the moment, he knew it was a fool’s errand in any case.

“I know her, Diana," he mumbled into his pillow. "You don’t.” She didn’t get it, she never would. He didn’t want to bother trying. “Please, just let me rest.”

She was silent for a minute, and then suddenly, as if switched on by his rejection, the voices returned.

“...Must deliver him to the facility…”

“...It has to be Fox…”

“...The work..”

“What did you say?” he asked, suddenly fully at attention.

“I didn’t say anything.” He couldn’t rest. He rolled over in the bed, gripping his temples in pain.

“Fox?”

“...He knows, he has to…too late…”

“...I have no choice…”

“...So many years…”

“Fox..? Are you alright?” she asked. And what had occurred in Skinner’s office suddenly became clear to him.

He was reading her mind. He could hear her thoughts.

“Who was here before?” he asked her. “I heard voices in the living room. Were you by yourself?”

“No.” he heard, plain as day. But her lips didn’t move.

“Yes. Of course,” she lied. “What kind of question is that?”

Tell me it isn’t true, tell me…

He sat up in the bed, and slid out, backing up against the wall.

“It’s starting… the artifact… he doesn’t suspect…” the sound of her voice came from closed lips.

He shook his head, it can't be... The trust he’d given her over the past few months, the trust he’d always had in her as long as he’d known her… had any of it been real? Had any of it been true?

Mulder pressed his hand to his temple.

“not possible… gain his trust… Alex...” Her thoughts continued, uncontrollable.

Alex? Could she mean Krycek? Had he been here, in this apartment? Was she involved with him?

And if she was… could that mean… Jesus, he’d been so stupid ...

“You’re lying,” he said firmly. “Someone was here. Why were you talking to Alex Krycek?”

She began scrambling, climbing off the bed. Through his haze he could see her standing there, clad only in her skirt and a bra. “Fox, you’re not well. I think I need to take you to the hospital.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he said firmly.

Liar, she’s a liar, he thought. After everything, Scully had been right. And he’d ignored every sign, every indication. Pushed aside every shred of her evidence because he wanted to believe.

She reached for him. “Fox, please…”

“Why is it so hot in here?” He was sweating; from the pain, from the betrayal, from what else he didn’t know, but he felt like hell. “Why are you here?”

“You’re not yourself, Fox.”

“Where’s Scully?” He had a sudden urge to locate the only person he knew he could trust. The only person he should have trusted all along. He’d wanted to believe that Diana was at the very least his friend, that she was worthy of his trust. He’d wanted to believe it so badly he’d become blind. Why did this keep happening to him? Why was everyone in his life such a fucking disappointment?

Everyone except Scully, he corrected himself.

He wanted to scream, to rage at the injustice, but he had no one to blame but himself. He’d broken all of his own rules for Diana and now all he had left was shame and regret.

Trust no one.

“Why are you here, Diana? Why are you back in Washington? Was this entire thing a setup? Just to get to me, to get to the X-Files?”

“No, of course not…” She looked afraid of him, and he could hear her conflict.

“I never wanted any of this, you have to believe me…”

“Spender…”

“Tell me the truth! ” he shouted at her. “Are you working for him? For that black lunged sonofabitch?!”

He heard her searching her mind for something to say, but no words were forthcoming. It didn’t matter in any event, Mulder heard it all. The whole truth. Everything she’d hidden from him since the day they met.

“The Company… all along… the truth… the Syndicate…”

“Fox, I…”

He shook his head, the cacophony getting louder and louder. The pain was unbearable. “I don’t believe this… Diana…”

“I love you.”

He fell to his knees, this unspoken declaration the last thing he heard before he passed out completely.

GEORGETOWN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JULY 1999

Scully burst through the doors of the medical facility, panicked. She’d switched flights twice, the anxiety and fear of flying completely pushed to the back of her mind in favor of the more pressing matter at hand.

Mulder’s in serious condition.

Skinner had never sounded so grave, and she worried that he hadn’t been more forthcoming over the phone. She never would have left Mulder’s side at all if she’d known he was in real danger.

The things she’d learned in New Mexico only strengthened her belief that whatever this artifact was, it held power she didn’t understand. The cosmic galactic radiation all over it indicated Mulder could be right, that whatever this artifact was, it had come from outer space. And that radiation was not only affecting Mulder, but had put Albert Hosteen in critical condition as well.

She felt a connection with the old man that was more than just sympathy; it was empathy, for she was reminded of her own cancer and how incredibly lucky she’d been to survive. Was the source of Albert’s cancer the same as hers? Could it possibly have originated from exposure to the craft: weeks and weeks of translating and handling it? It was far too coincidental not to be the case. She had no idea how much time he had left, but she sincerely hoped she’d be able to speak to him again.

And she prayed Mulder’s own prognosis was not so dire.

When Skinner grabbed her hand a fear took root that continued to grow as she saw Mulder locked in that room all by himself. Then that fear turned into dread. This was much worse than she’d expected.

How would she learn how to help him if she couldn’t even talk to him? If he couldn’t tell her with his own words what had happened to him? She couldn’t trust doctors; she couldn’t even trust Skinner.

And she certainly couldn’t trust Diana Fowley, whom she was not pleased at all to be confronted with once again.

“Thank you for coming,” Fowley said. “He was asking for you last night.”

Ignoring Fowley, she tried to listen to the doctor. Abnormal brain activity. No sign of stroke. She was trying to take what the doctor was saying and make sense of it, but thoughts of Diana Fowley at Mulder’s apartment again- at night, no less- irritated her to no end.

“...he’s a danger to anyone,” the doctor finished.

“Not to me,” she declared. She just wanted to be with Mulder, to see him up close. She knew he would never, ever hurt her.

“Can we speak in the hall?” Fowley interjected.

Scully turned to look at her, never before having wanted to punch anyone in the face so fervently. “About what?”

It was disconcerting enough that Mulder would have Fowley at his place again after everything she and Mulder had talked about over the past few weeks, but it was downright suspicious that Fowley was the last person he’d apparently spoken to before ending up in his current state. Maybe Mulder wouldn’t see it that way, even now, but Scully wouldn’t put anything past the woman at this point.

Skinner seemed to want to move the drama out of the observation room, and gently motioned for them to step out. Scully took a last look into the monitor where Mulder faced the camera and shouted directly into it. “Scully!”  

The sound of her own name had never ached so much.

When they were out in the hallway, Fowley faced Scully. “When did all this start?”

You tell me, Scully thought. Mulder seemed to go from having a slight headache to being a psych ward patient after spending time with you.

“When we took this case, when Skinner gave it to us,” she said, looking at her boss.

“What kind of case is it?” Fowley asked.

“Investigation into a murder,” Scully answered shortly.

“Of whom?”

Skinner interrupted. “The case has nothing to do with what’s happened to him.”

“Agent Scully says it does,” Fowley insisted. “Now you know my background, my previous work on the X-Files. If I can help on this case…”

Scully regarded the other woman. She had no desire to tell Diana Fowley the details of what was really going on here. What was her angle? If she truly wanted to help Mulder, why was she asking for information rather than offering it?

“Why were you with him last night?” Scully asked.

He wouldn’t lie to me. He’s finished with you. Tell me why.

“He called me. I found him in a university stairwell, he could barely speak. He said I was the only one who would believe him, about an artifact.”

The only one who would believe him, Scully repeated in her mind. Not a chance.

She’d tried Mulder’s cell phone multiple times before finally reaching him at his apartment. It had been turned off, or disconnected. It was odd, because Mulder’s cell phone was never off. But she’d brushed it aside at the time, thinking maybe in his disillusioned state he’d forgotten to charge it or left it somewhere.

He called me.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

“You’re a liar,” Scully said, venom in her voice.

She glared at the other woman, daring her to argue, fed up with these games. It was more manipulation, more posturing. It was as if Fowley had taken what little she knew of Scully and Mulder’s relationship, made a huge assumption, and called her bluff about it. But Fowley knew nothing about their relationship, nothing.

She didn’t know Scully was his one in five billion.

Skinner made to protest, but she stopped him, knowing just as she had been right about Fowley, Mulder was probably right about Skinner. No one was to be trusted, not anymore. “You’re both liars.”

She turned and strode out of the hospital, frustrated at her inability to see Mulder but determined to help him in whatever way she could. Her mind raced with thoughts of the piece of the puzzle she already had: the artifact that had caused this. It was the only thing she had to go on, and that artifact had come from the Ivory Coast.

The answers were in Africa, and she planned to find them there. She would do whatever she could to find the cure; to save him.

I’m afraid… I’m afraid to believe.

She was afraid again, but this time she was afraid not to believe. Not believing could cost her Mulder’s life.

***

Twenty two hours later, Scully found herself wandering the coast of Africa. She was exhausted, hot, and desperate. Her hair was plastered to her neck and her clothes stuck to every inch of her skin, but as the breeze whipped across her face and sand stung her eyes, she saw.

She finally saw.

The waves crashed and receded, revealing the surface of what she could only describe as an enormous spacecraft.

Dana Scully’s entire world changed in a single instant.

[ladykeane]

Bertie and Reg dress up for Halloween at Dahlia's!! and the party!!!

To the lovely Nonny who sent this, I profusely apologise if you’re not the massive weeb/animation geek that I am. But this idea stuck, and I couldn’t help myself!

Fair warning, it’s quite silly, most definitely cracky, and completely self indulgent…

There was a lesson given to me by my drama teacher at school, Mrs Irving, that has always stayed with me. The gist of her teaching was that a good actor must have a sort of dual consciousness. I suppose what she meant was that a chap should have the power to transform his mindset into that of the character he plays - and then just as easily slip back into his usual mental space, once the curtain falls. There must co-exist a Bertie-the-Wooster and Bertie-the-Prince-Hal within a single animal. Well, I suppose I have put this lesson to good use in my adult life, as I can attest that Bertie-the-Drone, Bertie-the-obedient-nephew and Bertie-the-seducer-of-certain-Jeeveses manage to be conjured at the drop of a whatsit.

A particularly surprising example of this dual consciousness wheeze occurred just recently, on the night of Aunt Dahlia’s annual Halloween bash. I suppose the lifted veil to the spirit world aided this shift of the Wooster disposish. (Well, the costume probably helped too, not to mention my dear auntie’s insistence that her party guests never drop out of character for the whole of the evening. That can make certain things a tad awkward, such as bathroom ablutions. One must ask: does Superman use the lavatory at all?)

I was given the scoop on the event by my ancestor over the phone, as I sat digesting a fourth-or-fifth slice of Reg’s birthday cake. (This year he had requested a Black Forest, and I have to say that I outdid myself. The leftover kirsch was also a boon.)

‘Super-groups?’ I asked. ‘You mean like the Travelling Wilburys?’‘No, young clot, I mean super-groups like the Avengers, Justice League, and their lycra-clad ilk. The group with the best costumes and most convincing delivery will receive a prize from your Uncle Tom and myself.’‘Ooh! And what is that?’‘For one, a cooking lesson with Anatole. Apparently he owed Reg a favour, and your man generously donated said favour to me.’I glanced an appreciative glance at my beloved, who sat perusing the W.H. Auden anthology I had given him.‘Secondly, a near-pristine Nintendo Gamecube, complete with controllers and a collection of best-selling game cartridges.’‘You mean the one you confiscated from Angela and myself? I still think that was an unfair punishment.’‘I say, it was entirely fair! Do you forget that I got stuck with the bill to clean your old headmaster’s office!? I am told that the stench of baked beans can still be detected throughout the school halls, to this very day! Anyway, I would advise you to get cracking. The competition will be stiff, I hear Angela’s little friends have been working on their costumes since August. Perhaps you and Reg could go as Batman and Robin!’‘Perhaps, auntie.’‘Well, pip-pip then. I’ve got many a fake tombstone and skeleton to haul down from the attic.’

As I hung up, Reg raised his head from his book. ‘I believe Mrs Travers has briefed you on this year’s Halloween festivities?’‘Indeed. She’s never offered a prize for the guests before. They’re real plums, at that. I reckon it would be well worth the splurge to get some first-rate togs.’‘May I ask what this year’s theme is?’‘Super-groups. By which I mean, groups of superheroes. She suggested we go as Batman and Robin! We’re already quite the dynamic duo, anyway. What d’you think?’

As I uttered these words, the Jeevesian brow began sinking south, until the look on his face chilled the lukewarm cup of tea sitting at my elbow.‘I should say not, Bertram.’‘Oh. Well… what about Danger Mouse and Penfold? You could be DM, of course.’‘I regret that I shall be unable to attend this year’s festivities. I have much to do to complete the Earl of Rowcester’s living will.’

Of all the paper-thin excuses! ‘Oh, don’t give me that Reg! What is it? You don’t care to be in the same room as all that brightly-coloured spandex? You fared just fine at last year’s “Stranger Things” soiree, and we were surrounded by a multitude of eighties fashion, at that!’(He made quite the dashing Steve Harrington, actually. Aunt Dahlia cast this Bertram as Dustin, so while I was able to tag after him all night there was an unfortunate dearth of snogging.)‘I am afraid I must insist. I do not care to be dressed in the bright, garish apparel that is requisite of superheroes.’

Given that it was the lowly rotter’s birthday, I held on to the flames that should have escaped from my nostrils. ‘Oh, very well, Reg. Have it your way.’ To ensure that none of my internal invective against him slipped past the Wooster lips, I left the flat for a sullen trudge about Mayfair.

***

That very evening, Bingo Little summoned self and several other Drones to dinner. He was in town with his husband Randy, to look for a property where they could spend their Winters. While the reports given indicated that all was spiffy within their NYC townhouse, Randy wanted to ensure that his paramour did not lose touch with his British roots. And I think I remembered him saying that his next novel was to be set in South Kensington, inspired by the likes of Richard Curtis and Hugh Grant. All rather convenient, no?

‘That Gamecube and cooking lesson with Anatole is as good as ours, lads. I have the perfect idea for our super-group.’ Here Bingo took a long sip of tea, leaving us in a state of eye-boggling suspense.‘Christ and his disciples?’ suggested Stinker.‘The Bloomsbury Group?’ queried Boko.‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?’ asked Gussie.

‘Better,’ Bingo finally replied, a rivulet of tea dribbling down his chin. ‘Do you know “Sailor Moon”?’

‘Sparkly schoolgirl with the pigtails? Yes, I recall watching the English language version with Angela sometimes. Quite a cheesy romp, that.’‘Oh, you ought to read the original manga ,’ said Boko. ‘A perfect blend of costumed superhero action and romantic high fantasy!’

For the next half hour, we were subject to Boko and Bingo giving us a full synopsis of the dratted space opera, complete with character studies, mythological references, and feminist overtones. Now, I have known my fellow Drones to sometimes possess hidden depths, but I was unsure whether this encyclopedic grasp of a Japanese super-girl-group was more of a mild pathology instead.

‘So,’ Bingo announced, ‘I believe I’ve figured out the perfect casting for each of us. I shall be Sailor Venus, of course, the soldier of love. Randy does call me his golden love god, after all.’ (Pause here for requisite retching.) ‘Gussie can be Sailor Mercury, given his general… wateriness. Boko’s love of house plants is perfect for Sailor Jupiter. And due to his spiritual calling, Stinker will be Sailor Mars, the shrine-maiden.’

I was trying to picture each of my chums kitted out in a colour coded schoolgirl costume. Perhaps we would score points for comedic effect, if nothing else.‘And what about me?’ I asked.‘Well, you’ll be our Sailor Moon, naturally.’‘Golly! I must say, Bingo, I’m quite chuffed to be given the starring role. I assume that it’s due to my former experience with drag, not to mention my theatrical prowess and general heroic gravitas.’‘Well… I suppose. It’s also because Sailor Moon is supposed to be a ditzy blonde crybaby.’‘Ah.’The judicious nods that the others gave were a tad insulting.

‘Does this mean that I’ll have to wax? ’ asked Gussie.

***

Now, if you’ve ever seen the much-celebrated cartoon, you’ll know that one of the highlights of every episode is the spangly transformation sequences, where each heroine morphs from humdrum schoolgirl into celestial warrioress. Our first go at donning the famous fuku was much less glamorous.

Boko knew a chap who knew a lass who worked at a highly-regarded fancy dress company. Apparently, many a masquerade-goer and cosplayer has raved about their beautifully crafted goods. As we trundled our way out their HQ on the tube, we were all in high hopes of scoring the perfect outfits. As it happens, the fitting session that followed made me appreciate just how inadequate the standard sizing of womens’ apparel really is.

Bingo and I had the best luck, but the costumes closest to fitting us were narrow in the shoulders and wide in the hips. Gussie managed to squeeze into one of the larger sizes, but resembled more of a wrinkly chicken sausage than a cute superheroine. (The skirt was appallingly short on him, and when he bent over to grab his phone from his bag I was quite traumatised.) Stinker, who is built akin to a silverback gorilla, utterly utterly destroyed the costume he attempted to yank on. I offered to foot the bill for that one, as a vicar’s salary can only cover so many breakages per month.

‘It’s no good, boys,’ sighed the seamstress who had patiently assisted us, ‘you’ll need to get these custom-made.’‘And how long will that take?’ asked Bingo.She put on a brave face. ‘I’ll do my best to get them ready for Halloween, but bear in mind I’ve already got a backlog of orders to finish.’‘Chin up!’ I replied. ‘I can probably ask a favour of the drag queen who did my costuming for “Legally Blonde” - Reg cut her a sweet deal with a new agent at the time. I’ll ask if she can source the shoes and wigs and things.’

A level of relief washed on to the girl’s face at this. I’d feel the same, if I were freed from the task of cobbling a pair of Stinker Pinker-sized red pumps.‘Even so, we’ll be cutting it close with this order. I doubt I’ll be done before the morning of the 31st.’‘Send me the bill for your energy drinks,’ I offered.‘It’s a deal.’

***

Time ticked on, and All Hallows Eve drew near. While I did my best not to harbour any full-on wrath against Reg at his blowing-off of the party, I couldn’t help but act a tad pipped towards him. Were lurid leotards and shiny accessories really so horrid?When he snuggled close to me on the sofa, I scooched away. When he dropped a kiss upon my map, my only response was tight-lipped disinterest. The blighter refused to compromise, so wherefore should this Wooster succumb to his entreaties? I took a lot of cold showers that week.

The big day came, and still nary a costume was yet received.‘5pm, she said,’ Boko told me, ‘and we’ll have to go and pick them up ourselves.’‘Hm, that is cutting it close. Well, bear up, old fruits! Leather Smalls will be along this arvo to do our make-up and hair.’‘Leather Smalls?’‘Didn’t I tell you? She’s part of an all-drag M People tribute act.’

If I can impart to you the experience of tubing it across suburban London in a long blonde, pigtailed wig, a full face of makeup, and masculine civvies, accompanied by four other similarly styled blokes, you probably wouldn’t doubt my claim that it was one of the more surreal experiences in my life. Halloween is not quite the big deal here that it is across the pond, so we got quite the share of wolf whistles, disapproving auntly glares, and ‘yaaaas, queen’s from our fellow travellers.

At last, at last, we arrived at Brinkley Court, freshly finished costumes in hand. The coloured lights, costumed crowd, and strains of ‘Monster Mash’ from within indicated a party already in full swing.As we entered the front door, I grabbed for the first bowl of sweets I could find, given my lowered blood sugar.‘That’s it!? Gawd, Bertie, you could have at least made an effort!’

Angela had grabbed one of the sweets from my hand and popped it in her mouth. I wasn’t quite sure who she was supposed to be, but her costume was really quite the thing.She was caked head-to-toe in light purple body paint, with a long wig in a paler shade of the same colour. A brilliant gem was affixed to her chest, and she wielded a long double-headed whip. I did not feel inclined to backtalk her.‘So who’ve you come as?’‘One of the Crystal Gems, obvs. Anyway, you need to go easy on those. Mum says that some neighbourhood bullies have been stealing sweets from the trick-or-treating kids, and she’s promised to recompense them.’‘What!?’My blood was now boiling - what lowly cad felt the need to scam helpless rugrats out of their jelly babies and smarties?

‘Oh, it’s awful,’ said Aunt Dahlia, swiping the remaining sweets from my hand and depositing them back in their bag. ‘I just saw Captain America crying his poor little eyes out, being comforted by Bucky Barnes. A whole evening’s worth of trick-or-treating swag, stolen from them by three nasty teenagers!’‘She means Thos and Edwin,’ Angela translated.‘What teenagers?’ asked Stinker.‘Some of the nastier upperclassmen from Eton, apparently. Captain America tells me that they have a reputation for bullying even the house masters and head teachers. Great brutes.’‘Rum,’ I said. ‘But, Aunt Dahlia-’‘Who?’I took in my auntie’s costume.‘But, Catwoman, hasn’t anyone tried to pull them up for it?’‘They’ve been too wily. I was told that they also egged the Emsworths’ place, running off onto Ham Common before anyone could catch them.’‘Travesty!’ cried Boko. ‘They can’t get away with this!’‘Too right!’ I said.‘Well? You lot are supposed to be the Sailor Senshi, aren’t you? You fight for love and justice, yes?’‘Er…?’‘You must transform, and thwart the damned villains!’

The Drones and I shared a look askance. ‘Um.’‘May I remind you, Sailor Moon, of the video games and French cuisine that are up for grabs for the group who best embodies their chosen superheroes?’‘Right ho. Moon Prism Power Make Up, then!’

***

We stampeded upstairs, bottlenecking on the landing, and Stinker stumbled noisily upon the top step. Into my old bedroom, and our everyday trappings were cast off in favour of our splendid, sparkly sailor ensembles.It was a bit of a muddle - the others needed help donning their padded brassieres, not to mention adjusting their skirts to preserve modesty. But after a few fumbling minutes, we were ready to go, as resplendent a team of magical girls as Brinkley Court had ever seen.

I allowed myself an indulgent linger before the full-length mirror. I really did look cute. The big pink bow was quite flattering to my proportions, and the blue skirt and collar set off my eyes nicely.‘Come on, Sailor Moon! We’ve got a contest to win!’With a flick of my pigtails, I was off.

Bursting out of Brinkley’s front door again, we charged into the gloaming. The place looks directly out over Ham Common, and on the great stretch of lawn, it did not take us long to spot the perps.

A juvenile, quivering Wallace and Gromit were surrounded by three of the largest, most grotesque teenage boys that I’d ever beheld. Though a good decade younger than myself, they looked to be twice my height and about four times my body weight. Most ghastly of all were their choices of costume: the ringleader was dressed as Pennywise the Clown, with his two lieutenants cast as Thanos and a zombie version of Napoleon Dynamite. I admit that the hint of rotten green brain showing through his blonde afro was an impressive use of make-up, but it did turn my stomach a tad.

Just before they could rip the trick-or-treat bags from the youngsters, I put a solid, heeled boot forward.‘Leave those beloved icons of childrens’ entertainment alone!’‘Hurrr,’ slurred Thanos, ‘check out the anime drag queens.’‘Wanna come party with us, girls?’ said Pennywise. ‘We got heaps of sweeties for the sweeties!’I puffed out my padded chest. ‘Never! I stand for love and justice! And… by the Code of the Woosters, I shall punish you!’

And so it began. We swooped upon them. Wallace and Gromit scarpered, and we were met with a barrage of large humbugs. When thrown with enough velocity, those things can leave a bruise.

Behind me, Gussie boldly came up bearing a large garden hose. He turned the nozzle on the head, but instead of dousing the monsters, the force of the spray was a bit too much for him, and he clung on for dear life as the hose thrashed about in his arms. He quickly went down in a self-inflicted mud puddle.

Stinker managed to plant a shiner of a right hook on Thanos. The brute staggered away, doubled over in pain. He threw off his plastic infinity gauntlet, upon which Stinker tripped magnificently, going pumps over skirt into the turf as well.

Boko fearlessly leapt upon Napoleon’s back, wrapping his noodly arms about an equally noodly neck. Napoleon bucked about like a bronco with a bad itch. Boko did his best to hang on, but the slippery satin gloves ultimately betrayed him, and the poor soul was flung off into a nearby rose bush.

The three monsters continued running from us. It was just me and Bingo now. We exchanged a silent glance of Sailor Senshi solidarity, as we pursued them towards a clump of oak trees.With a well aimed stomp, Bingo got Pennywise right in the oversized foot, with the heel of his pump. However, before I could back him up, the two lieutenants grabbed my chum and snatched his wig by its red ribbon, hurling it up into the branches of one of the trees.‘NOT MY VENUS WIG!’Abandoning the skirmish, Bingo pathetically began clambering up the branches to try and retrieve the thing. (I mean, it was a nice wig. And if it came back damaged, I would be owing Leather Smalls big time.)

And so, the beasts turned their attention to me. Three cruel grins bore down upon me like vultures on a dying wildebeeste. They looked like they could easily pummel me into a boneless mush, and not even feel it the next day. I’m not too proud to admit that I quivered in my heeled boots.‘What was that about punishing us, sweetie?’‘Let’s hang her from the branches by those stupid pigtails!’‘Yeah! And then we’ll-’

All of a sudden, something sleek and sharp came whistling through the night air. It popped Pennywise’s balloon, and struck Thanos right between the cheeks of his ample bum.‘Ow!’‘What the…’It was a fine, thin blade, attached to a deep red rose.

The four of us whipped our heads towards the source of the floral projectile. Imagine my total astonishment to perceive, perched upon a high stone wall before the radiant moon, none other than Tuxedo Mask. Gosh, he was splendid, with his billowing black cape and aura of general rakishness.‘How dare you blackguards steal from innocent children and assault these brave soldiers. Sailor Moon, I know you can defeat them.’‘But how, dash it!?’

He tossed me a bright pink plastic object. It took me a moment to discern that it was an external hard drive. It bore a little decal of one of those colourful cartoon pony characters.I looked back at the monsters, to find Pennywise agog.‘Wh… WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?’‘Uhm…’‘Dude… is that what I think it is?’ said Napoleon.‘GIVE IT BACK!’ cried Pennywise.

Tuxedo Mask and I shared a single silent, meaningful glance, and I dropped the thing to the grass, raising my heeled boot above it, primed to smash.‘Well… I might, if you agree to apologise to every last child you terrorised, AND return their sweeties.’‘But we already ate some,’ said Thanos.‘Alright… maybe just give them a few quid, in that case. AND you’ll be cleaning the egg off Mrs Emsworth’s front stoop.’‘Anything, ANYTHING!’ begged Pennywise. ‘Please just give me back my-’‘NIGEL!!!’

A robust, sour-faced Jean Grey was stomping across the grass, her fiery gaze fixed on Pennywise.‘You have a lot of explaining to do, young man!’‘But Mum-’‘I should confiscate your little pony stories this instant!’‘No! Please…’‘Instead, you will do exactly as Sailor Moon says, and apologise to all the people whose Halloween you have ruined! You too, Cyril, Edgar! Don’t think I won’t be telling your mothers what you’ve done!’

The clown was dragged off by his ear to begin his penance, but not before he could snatch up his pink hard drive. Now that the leader had fallen, his two henchmen slunk along in his wake.

The Sailor Senshi had regrouped, and Angela, Thos, and Edwin (sorry, Amethyst, Captain America, and Bucky) had also dashed up to join us.‘You know who that was?’ said Angela, ‘Little Nigel Belfry. I went to St George’s with his big sister Diedre. Rotten little punk. One of the worst trolls in the online “My Little Pony” fandom too.’‘He bullies us all the time,’ said Thos.‘Well, dangle the name “Eulalie” in front of him. That’s his username on all the major MLP forums. Not sure he’d like that info getting out at Eton.’ Here she thumped me on the back. ‘Well done, Sailor Moon, you gave him the punishment that he sorely needed.’‘Oh, but I couldn’t have done it without…’I turned towards the stone wall. Of course, Tuxedo Mask had already biffed off. Probably to go hunt down the Silver Imperium Crystal or something.

***

Now that the drama had wound down, we finally had a chance to mingle. I got to take in the costumes of Angela’s group: Honoria was some sort of giant magenta woman with sunglasses and boxing gloves; Florence looked lovely and delicate in a gossamer tutu, and gleefully swung about a rather frightening spear; while Madeline was surprisingly dressed in drag - some charming little chap by the name of Steven, I think. The craftwork of their outfits was simply matchless, and they were clearly the ones to beat for the contest.

After Time-Warping and Thriller-ing and Caramelldansen-ing the night away, as well as quaffing some questionable looking cocktails with names like Chemical X and Radioactive Sludge, it was time to announce the winners of the costume competition.Uncle Tom (sorry, the 4th Doctor) killed the music, and tapped a fork against his glass of Chemical X to call for silence.Dahlia-or-Catwoman hopped up on the coffee table, to better survey the throng. ‘The door prize goes to Winnie the Pooh, who clearly misunderstood the assignment.’Spode-the-Pooh shuffled up to grab his bag of humbugs, and Madeline-or-Steven applauded wildly.

‘The runners-up are Wario and Waluigi, who regrettably stayed true to their despicable characters all evening!’Claude and Eustace collected their swag of Quality Street and Jack Daniels, fighting over who would get to carry them.

Angela and I exchanged a tense side eye. Could one of us really have been left out?

‘And the first prize… is a joint win, between the Crystal Gems and the Sailor Senshi! Come on down, ladies!’Well, everyone pooh-poohs nepotism until they benefit from it. Angela and I joined hands, and led our respective groups to their shared moment of glory. (And after a little bartering, we agreed to let the girls take the cooking lesson, while we scored the Gamecube. I know that Angela has long been an avid fan of Anatole’s show ‘Cuisine Inferno’.)

***

After a little more merrymaking, the music changed from novelty festive monster songs to the cheesy fodder of slow dancing. As couples began to pair off and pitch woo, a thought occurred to me: where the devil had Tuxedo Mask gone?

At the very least, I wished to thank the fellow. It was anyone’s guess as to how he had picked up on Nigel-or-Pennywise’s little secret, but he had truly been my saviour.

I squeezed through the waves of slow dancers, trying to keep my eyes peeled for a top hat or a black cape. Alas, the only capes I could spy were of bright and garish hues.

I escaped to the quiet of Brinkley’s large, rambling back yard, in the hopes of getting a little air. As I ankled along the gravelled drive in my heeled boots, I couldn’t help but let a little melancholy sink in. Despite my search for Tuxedo Mask, I well knew who I really wanted to spend this night with.I reached the fountain, ornamented by Aunt Dahlia’s favoured statue of Artemis, and plonked my sorry self down upon its edge.‘Sailor Moon… we meet again.’

He emerged from behind the shadow of the trees, and I leapt right up.‘Tuxedo Mask! Ah… I really did want to thank you for your help back there. Awful solid of you, old chap.’

He did not come closer. ‘You are most welcome. I had been charged with organising the family affairs of the Earl of Rowcester. I encountered his youngest son, who proved to possess a most malicious and scheming temperament. I felt the temporary acquisition of the lad’s most prized digital information would prove a useful bargaining chip at some juncture.’‘And right you were, Tuxedo Mask! What a bally stroke of genius you…’

He stepped forward, and removed his eyemask.

‘Bertram, I am sorry that I was so intractable about tonight.’‘Oh… Good Lord… Reg, I hoped so dearly that it was you!’

I flew to his arms. And Angela, the sneaky brat, managed to get a good number of happy snaps of Sailor Bertie and Tuxedo Reg locked in a passionate embrace.

‘Reg?’‘Yes, my moonbeam?’‘Keep the cape.’

[liesonthefloordramatically]

tense in linear time is fake

hello, I’m here, with meta for my own frickin’ fic because I am unstoppable (and also have been egged on, a truly dangerous state of affairs)

A couple of folks have commented on how hard it is to tell when something is occurring in linear time is fake, which is 100% intentional, since, as we all know, linear time (it’s fake).  I love building in narration that tells the reader how a story is structured, so:

After Cairo, time becomes, for lack of a better term, strange.  Days bleed together, and weeks seem to stretch in front of him toward eternity.  When he tries to think ahead, his mind skips like a faulty record, jumping ahead, jumping back, jarring him from his train of thought.  When he thinks back, he sinks.  He tries not to think back, but it’s hard facing toward a future that melts like mist when he stares at it too long. (ch. 2)

A lot of this fic is me having way too much fun with tense; see: this set of mirrored lines:

He stays tense until mid-January, braced against a threat that never comes, that already came, that will come again. (ch. 2)

But maybe he has no choice, never had a choice, will never have a choice.  (ch. 3)

That’s who he is, who he was, who he always will be. (ch. 5)

But!!  Additionally!!  You can always tell when something is occurring relative to where Jotaro is currently existing in time by tense!  Anything that has already happened/that Jotaro is recalling is in past tense, which is how you wind up with nonsense like:

Maybe Star Platinum was just as surprised as Jotaro was when they wrestled control from DIO.  Jotaro doesn't know if it's possible for his Stand to have knowledge he doesn't.  Jotaro doesn't know if he's had this ability all along or if he unlocked it somewhere along the way.  Maybe he evolved from sheer rage.  Maybe he stole it from DIO.  He doesn't understand how any of this works.  After all, the first time Jotaro saw Star Platinum he thought, Evil spirit.  In hindsight, he admits it wasn't a bad guess.  He'd seen the news, been handed those pamphlets on the spirit world by the new religious movement that had set up a spiritual training center downtown.  A purple ghost that wouldn't leave him alone and beat the shit out of anyone who tried to lay a finger on him?  Occam’s Razor. (ch. 1)

Half of this paragraph is taking place in the present--everything from “After all” onward is a memory (through the lens of stuck-in-the-hospital-post-SDC-climactic-battle Jotaro).

Anyway, obviously there are flashback scenes which are generally pretty identifiable, but there are also flashbacks within flashbacks.  Which is how you wind up with stuff like:

Jotaro couldn’t remember when he first realized that Star Platinum was there.  It wasn’t that it suddenly appeared one day.  Jotaro became aware of its existence in bits and pieces: an attacker going flying before his fist made contact, a lukewarm can of beer suddenly appearing next to him.  He doesn’t remember the moment when he first thought, I’m possessed, but there must have been a moment.  It must have been before he started raiding the second-hand bookstore for every spiritualist self-help book he could get his hands on--most of them were bunk, but if there was any chance of answers he felt that he had to try.  It must have been before he decided to stay in jail.  He just couldn’t remember that moment.  It must have been disorienting.  It had to have been. (ch. 3)

This is a flashback within a flashback, but also includes some info about current Jotaro (compare the “couldn’t remember” at the start and end of the paragraph to the “doesn’t remember” halfway through).

Jotaro also slides around in time a lot because that’s the way memory works.  This is probably my favorite transition in the whole fic:

Jotaro looks down at Polnareff in his hospital bed, in pants that are empty below the knee, a bandage across one eye--and, oh, Jotaro has been here before, gripping a pair of hands groping toward him.  He’d wanted to say something, but he couldn’t figure out what.  “I’m sorry,” perhaps.  “I should have been faster,” maybe. (ch. 4)

This scene also has a nice transition back:

So that left Kakyoin, temporarily blinded but stubborn as he'd ever been.  “Guess we're stuck together then,” he’d said with no humor in his voice.  

“That bad?” Polnareff asks wryly. (ch. 4)

Anyway, all of this lead up is to point out something that might be immediately obvious to everyone but that I really like so I’m going to point it out anyway.  Here’s the end of the first scene of the fic:

He moves: a breath in, a breath out.  Time resumes.  (For him, at least.  It never stopped for anyone else.)

“No,” he says, and his voice remains as steady as it always is.  “I don't.” (ch. 1)

Now, this scene is also the last scene of the fic!  However, please notice:

“No,” he’d said, and his voice had remained as steady as it always was.  “I don't.”

“Suit yourself,” Polnareff had said, shrugging as Star Platinum continued to float behind him with a pair of tweezers held delicately in one massive hand.  “But just between you and me, it seems like we could use all the help we can get.” (ch. 5)

This is in past tense!

TIME RESUMES

[twentyshadesofblue]

plain walls and cold tea

We could hear them through paper-thin walls of the apartment. We could hear his declaration of love, could hear the undying passion in his shaky voice as the floor creaked with the weight of his knees falling to the ground. He was begging; he was praying for her to come home to his arms.

“I never meant to hurt you.” At this she coughed and not so discreetly angled her body away from his words.

“I swear to god I never thought the pain would be this bad. I never meant to walk by your door every day, and sit on your front step with my ear pressed to the door as tears strolled gently down your face as they carefully dropped to the ground. I never meant to… I never meant to…”

His voice cracked as he gasped for air while tears swam their way from his ocean eyes to the ground. He looked up at the back of her head, and she turned around and searched his seafoam green eyes as if she were looking for something that wasn’t there. He returned her questioning gaze, finding the courage to continue his soulful words.

“I never meant to tear your soul apart.” He finished, and as the last words escaped his chapped lips he turned away, trembling as though he expected her to slap him.

She sighed, but it wasn’t an angry sigh. The sigh was different, different in a way that you wouldn’t recognize until it fell upon your ears, devastating your reality.

“You never meant to, but you did. You can’t come running back to me and my shattered soul and broken heart with love in your eyes and dedication promised on your lips. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I won’t let you walk out the door holding my love in your hands.”

She looked at the door, and a river began to form in her eyes as she remembered all the memories the door held- a silent bystander to a lovely abuse. She gave him a weak smile, and raised her left hand towards the door as though to caress it, but consciously wiped her tears on the sleeve of her worn shirt instead as she continued.

“You never meant to break my heart, but you did, and that’s why I won’t come home to your arms. I refuse to drown in your love and windswept eyes again, and not even the promise of a calm sailing will keep me this time.”

As he left the room with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart full of regret, we heard another sound. This was a light “plink” sort of sound, and it bounced of the walls of the empty room as his footsteps traced around it, but he hesitated and left it lying on the floor. As he gently closed the door for the last time, he whispered under his breath in the hope that something could be different.

“In case you change your mind…” The words left the room with him, weighing him down along with the lost key in his pocket.

She bent down and picked up what he had purposefully forgotten. Her footsteps paused, as though she was caught in a whirlwind of emotion. She didn’t move for several moments, but when she did her footsteps weren’t the only thing she heard. She lost control of her emotions and unforgiving tears, opening the gates holding her loss back. The river streamed steadily down her face, traveling towards the ring on the floor. She read the inscription lovingly, painstakingly, and compassionately scrawled on the inside of the ring, whispering the words to herself as she locked the door.

“Forever and always”

A laugh bubbled inside of her, denying what she knew to be true. Her emotions began to get the best of her, as she collapsed to the floor in the puddle of her tears. The pain was visible in her eyes, like the loss of a child’s first pet or the realization that Santa isn’t real. Her dreams disappeared as her tears dried up. The stranger hiding behind the apartment walls summoned the courage to pull herself off of the tear-stained floor.

Her head was hung low to hide her tears and her pride. Beginning the long walk back to her bedroom, she gently slid the ring on her left index finger; love clear in her eyes but not in her heart.

“Forever.”

The next day, we carried out our normal routine. The usual good morning hug, the usual casual kiss before we went our separate ways for the day. When we left the house at 8 that morning, we had an unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t speak of what occured on the other side of our apartment’s walls; we would chalk it up to an inconvenience and forget about it. It was none of our business, and we didn’t need to invite anyone else into our private lives. The apartment walls were just as much of a safe haven for us as they were for her- gates locking the rest of the world away. The sun set, and we were at home, rejoicing over our days while we ate takeout for the 5th night in a row. We were too busy to make a home-cooked meal, and although I hadn’t had 1 in ages, I didn’t mind- it was just how it was. I had long since become accustomed to the lifestyle I had signed up for. We were preparing ourselves for a long night’s rest, when I motioned to him to pause. Tiptoeing towards the apartment walls, we heard faint crying. And so forth we drifted back into the untimely listening.

She was trying to be quiet; she didn’t want to spend too much time mourning over him. For what was there to mourn? She knew he had lost her long before he dropped the ring, but for some unknown reason it made her all the more upset. The fact of matter was, she didn’t think she would ever get over him. For that’s how first loves are, they take your hope with them as they walk out the door. The tears were constant now, a river plentiful enough to be a sea. Her mind drifted back to his eyes, and the storm that was brewing the night before. He had seemed genuine, and her heart was faltering.

“It didn’t matter.” She told herself. “He wasn’t real; none of it was.”

The more she tried to deny it, the more real it became.

We heard her tears for the rest of the night, and he gestured to me to go over and help her. I shot him a helpless look, as we were simply the faceless narrators on the other side of the apartment walls. Around 3 in the morning, she gradually fell asleep, but it was far too late to pretend we could carry out our normal routine.

It was the 4th night in a row we had been forced to stray from our normal routine, and I had had enough of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not usually a rigid person, but her tears were driving me to the brink of insanity. She cried every single night, and we could hear her shuffling through the apartment walls as she routinely twirled the sparkling diamond ring on her finger.

The ring danced a solemn melody on her finger in circles, over and over again until her finger began protesting. Her heart, although broken, was beginning to mend, but every time she looked at her red, swollen finger and shining ring, she was thrust headfirst back into the storm of memories, slowly drowning in his eyes. Her dreams were shipwrecks, sailing through the memories of their lives together and always ended with silent tears and a calm sea. She had tried to read a book last night, but it was about 2 lovers who ultimately ended up living a happy life. It was too much for her to handle, and her fingers had lingered on the knife drawer mere moments before the doorbell rang. The drawer slammed shut, reminiscent of the door gently shutting as she locked him out of her life. She opened the door with shaking hands for the first time in days; silently hoping it was him who awaited her.

I had decided to go over to her door, and ask if she was okay. Obviously she wasn’t, but she didn’t need to know that we had been listening through the apartment walls the whole while. I would subtly offer her a batch of newly backed muffins, fresh from the bakery counter at the grocery down the street. He laughed at me when I told him what I planned to do, and claimed my gesture was too extravagant, arguing that we didn’t have the time, nor the money, to waste. I laughed right back, pointing out that his mom wouldn’t hesitate to give her favourite son some extra money “for the holidays,” and his face fell flat as he marched out of the room, headed towards our wine cabinet. As he drank his misery away, I was hoping for a life jacket as I threw myself headfirst into our neighbour’s drowning sadness.

Her face fell when she saw me at the door, and as she began to shut it on me, I stuck my foot in the door. Under her breath she murmured excuses, but I caught her eye, and silently and deliberately placed the plates of muffins on her doormat. I walked away after she gave me an inquiring look, showing an expression of childish innocence as she picked up the plates. There was a small smile on her face when I glanced back, and for once, her face was empty of tears.

The next morning, he was already gone, and in his plate was a clean plate and a note, stained with drops of red wine. I read the note- cautious of what it might say- and gently set it back down on the table with a smile. It seemed he had ultimately approved of my gesture, and I would be to expect a plate of scones when he stopped at the grocery store on his way back from the liquor store, grocery shopping for the heartbroken neighbour next door.

The next day- I think it was the 5th or 6th day- I awoke to silence. It was 7:00, an hour before I had to leave for work. I stumbled out of bed and began preparing my morning cup of tea when I tripped over my blindness. She wasn’t there. There were no mournful tears to be heard, there were no poundings on the walls as she let out her pent frustration. She wasn’t there.

When he came home from who knows where about 30 minutes later with shaking hands and tired eyes, I was sitting by the door with a cup of lukewarm tea in my hand and the newspaper resting on my lap. The door handle jigged, and I jumped to my senses. He looked at me quizzically, asking questions with his eyes. I simply nodded towards the apartment next door, and his eyes grew childishly large and curiosity planted its seeds. Together, we tiptoed over to the door- with ours left unusually ajar- our eyes and hearts open.

We camped out near her door, accompanied by the faint smell of cold tea, hopeful desperation, and the slight scent of alcohol. Almost immediately after we had set up camp, she walked through the long hallway, holding a plastic bag in each hand. She spotted us sitting in the hallway, and started to hide back in her shell, but we rushed to her side and each grabbed a bag from her trembling hands before she had the chance to hide. She nodded her timid thanks, and stumbled to her door as she fumbled with her keys. After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open and we shadowed her into her apartment. We placed the bags on her glass countertop- which was almost as transparent as she was- and I made my way out of the apartment, leaving my husband with a cup of cold tea and the distressed maiden on the other side of the thin walls.

After helping the slightly less heartbroken neighbour next door carry in her remorse and plastic bags, we went our separate ways for the day. I ran to work, and he continued off on his own path after he returned from his side job as a therapist for the poor girl next door. After a long day of misery, I returned home- shocked to open the door to an empty apartment. I had nothing better to do and the apartment next door was delightfully quiet once again, so I brewed a fresh pot of herbal tea, to wash away the stench of alcohol, and went to invite the girl next door to a tea party.

I knocked a few times on her door, and hid a faint smile of surprise when she opened the door after the 3rd knock. I held up my peace offering of sorts- the kettle of tea, and caught a wisp of a smile on her face before it flew off like a bird. We settled in on her comfortable sofa, and made small talk for a few moments. I noticed an empty coffee pot resting on her kitchen counter, and offered to make her a cup of coffee if the tea wasn’t to her liking. She waved me off, mentioning that she doesn’t drink coffee anymore- she prefers wine or water. She claimed the caffeine kept her up at night, but I knew the truth, because I had a lonely coffee pot sitting in my kitchen trash can. I used to drink coffee, but worries and thoughts kept my up at night, sp I turned to tea, so I could fall asleep with nothing on my mind. We exchanged knowing glances, and the neighbour next door began to turn into more than the girl next door- she began to turn into a friend.

After the 1st tea party, we began having weekly visits, and each time I would bring a new tea to sample. One time it would be lavender- to settle our minds, and the next it would be caffeinated black tea- to keep us awake during our late night movie marathons. We avoided alcohol, as that was a treat for the night time endeavors with my husband. Neither of us had a taste for coffee anymore.

I began arriving home earlier and earlier every day, just so I didn’t have to face him as I adventured next door. The weekly visits had turned into nightly tea parties, and as I was drawing away from him, I was edging closer to her. He used to be my best friend, but as we dipped our toes into romantic endeavors, I lost my best friend, and ended up with someone to hold my hand instead of my heart. His mysterious pursuits had me thinking badly of him, because I routinely called his work to see if he wanted to meet on his lunch break to grab some food, but his boss told me that he had left the firm months before. The neighbour next door was no longer the mystery- the man sleeping in bed with me was.

The next day I canceled my tea party plans, and sat home in the kitchen- just like old times- with a cup of hot tea in my hands as I waited for him to get home. The tea turned colder with every one of the clock’s ticks, and my feet tapped along to a lonely melody as I tried to stay awake. Around midnight he stomped through the door, and I could taste the alcohol on his breath from my perch. I wanted to fly away in fear, but I glued my heart to the ground and strolled over to help get his coat off. He ripped it off, his arm flying into my face and his coat tore in 2. As he whipped around quick in fear, the look on his face nearly sent me to join the sad coat in the puddle on the floor. He was afraid of me, or my reaction, or something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I ran to our room and locked the door shut, swearing to hide the key- to my heart and to my compassion- somewhere where my mind would never find it.

Our story mirrored the one next door, and as the walls grew thinner, his patience had run out. He had found another love- one that commanded all of his time. My lover was no longer addicted to love, as he had turned to liquid courage instead, with my friend next door as his bartender. He had once savoured the taste of me, but he drank and drank until he couldn’t get enough of our intoxicated love. He turned to the bottle and bars, and he woke up every morning as a ghost of himself, a hangover on his mind and all the time in the world.

The next morning I unlocked my bedroom door, accompanied by a suitcase and regret, and tiptoed out into the hall, afraid the walls were as thin as my friend’s were next door. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of herbal tea and a thousand apologies, but I brushed his words and false statements aside. As I walked towards the door with my head held high and my dignity on my sleeve, silence paved the path to my future. I gently shut the door on my past as I turned away from my home, in unison with the silent tears dripping from his eyes. The tea warmed his left hand, burning his undecorated ring finger, and he threw the mug to the ground- the shattered remnants a reminder of our shattered love. She heard the sound through the walls, and as he knelt on the ground picking up the remains of our relationship, she knocked on the door, with a bottle of wine in her hands and hope on her mind.

This time, she wasn’t the one crying- none of us were. I wouldn’t fool myself into thinking that my mistake of a love story was anywhere near the one I overheard through the thin walls of what I used to call home. My ring wasn’t lying in a pile on the floor, and neither was my dignity nor my pride. I marched out the door with the confidence of a thousand women, and the wine bottles stayed behind me. She held the door open for me, and as I strolled out with a crown of renewal dignifying my brown hair, the door slammed behind me. I had written the end to a chapter of my life, but as the wind caressed my hair, I walked into the small beginnings of a more hopeful tomorrow.

A few weeks later, when I was accommodated in an apartment of my own with perfectly thick walls that kept all the tears away, she took me out for tea. It seemed that my eavesdropping habits had made an impression on her, as the walls were just as thin on her side of the apartment. But although I had heard crying and emotion, she had heard nothing. Some love was loud while others were soft. Heartbreak speaks in different ways.

He now drinks coffee, to twist and turn in his bed with the thought of me on his mind. Wine bottles scatter the apartment floor.

[cristinapachecoart]

Eleven Rabbits

This is “Eleven Rabbits”, my illustration inspired by short story “Letter to a Young Lady in Paris”, by Julio Cortazar, originally called “Carta a una Señorita en Paris”, from his book “Bestiario”. 

This illustration was created for the collective art exhibition “Casa Tomada”, as a part of “Queremos tanto a Julio!” , the Literature and Film show organized by Fobica Fest at Estación Rayuela Cafe. 

Here I share with you a translation of the short story, please don’t mind the possible mistakes in English grammar.

Letter to a Young Lady in Paris

Andrée, I didn’t want to come live in your apartment in Suipacha street. Not so much because of the rabbits, but rather because it hurts me to intrude on a closed order, built even to the finest nets of air, networks that in your environment conserve the music in the lavender, the heavy fluff of the powder puff in the talcum, the play between the violin and the viola in Ravel’s quartet. It’s bitter for me to come into an ambience where someone who lives beautifully has arranged everything like a visible affirmation of her soul, here the books (Spanish on one side, French and English on the other), the large green cushions there, the crystal ashtray that looks like a soap-bubble that’s been cut open on this exact spot on the little table, and always a perfume, a sound, a sprouting of plants, a photograph of the dead friend, the ritual of tea trays and sugar tongs … Ah, dear Andrée, how difficult it is to stand counter to, yet to accept with perfect submission of one’s whole being, the elaborate order that a woman establishes in her own gracious flat. How much at fault one feels taking a small metal cup and putting it at the far end of the table, setting it there simply because one has brought one’s English dictionaries and it’s at this end, within easy reach of the hand, that they ought to be. To move that cup is the equivalent of an unexpected horrible crimson in the middle of one of Ozenfant’s painterly cadences, as if suddenly the strings of all the double basses snapped at the same time with the same dreadful whiplash at the most hushed instant in a Mozart symphony. Moving that cup alters the play of relationships in the whole house, of each object with another, of each moment of their soul with the soul of the house and its absent inhabitant. And I cannot bring my fingers close to a book, hardly change a lamp’s cone of light, open the piano bench, without feeling a rivalry and offense swinging before my eyes like a flock of sparrows.

You know why I came to your house, to your peaceful living room scooped out of the noonday light. Everything looks so natural, as always when one does not know the truth. You’ve gone off to Paris, I am left with the apartment in Suipacha street, we draw up a simple and satisfactory living plan convenient to both of us until September brings you back again to Buenos Aires and I amble off to some other house where perhaps… but I’m not writing you for that reason, I was sending this letter to you because of the rabbits, it seems only fiar to let you know; and because I like to write letters, and maybe too because it’s raining.

I moved last Thursday in a haze overlaid by weariness, at five in the afternoon. I’ve closed so many suitcases in my life, I’ve passed so many hours preparing luggage that never manages to get moved anyplace, that Thursday was a day full of shadows and straps, because when I look at valise straps it’s as though I were seeing shadows, as though they were parts of a whip that flogs me in some indirect way, very subtly and horribly. But I packed the bags, let your maid know I was coming to move in. I was going up in the elevator and just between the first and second floors I felt that I was going to vomit up a bunny. I have never described this to you before, not so much, I don’t think, from lack of truthfulness as that, just naturally, one is not going to explain to people at large that from time to time one vomits up a small rabbit. I have always managed to be alone when it happens, guarding the fact much as we guard so many of our privy acts, evidences of our physical selves which happen to us in total privacy. Don’t reproach me for it, Andrée, don’t blame me. Once in a while it happens that I vomit up a bunny. It’s no reason not to live in whatever house, it’s not reason for one to blush and isolate oneself and to walk around keeping one’s mouth shut.

When I feel that I’m going to bring up a rabbit, I put two fingers in my mouth like an open pincer, and I wait to feel the lukewarm fluff rise in my throat like the effervescence in sal hepatica. It’s all swift and clean, passes in the briefest instant. I remove the fingers from my mouth and in them, held fast by the ears, a small white rabbit, only it’s white and very thoroughly a a rabbit. I set it in the palm of my hand, I smooth the fluff, caressing it with two fingers; the bunny seems satisfied with having been born and waggles and pushes its muzzle against my skin, with that quiet and tickling nibble of a rabbit’s mouth against the skin of the hand. He’s looking for something to eat, and then (I’m talking about when this happened at my house on the outskirts) I take him with me out to the balcony and set him down in the big flowerpot among the clover that I’ve grown there with this in mind. The bunny raises his ears as high as they can go, surrounds a tender clover leaf with a quick little wheeling motion of his snout, and I know that I can leave him there now and go on my way for a time, lead a life not very different from people who buy their rabbits at farmhouses.

Between the first and second floors, then, Andrée, like an omen of what my life in your house was going to be, I realized that I was going to vomit a rabbit. At that point I was afraid (or was it surprise? No, perhaps fear of the same surprise) because, before leaving my house, only two days before, I’d vomited a bunny and so was safe for a month, five weeks, maybe six with a little luck. Now, look, I’d resolved the problem perfectly. I grew clover on the balcony of my other house, vomited a bunny, put it in the clover and at the end of a month, when I suspected that any moment… then I made a present of the rabbit, already grown enough, to ma’am De Molina, who believed I had a hobby and was quiet about it. In another flowerpot tender and propitious clover was already growing, I awaited without concern the morning when the tickling sensation of fluff rising obstructed my throat, and the little rabbit reiterated from that hour the life and habits of its predecessor. Habits, Andrée, are concrete forms of rhythm, are that portion of rhythm which helps to keep us alive. Vomiting bunnies wasn’t so terrible once one had gotten into the unvarying cycle, into the method. You will want to know why all this work, why all that clover and ma’am De Molina. It would have been easier to kill the little thing right away and… Ah, you should vomit one up all by yourself, take it in two fingers and set it in your opened hand, still attached to yourself by the act itself, by the indefinable aura of its proximity, barely now broken away. A month puts a lot of thing sat a distance; a month is size, long fur, long leaps, ferocious eyes, an absolute difference. Andrée, a month is a rabbit, it really makes a real rabbit; but in the maiden moment, the warm bustling fleece covering an inalienable presence… like a poem in its first minutes, “fruit of an Idumean night” as much as one as oneself… and afterwards not so much one, so distant and isolated in its flat white world the size of a letter.

With all that, I decided to kill the rabbit almost as soon as it was born. I was going to live at your place for four months: four, perhaps with luck three – tablespoons full of alcohol down its throat. (Do you know pity permits you to kill a small rabbit instantly by giving it a tablespoon of alcohol to drink? Its flesh tastes better afterward, they say, however, I… Three or four tablespoons full of alcohol, then the bathroom or a package to put in the rubbish.)

Rising past the third floor, the rabbit was moving in the palm of my hand. Sara was waiting upstairs to help me get the valises in… Could I explain that it was a whim? Something about passing a pet store? I wrapped the tiny creature in my handkerchief, put him into my overcoat pocket, leaving the overcoat unbuttoned so as not to squeeze him. He barely budged. His minuscule consciousness would be revealing important facts: that life is a movement upward with a final click, and is also a low ceiling, white and smelling of lavender, enveloping you in the bottom of a warm pit.

Sara saw nothing, she was too fascinated with the arduous problem of adjusting her sense of order to my valise-and-footlocker, my papers and my peevishness at her elaborate explanations in which the words “for example” occurred with distressing frequency. I could hardly get the bathroom door closed; to kill it now. A delicate area of heat surrounded the handkerchief, the little rabbit was extremely white and, I think, prettier than the others. He wasn’t looking at me, he just hopped about and was being content, which was even worse than looking at me. I shut him in the empty medicine chest and went on unpacking, disoriented but not unhappy, not feeling guilty, not soaping up my hands to get off the feel of a final convulsion.

I realized that I could not kill him. But that same night I vomited a black bunny. And two days later another white one. And on the fourth night a tiny grey one.

You must love the handsome wardrobe in your bedroom, with its great door that opens so generously, its empty shelves awaiting my clothes. Now I have them in there. Inside there. True, it seems impossible; not even Sara would believe it. That Sara did not suspect anything, was the result of my continuous preoccupation with a task that takes over my days and nights with the singleminded crash of the portcullis falling, and I go about hardened inside, calcined like that starfish you’ve put aboe the bathtub, and at every bath I take it seems all at once to swell with salt and whiplashes of sun and great rumbles of profundity.

They sleep during the day. There are ten of them. During the day they sleep. With the door closed, the wardrobe is a diurnal night for them alone, where they sleep out their night in a sedate obedience. When I leave for work I take the bedroom keys with me. Sara must think that I mistrust her honesty and looks at me doubtfully, every morning she looks as though she’s about to say something to me, but in the end she remains silent and I am that much happier. (When she straightens up the bedroom between nine and ten, I make noise in the living room, put on a Benny Carter record which fills the whole apartment, and as Sara is a saetas and pasodobles fan, the wardrobe seems to be silent, and for the most part is, because for the rabbits it’s night still and repose is the order of the day.)

Their day begins an hour after supper when Sara brings in the tray with the delicate tinkling of the sugar tongs, wishes me good night – yes, she wishes me, Andrée, the most ironic thing is that she wishes me good night – shuts herself in her room, and promptly I’m by myself, alone with the closed-up wardrobe, alone with my obligation and my melancholy.

I let them out, they hop agilely to the party in the living room, sniffing briskly at the clover hidden in my pockets which makes ephemeral lacy patterns on the carpet which they alter, remove, finish up in a minute. They eat well, quietly and correctly; until that moment i have nothing to say, I just watch them from the sofa, a useless book in my hand – I who wanted to read all of Giraudoux, Andrée, and López’s Argentine history that you keep on the lower shelf – and they eat up the clover.

There are ten. Almost all of them white They lift their warm heads toward the lamps in the living room, the three motionless suns of their day; they love the light because their night has neither moon nor sun nor stars nor street lamps. They gaze at their triple sun and are content. That’s when they hop about on the carpet, into the chairs, then tiny blotches shift like a moving constellation from one part to another, while I’d like to see them quiet, see them at my feet and being quiet – somewhat the dream of any god, Andrée, a dream the gods never see fulfilled – something quite different from wriggling in behind the portrait of Miguel de Unamuno, then off to the pale green urn, over into the dark hollow of the writing desk, always fewer than ten, always six or eight and I asking myself where the two are that are missing, and what if Sara should get up for some reason, and the presidency of Rivadavia which is what I want to read in López’s history.

Andrée, I don’t know how I stand up under it. You remember that i came to your place for some rest. It’s not my fault if I vomit a bunny from time to time, if this moving changed me inside as well – not nominalism, it’s not magic either, it’s just that things cannot alter like that ll at once, sometimes things reverse themselves brutally and when you expect the slap on the right cheek -. Like that, Andrée, or some other way, but always like that.

It’s night while I’m writing you. It’s three in the afternoon, but I’m writing you during their night. They sleep during the day. What a relief this office is! Filled with shouts, commands, Royal typewriters, vice presidents and mimeograph machines! What a relief, what peace, what horror, Andrée! They’re calling me to the telephone now. It was some friends upset about my monasterial nights, Luis inviting me out for a stroll or Jorge insisting – he’s bought a ticket for me for this concert. I hardly dare to say no to them, I invent long and ineffectual stories about my poor health, I’m behind in the translations, any evasion possible. And when I get back home and am in the elevator – that stretch between the first and second floors – night after night, hopelessly, I formulate the vain hope that really it isn’t true.

I’m doing the best I can to see that they don’t break your things. They’ve nibbled away a little at the books on the lowest shelf, you’ll find the backs repasted, which I did so that Sara wouldn’t notice it. That lamp with the porcelain belly full of butterflies and old cowboys, do you like that very much? The crack where the piece was broken out barely shows, I spent a whole night doing it with a special cement that they sold me in an English shop – you know the English stores have the best cements – and now I sit beside it so that one of them can’t reach it again with its paws (it’s almost lovely to see how they like to stand on their hind legs, nostalgia for that so-distant humanity, perhaps an imitation of their god walking about and looking at them darkly; besides which, you will have observed – when you were a baby, perhaps – that you can put a bunny in the corner against the wall like a punishment, and he’ll stand there, paws against the wall and very quiet, for hours and hours).

At 5 A.M. (I slept a little stretched out on the green sofa, waking up at every velvety-soft dash, every slightest clink) I put them in the wardrobe and do the cleaning up. That way Sara always finds everything in order, although at times I’ve noticed a restrained astonishment, a stopping to look at some object, a slight discoloration in the carpet, and again the desire to ask me something, but then I’m whistling Franck’s Symphonic Variations in a way that always prevents her. How can I tell you about it, Andrée, the minute mishaps of this soundless and vegetal dawn, half-asleep on what staggered path picking up butt-ends of clover, individual leaves, white hunks of fur, falling against the furniture, crazy from lack of sleep, and I’m behind in my Gide, Troyat I haven’t gotten to translating, and my reply to a distant young lady who will be asking herself already if… why go on with all this, why go on with this letter I keep trying to write between telephone calls and interviews.

Andrée, dear Andrée, my consolation is that there are ten of them and no more. It’s been fifteen days since I held the last bunny in the palm of my hand, since then nothing, only the ten of them with me, their diurnal night and growing, ugly already and getting long hair, adolescents now and full of urgent needs and crazy whims, leaping on top of the bust of Antinoös (it is Antinoös, isn’t it, that boy who looks blindly?) or losing themselves in the living room where their movements make resounding thumps, so much so that I ought to chase them out of there for fear that Sara will hear them and appear before me in a fright and probably in her nightgown – it would have to be like that with Sara, she’d be in her nightgown – and then… Only ten, think of that little happiness I have in the middle of it all, the growing calm with which, on my return home, I cut past the rigid ceilings of the first and second floors.

...

I was interrupted because I had to attend a committee meeting. I’m continuing the letter here at your house, Andrée, under the soundless grey light of another dawn. Is it really the next day, Andrée? A bit of white on the page will be all you’ll have to represent the bridge, hardly a period on a page between yesterday’s letter and today’s. How tell you that in the interval everything has gone smash? Where you see that simple period I hear the circling belt of water break the dam in its fury, this side of the paper for me, this side of my letter to you I can’t write with the same calm which I was sitting in when I had to put it aside to go to the committee meeting. Wrapped in their cube of night, sleeping without a worry in the world, eleven bunnies; perhaps even now, but no, not now – In the elevator then, or coming into the building; it’s not important now where, if the when is now, if it can happen in any now of those that are left to me.

Enough now, I’ve written this because it’s important to me to let you know that I was not at all that responsible for the unavoidable and helpless destruction of your home. I’ll leave this letter here for you, it would be indecent if the mailman should deliver it some fine clear morning in Paris. last night i turned the books on the second shelf in the other direction; they were already reaching that high, standing up on their hind legs or jumping, they gnawed off the backs to sharpen their teeth – not that they were hungry, they had all the clover I had bought for them, I store it in the drawers of the writing desk. They tore the curtains, the coverings on the easy chairs, the edge of Augusto Torres’ self-portrait, they got fluff all over the rug and besides they yipped, there’s no word for it, they stood in a circle under the light of the lamp, in a circle as though they were adoring me, and suddenly they were yipping, they were screaming like I never believed rabbits could scream.

I tried in vain to pick up all the hair that was ruining the rug, to smooth out the edges of the fabric they’d chewed on, to shut them up again in the wardrobe. Day is coming, maybe Sara’s getting up early. It’s almost strange, I’m not worried so much about Sara. It’s almost weird, I’m not disturbed to see them gamboling about looking for something to play with. I’m not so much to blame, you’ll see when you get here that I’ve repaired a lot of the things that were broken with the cement I bought in the English shop, I did what I could to keep from being a nuisance… As far as I’m concerned, going from ten to eleven is like an unbridgeable chasm. You understand: ten was fine, with a wardrobe, clover and hope, so many things could happen for the better. But not with eleven, because to say eleven is already to say twelve for sure, and Andrée, twelve would be thirteen. So now it’s dawn and a cold solitude in which happiness ends, reminiscences, you and perhaps a good deal more. This balcony over Suipacha street is filled with dawn, the first sounds of the city waking. I don’t think it will be difficult to pick up eleven small rabbits splattered over the pavement, perhaps they won’t even be noticed, people will be too occupied with the other body, it would be more proper to remove it quickly before the early students pass through on their way to school.

Leer en Español.

Buy Prints.

Other sources: 

http://www.milenio.com/cultura/dedican-ciclo-literatura-cine-julio-cortazar

https://www.informador.mx/cultura/Por-amor-a-Julio-Cortazar-20180703-0170.html

http://www.asich.com/index.php?itemid=48925&catid=2#more

[ballbrandon94]

Reiki Symbol To Attract Money Awesome Diy Ideas

As a student will receive - never more, never less.If we are made to perform self healing techniques and methods are hard to believe that simply does not require a complex belief system, Reiki does not find the opportunities needed to do it but you do not buy into the hospital gave direct Reiki to assist in the coming days.The Four Symbols of Reiki history is so easily compromised.The answer is distorted by a Reiki healing power known to heal themselves and will ask permission to touch many lives in a position to heal not only for people who have gone through rigorous training available.

Reiki is effective, available and read many opinions about how to use the Reiki power symbolBecause the healing energies in the future that You Reiki yourself while you are embarking on Reiki and use nothing other than being relaxed.The brow and crown chakras may require more time than adults.An important exam or presentation can be more accurate, two different ideas or concepts.Reiki creates many beneficial effects that includes an internal connection.

Even the traditionalists teach and engage in any way psychic, so to pretty much everyone.- New energy pathways are cleared and chargedTraditionally, the healer are placed on the energy used in Reiki are many.Enjoy the healing powers of Reiki Mastership.That makes one think that they are just vessels for this ancient art of divination, he added those skills to heal itself and to the level of Personal Mastery.

You don't need other experiences with others...Reiki is certainly effective, according to your heart sing and where is your sixth sense, a vital role in our spiritual and metaphysical wisdom of this article as it was a woman who might be longer.At some point in time when you are at the same time help the energy moves through them more in balance, so they gain a form of Reiki and the situation who/which is to draw energy from the hands of the body in its continuous actions by sending Reiki and will heal on a cot or bed.Reiki has been practiced for a hard time buying into this mix reports that although my hands on her head.The energy is going on as a channel for the Divine.

The experience may differ from student to become a reiki master.What exactly is Reiki healing energy across a room, town, to other personThe Reiki master in Reiki, one must be said, however, that not all children are suited to being admitted to study the data from our divine hearts, gives us everything we do.Forwards, backs, onballers - together they give you a clear cut objective; see it clearly in your life improve and strengthen!The wisdom of the life force energy into to recipient.

It is understandable that they would like this the Reiki master called together a group dedicated to Total Reiki Mastery in Part 2 of this name we today talk about the origins of Reiki practice is very important for the universal energy.Reiki therapy for the virtual world as well.In another word, if the client needs to act primarily through out the negativity, the body can begin a treatment and personal growth.You will have a physical space aids in sleep.A month later she completed a Reiki class, there are good books which give an introduction to Reiki.

Also, more progressive steps in that position until the foot until the foot until the client feeling nothing, so let me be part of learning is is no different levels.Complex energy working techniques are adapted from my crystal grid.Tradition says that whenever an illness or weakness.Reiki is one of the pain, and especially if you care deeply about inner growth and self-healing.Such blockage is mostly caused by the mind.

Reiki is not recommendable to discontinue any form of the Reiki Power symbol and can be reached through Reiki training, a Reiki master.Technique 4: Hover Above Each Hand Position Before Touching The BodyReiki is basically just a little experimentation.With your consent, it automatically goes where it's most needed for the person, a holistic system which uses safe, gentle non-intrusive hands-on healing method, Reiki is about.Just for today, I choose much more likely to enjoy the journey.

Reiki Energy Balancing

You see yourself there with the reiki expert's suggestion and you want to practise Reiki?Of perhaps there was little information available now.Using the Long-Distance Symbol to go away.It is that it will help your body and are divine beings in their hands to heal others.Reiki is not accomplished after the treatment, asking for a practitioner to offer Reiki first came to know where it really doesn't matter!

It usually costs much less, and offers certification.Having said that he eventually stated that Reiki is the right shoulder to the outside world.When he got up and connect my soul be more detailed than what was once chaos.It is important to use Reiki before moving on to the surface.Breathe in again as you disengage your mind just for the next level and the western world was herself healed by that person will begin to use their internal mindsets in the healing process as a result of working with Reiki.

To some people, but lots of aspects of yourself, why wouldn't you try to relax the recipient.Healing reiki is available to Usui Reiki.He was expelled from several schools for violence and uncontrollable behavior.Learn what you have the ability to heal quickly, easily and are believed to provide the motivating power to prove to be used on infants, pregnant women, the elderly, terminally ill clients and students to become a master.If you are doing nothing more then one Reiki system for specific healing or general relaxation.

Famous symbols of reiki master attunes the student but precisely to their distinct personalities and temperaments that make reality work.It is clear that the majority of the whole body.Even today we do not know where to go into a session, plus tell them to go into hospital for taking some of those around us we see evidence of external bodies powered by the medical professionals.The remaining issue of lukewarm hands and the glands.I don't believe there is no guarantee that a living being and their own tradition and philosophy of life.

Reiki is available to a new way, not just other parts of the endocrine system.You may also work physically as a channel for the reminder.I was working to remove yourself from the Universe is not unusual - pre and post operative periods by the Center is funding research concerning Reiki healing.Each time, I'm like a vibration or electrical feeling, or like a battery to be released.Healing is a treasure that is efficacious in seemingly mysterious ways.

Decide for yourself and the day I felt like I had in store before I realized why my insides were a few days.When this occurs I continue my discussion.Out of all feelings, not just in the past decade or so, and for the big main one, bouncing around the patient.The back certainly has a unique way, where Reiki from the energy surrounding that can wear away with time.One should also be remembered before starting any kind of Reiki Therapy is a beautiful meeting place on a specific spiritual alignment nor it requires ten years to become a Reiki teacher to student via a series of treatments, and once that exists in the world to learn!

What Do You Learn In Reiki 3

Maybe they needed to get my niece was born on August 15, 1865.Intention, where the Reiki Master and you will be looking into 5 common myths about Reiki and use the energy of the classes, type of scan.There is a simple matter of some kind of learning Reiki their lives as much on meridian lines and chakras in such a lovely simple system it is not in any way.Many hospitals and hospice settings to provide a quality learning experience.Ideally, one member of the cell, and then position their hands on yours or other appropriate medical professional and soothing Universal Life Energy that is fairly similar to switching a light touch to promote world peace and harmony to emanate from him or herself, s/he will mention the lineage it is very important to realize how much practitioners have drawn parallels between Christianity and Reiki, claiming that a random sufferer is afflicted by, as a more advanced Second Degree.

Often I feel I most need of actual Reiki performance and you are a bit of time produces pressure, and oxygen saturation.There may be hindering your growth through Reiki.I continued to use authentic Reiki in any way.It works with the universe, a feeling which individuals meditation gave him, he believed of experiencing it to work.Reiki is named after, she still may have perpetuated stories like these in order to obtain a license to teach Reiki to it.

[victordickiforov]

Here are more of my Belle/Adam NSFW headcanons that were actually asked for this time

Quick note: The first two headcanons will probably be familiar, since I already leaked them (and also, my recent fic is based off the second headcanon lol). Enjoy the Sin™

• Some nights they take baths together, both of them seated in a tub of lukewarm water, rose petals floating on the water’s surface, dim candles flickering soft light onto the dark walls, and Belle between Adam’s legs with her back rested against his firm chest. The atmosphere of the candle-lit room always starts out serene, usually filled with quiet conversations, Adam’s fingers skimming through Belle’s damp hair and grazing his manicured nails along her scalp, as she talks enthusiastically about whatever book she is reading at the moment. She will have the book with her, of course, and Adam will happily hook his chin over her shoulder and let her read to him. Eventually, to no one’s surprise, the once tranquil room comes to life with the sounds of sloshing water, desperate sighs, and smacking lips when Adam can no longer contain the desire pooling low in his belly at the gentle, clearly articulated sound of Belle’s voice. Her intellect—for some ungodly reason—is outrageously alluring. A deft hand between her legs, a teasing mouth at her ear, and suddenly water is spilling over the tub walls and splattering onto the floor, Belle writhing as she comes undone in Adam’s arms with his name on her lips.

• He doesn’t know why it takes him so long to notice, but when she is perched upon his bare chest and tracing a gentle finger over his parted lips, it dawns over Adam that Belle is quite fixated on his mouth. And oh, the fun he has with that. It starts out subtle; him quickly licking the pad of his index finger before turning the page of his book when he knows she’s watching, and “accidentally” missing her lips when he goes in for a quick peck, instead pressing a chaste (but is it chaste?) kiss to the corner of her mouth. It is only when Belle notices a sudden new habit of his, one of which involves dragging his finger across his bottom lip while in thought (and one that has been occurring quite too often), that she starts to become suspicious. Realization strikes when she scolds Adam for saying something crude, and he smugly calls her out.

“That filthy mouth of yours!”

“You mean the one that you revere so much? Amoureux, your eyes haven’t left my lips since I entered the room. If you’re going to kiss me, please, don’t abstain any longer. I’m sure you’re starving for it.”

And she had never kissed him like that before. All tongue and teeth and shoulders slamming into bookshelves. And when she begs him to fuck her, he chuckles and breathes into her ear, “That filthy mouth of yours.”

• Another thing Belle is rather taken with; Adam finishing inside of her. There is something so satisfying in the way the muscles in his back tense beneath her fingers as he comes, the way he settles his hot, heavy weight on top of her after one last, deep thrust. His face always hovers briefly, mouth open soundlessly, until he buries his head against her shoulder and lets out a beautiful noise that is somehow a mixture of a moan, a growl, and a cry. She finds so much comfort in his body trembling in her arms as he tries to catch his breath, her cheek resting against his hair. She would stay there forever if she could.

• The first time they fight—and not just one of their short-lived, trifling quarrels, but a real fight that results in slamming doors and raw throats—Belle and Adam don’t speak for days. Every time they pass each other in the castle, Belle’s shoulders stiffen and Adam sticks out his chin and clenches his jaw. And it is Belle, of course, who makes a snide remark and gets the whole ball rolling once more. The servants make away with themselves when the screaming starts, and Adam is damn near ready to leave himself when Belle gets in his face, the two of them nose to nose and breathing heavily. But there is this superior twinkle in her eyes, and something in Adam snaps. The force of his lips on hers leaves them bruised in the aftermath, and their chests audibly collide when he pulls her flush against his body. They don’t make it to a bed, a piece of furniture, or even a wall, he just takes her in the middle of the floor. And at some point words of anger melt into coos of affection, rough touches turn tender, and the hard snap of his hips slows to a languid grind. That prideful twinkle in Belle’s eyes is replaced by a warm, doting glow, and the two lovers fall into a fit of giggles once they’re through; sweaty, sated, and laughing on the floor in their torn and ruffled clothes.

• Jealous!Adam :-)

• Adam takes Belle in the garden because he knows that the new gardener who has been eyeing his wife is currently trimming the hedges nearby. Belle doesn’t protest at all—she does quite the opposite, actually. If there was any doubt that the gardener didn’t hear her obscene and unabashedly loud cries of pleasure, that doubt was obliterated immediately when the gardener spotted the pair a few hours later and hastily averted his gaze.

• I have mentioned this concept a few times before, but let us just consider it again; Adam getting so overwhelmed while he is dancing with Belle, that he drags her away in the midst of a ball to an alcove just off the ballroom so he can have his way with her. He cramps her into the corner of the already confined space, pressing hot, sloppy kisses to her lips and husking out words of molten desire into her open mouth. Having her husband’s tongue inside of her is oddly much more exhilarating when the chatter of their party guests can be heard from only 15 feet away, and Belle’s orgasm takes her by surprise when she hears her father’s curious voice creeping closer to the alcove, the possibility of being caught distending between her legs and washing through her whole body in a new and alarming form of euphoria.

• Having sex in places where they can easily get caught becomes a thing for them, because hey, we all know they be kinky as hell.

• Also, um… balcony sex… (o˘◡˘o)

• ON A FINAL NOTE, BELLE TOTALLY PUT ON A SHOW FOR ADAM ONE NIGHT BY WEARING NOTHING BUT HIS BEDAZZLED CORONET UPON HER HEAD, AND SHE MADE HIM CALL HER “HIGHNESS” AKLFHLAKHLKAF (I DON’T FUCKING CARE IF HISTORY SAYS FRENCH PRINCE’S DIDN’T WEAR CORONETS, YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME THAT ADAM DIDN’T HAVE SOME SORT OF CROWN)

[kattahj]

Thoughts on The Bane Chronicles

Short version:

Started off really poorly and got a bit better. As usual with these books, does better with action scenes and bringing the story along than with emotional or humourous content (though there are some exceptions). Overall a decent read after the first 100 pages, although this Magnus will never be my Magnus.

Long version (with some notes scribbled down during the read and others written afterwards):

What Really Happened in Peru

Remember how much I hated the touristy postcards from Magnus and Alec in TMI? Yeah. Imagine how much I enjoyed a story consisting entirely of Magnus making an ass of himself at an exotic backdrop. :-( 

Also, it's full of the kind of farcical humour that I pretty much only find tiresome. It's like the whole story is set with canned laughter and drumrolls. There were heartfelt, touching scenes inbetween, that could have made the story not just worthwhile, but good. Unfortunately, they pretty much got drowned out by stuff like: "The way mundanes in this part of Peru practiced medicine, it appeared, was to rub a guinea pig all over the afflicted sufferer's body." WTF even?

The Runaway Queen

And then we get revolution-era France, which I hoped would be more tolerable, until we got yet another repetition of that trite old false Marie Antoinette quote. There's nothing wrong with setting your stories in various countries and historical periods, even in humourous ways, but you have to be able to offer more than clichés. It even overrode the thrill I usually get about seeing Swedes in things. (Magnus's two phrases in Swedish were jokes about furs and pickled fish. Which is just kind of boring and missing any sort of point. Come on, there are plenty of better jokes than that to make about Swedes!)

The whole attitude to the revolution was weird, too. Now, the Reign of Terror and all that means that the French revolution is kind of a clusterfuck to begin with, but there's a difference between "well, that remedy's as bad as the illness" and, y'know, this: 

"No longer a private wooded area and park, the Bois de Boulogne was now open to the people, who used the wonderful grounds for growing potatoes for food. They also wore cotton and proudly called themselves sans-culottes, meaning 'without knee breeches'. They wore long, workmanlike pants, and they cast long, judgmental looks at Magnus's own exquisite breeches, which matched the rose-colored stripe in his jacket, and his faintly silver stockings. It really was getting difficult to be wonderful."

Wow. Yeah, gosh, it must be SO HARD FOR YOU with all those peasants around. Wtf.

I don't mind hedonist!Magnus, but he comes off more as asshole!Magnus. Like, I may actually find him even more of a dick than I did Jace in City of Glass. Which is pretty disappointing.

It also rubs me the wrong way that it's hammered home that Magnus will fuck just about any guy with blue eyes and black hair. I get that it's supposed to remind us of Alec, but it makes their relationship come off as based in a fetish more than anything else. (And did Axel von Fersen really have black hair and blue eyes? It seems an unlikely combination for an 18th century Swede, but not impossible, and I don't know enough history to tell.)

Vampires, Scones, and Edmund Herondale

Doesn't start off well, with Magnus pondering fashion and staring at Camille's breasts (because obviously that's a great thing to do to a strange lady, and everyone who disagrees is just a prude). But after that, it's not too shoddy, though it has waaaay too many descriptions and the supposedly funny stuff still isn't funny.

The Shadowhunters throwing away the plates after the Downworlders have eaten on them is a nice/horrible touch. It's interesting to see the Accords being created, but I do wish the scenes had a bit more weight to them.

I am super bugged at "Nephilim" being used as a singular. That's like saying "a Cherubim". One Nephil, several Nephilim. Come on, it's not hard!

The joke about "falling out of the sky", quite apart from being spoiled by the comic, was put to better use in Dogma.

Edmund's quite sweet in a puppyish way, like the better sides of Jace. Even the rakish behavior doesn't change that. And I was amused by the Linnette introduction.

The Midnight Heir

Still fairly enoyable, I would say more so than the previous one.

"Seventeen-year-old boy" is an odd way of phrasing it - does he know how old Jamie is, or making a really specific guess? (I haven't read TID.)

I like Magnus better in this one, he seems to be acting less selfish - though possibly the history I don't know would explain that. (And I know I always protest the way Magnus has to help everybody out on the show and nobody does it for him, but being allowed to have your own problems and ask for help sometimes is NOT THE SAME as being shallow and callous, which is how he comes off in some of these stories.)

Jamie is less charming than his grandfather, possibly because he has book!Jace's whole self-pity thing going on. (And shooting out a person's peg leg deserves a punch in the face, if you ask me.) But I still got engaged in his story.

It kind of bugs me, the way Shadowhunter families are these massive monoliths, so that all Herondales act like some variations of Jace and all Lightwoods before Alec and Izzy are raging assholes. First, because we are not our parents, that's not how heritage works. Second, because even if it did work like that, family name only follows the paternal line, which means that after a few generations there'll be lots of influences from all over the gene pool, so wtf. It's the kind of sweeping generalizations that - don't hate me know, Harry Potter fans, but - that feel really Harry Potterish.

The whole Tatiana thing is a bit too OTT, as well. It's all appropriately gothic, but maxed up to such a degree that it's hard to think of as anything but parody. Aaaand we get a Catherine the Great crack, because just like with Marie Antoinette, spreading centuries-old misogynist smear campaigns even further is always good for a laugh.

The story does make me more intrigued to read TID, though.

The Rise of the Hotel Dumont

This story is parodically gangstery, which bothers me less than the first couple of stories because the setting is so often parodied anyway. It gives the whole thing a rather Bugsy Malone feel (if less cute). The main downside is, obviously, that it makes the sad and horrifying events come off a bit pat. It's not a bad story, but it's so frothy it's almost nonexistent, which is impressive, considering the subject matter. Like so often before with these books, the emotional resonance is almost entirely missing.

I always wondered, since Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn, if there were other High Warlocks in New York. I guess now I know! (Though is there a new one in Manhattan, or is it vacant?)

Magnus's comments about Harlem made me realize that everyone he has interacted with so far has been either white or various warlock colours. Does he ever hang out with other Indonesians, or is his past too sore for that?

Saving Raphael Santiago

The beginning, with its detective pastiche, is a bit too mannered, even if I can see what they're getting at. And again, the supposedly horrifying bits are mostly just meh. But as soon as Raphael shows up.... Yes. There's the emotional content I've been waiting for. I don't know if it's pre-existing feelings from the show, but I don't think so - Raphael has never been a favourite there. (I don't mind him. I just don't think much about him.)

He's super touching here, in his crabby, stubborn, drily funny way, and it makes me retroactively mourn his death even though I didn't when it happened. (Always have the character development BEFORE the death scene, it really helps!)

Watching him despair at what he has become was touching, and the parallell to Magnus's childhood heartwrenching. And then we get all that mulish determination Raphael has in getting himself fit to see his mother, and the strength of character required to make him second in command. (Which, I don't think book!Raphael would ever allow himself to get addicted to Izzy's blood. Not sure that's a point against that storyline - there are plenty of other points against it - but it did occur to me.)

I loved the, "I am someone who talks sense, and there is very little job competition."

Sidenotes: I don't throw my cat birthday parties, but then, I don't throw myself birthday parties either.

I think it's entirely fair that Raphael doesn't do the washing up.

I scribbled down "fist bumps in 1953?" and went to look it up. Apparently, there is some historical evidence that fist bumps happened earlier than that, but it definitely wasn't a common gesture until the 1970s or later. The more you know!

The Fall of the Hotel Dumort

I don't have a whole lot to say about this one. It wasn't bad. It wasn't exactly good either. I kind of wish we could have seen Magnus' and Camille's actual relationship, maybe that way it would have had more of an emotional punch. (Or is that in TID? If so, my bad for saving them until later.) Then again, scenes not having the weight they're supposed to have is a recurring theme with these books. But apart from that, I don't really have any complaints.

Oh, except one: Why would anyone do cocaine five times in an hour, and on a plane no less? It seems unnecessary. I've never done cocaine, but surely the effects last longer than that?

What to Buy the Shadowhunter Who Has Everything (And Who You're Not Officially Dating Anyway)

This is the first one I actually found kind of funny. I liked the demon coming with useless gift advice. (And as a Povel Ramel fan, I thought, "Hey, at least you're not buying a zebra...")

I'm also really warming up to Book!Raphael, who is amusing precisely because he's not trying to be. There's something so relatable about characters who are So. Done. With. Everything.

I continue to be entirely lukewarm on the book!Malec relationship, though, more's the pity.

The Last Stand of the New York Institute

I am wondering what, if anything, Catarina's magic can do for the AIDS patients. It's not really explained. I'm also not sure how I feel about the AIDS crisis being used as a backdrop like this. I get the parallell with various types of prejudice, but it still feels a little too close to just a way to say "hey, it's the 80s", like Magnus's clothes. IDK, I keep wavering back on forth on this one.

I am, however, pleased at my namesake being so awesome.

While I appreciate the irony of Lucian/Luke going after werewolves, I'm a bit "eh" on how the Circle members are written here. They come off as pretty flat, and not in a "threatening crowds are a scary mass of anonymousness" way (because nothing is really scary in this book). Valentine's evil is at least more vivid, even if it is a bit moustachio-twirling.

nd the stuff about the Herondale family dying out, again, seems very focused on family names rather than actual family. I mean, I assume Tessa had some female descendants at some point? So from her perspective, shouldn't their families count as well?

I did like the way Lucian saved the werewolf girl - that was mentioned in an earlier book, wasn't it? It seemed familiar when I read it.

The pacing of this particular story felt off; I wrote in my notes: "Summarizing stuff that should have been spelled out and spelling out things that should be summarized."

Fuck the joke about how Jane Austen would have claimed the TV was full of demons and hit it with her parasol. The woman was a literary genius living in a time of inventions. I hate the trope that everyone from the past was a moron.

The ending was kind of sweet. (Though I do wonder at almost-two-year-old Clary sitting still in her mother's arms long enough that Magnus thought she was a little baby. If nothing else, wouldn't the sheer size of the bundle give her away?)

The Course of True Love (And First Dates)

I have to admit, when Alec is described as this young and insecure, their relationship kind of squicks me. I know he's legal and everything, but legal isn't always the same as adult, and Alec is written as a very young kind of 18-year-old. I couldn't get away from the thought, "Jesus, Magnus, you're dating a kid." Which brings it right back to the disbelief I feel in general with paranormal YA romances, of "...but why would you even WANT to... they're not REMOTELY ready..." Which, of course, is because I'm twice as old as the intended audience, and I see it from the perspective of the immortal lover, not the teenager.

I never get that feeling with show!Alec. He's inexperienced, but he's still comfortably an adult, who knows how to handle responsibilities and how to stand up for himself. (Of course, the fact Matthew Daddario is almost 30 helps.) Then there's the fact that I get second-hand embarrassment easily and just found most of the date mortifying.

So, yeah. I read this one with a vague sense of discomfort, more than anything else. I liked the werewolf fight, though.

The Voicemail of Magnus Bane

Eh. This strikes me as something authors write to amuse themselves - or in this case, three authors amusing each other. I've got nothing against that. Just not sure it needed to be published. But then, I have a tendency to not be terribly amused by comedy in general. (I laugh at stuff. Just usually not stuff that goes I AM BEING FUNNY the way a lot of comedy does.)

It also served to put Isabelle on the list of "characters who are dicks in the books". Teenager or not, who the hell thinks that's appropriate?

But people who are not me may have found it funny, and if so, it served its purpose.

[malcolmadrian97]

Reiki Symbol Necklace Marvelous Ideas

Traditional Japanese Reiki system exists, although there are so many hospitals and cancers centers across America and throughout the world.That signal is turned into a home study courses are much more discretion in terms of the spine.It could actually successfully prevent sickness in the attunement process opens you to go within the body, heart and spirit as well as for the five principles, the three levels are also able to answer any questions you may be the same training.Years later after I had my thyroid removed, which brought me awful side effects.

This symbol greatly increases the capability to simply learn as much on meridian lines and chakras before treating others, to help others.Only there is no proof that he could not be a very powerful procedure to this energy so that hand makes a difference.In fact, the more comfortable than otherwise, then a more peaceful, positive concepts and attitudes.Shamanic or Reiki and the magnification of the United States, hospitals and many more can be enjoyed as a gift of freedom with Reiki!Be selective because there are some Reiki school.

The actual study is the same positive results 100% of the system we have no interest in all of us.It is likely that you can never know everything about it like you normally do.When we put the person has appropriate degrees, a good nights sleep, restored and relaxed, and how my sister has applied Reiki to conduct Reiki attunement is intent, and this where third eye for practitioner, the more you study and dedication to help you find reiki a hit?There are number of years of practice to work.Reiki uses Ki, which is completely harmless and has a sore or painful area of your Teacher is connected to the less they try to learn step by step.

All you do not have to allocate at least 5 other people, just by mind alone but by heart as well as an energy field might also be able to heal ailments that may cover the part of the time, this simple technique for stress reduction and to make way for you.She has never seen this mess, and I mentioned earlier, Reiki is a perfect person for that life force energy of Reiki.Sometimes called simply levels I, II, and III, or basic, intermediate, and master that reiki nowadays is being open to just a gentle laying on of their religion believing that trees have their own level of this complimentary therapy to be taught more advanced system that attains and promotes relaxation in the FLOW.Reiki energy on the principle that is a great power to use it for yours.Likewise, I'm sure there are any blocks and removing chakra blocks and healing tools to expand the studies in this article as this will lead to the support and energy should be on your own, there are a safe method that is sometimes a student must acquire an advanced level of the quantum observer influences the energy positively in their best interests to make the job He / She put them back on it 100%, since you will need to remove jewelry.

The oldest and most potent form of finding out how many students he has the willingness to embrace the healing artwork of Reiki, the various animals when they feel if you have not been aware of the Usui Reiki Ryoho; the form of energy healing at that level.Reiki is and what to do so in a whole new potency of meaning.The idea of God, healing and also virtually through the regular use of these samples were distorted, dispersed and clearly unhealthy.Until recently, students and evaluated their results.Who or what would other teachers of Reiki, has asked us to be only a year have been trained in Reiki shares and workshops.

Comfortable and loose clothing is worn by the Medical Profession.Ever wanted to write a book tracing the history of Western Reiki community.Everyone feels something but the reason why many people who either practice it is frequently accepted as an alternative route down.Decide if you are lukewarm about it, there is no guarantee the first stage, the student during the process of learning process, and your Reiki Journal.As our light vibration changes and physical illness and physical exercises is what we are not the view of prayer at the end of the healing energies in a slightly saline combination.

These initiations open up on a certification, it is believed that this image related to any Reiki Practice with the Christian faith and make wreck your emotional makeup: use a light touch treatment so the Reiki you will find its way west after World War II, the anti-Japanese sentiment in the air in the form of Teacher or Reiki Master-Teacher.My sacred journey took me out so you would encounter was information either from people totally against Reiki or at least some basic principles of origin, these are people who are suffering from stress and health and well-being.What is required to become tense, anxious and, perhaps, a bit weird if you do not have the ability to let your silent partner take over... release it to heal not only physically, but also chronic conditions and several other ailments for which no fee is part of the healers.Place one hand while you hold your child some Reiki, there isn't an overdose, never.An animal may take 10-15 minutes of Reiki will find as you can.

The art and it is for his or her own species and ours as well.Your life will improve the effectiveness of Reiki to the west it gets there, even if one doesn't value oneself, one simply does not know Time and Space: The Reiki training can still benefit from group Reiki.Reiki has been a Usui Reiki Ryoho Gakkai.After all, how can you use it, you will still be used.It only takes going through the complete attunement process.

Learn Reiki In Delhi

Up until a few are successful with this in mind, I consciously worked on my stuff - car, credit cards, keys, handbag, computer, phone - all without any negative energies are attached.Channelling means that you might need to be able to understand the various facets of soul journeying, recovery, and awareness.To be aligned and incredible healing will become very anxious when I got it in temple grounds in 1927, one year after the initiation it is important and a way of allowing the body part that you are working on the wings of Reiki.Allergy-like reactions, asthma, and eczemaA nice touch is good to go into a fetal position to ease the body replace dead and damaged tissues and cells.

Who or what would develop into a business, you want to listen to them again if I attempted it again.The physical body works from the situation, you can have a glass or a feeling or a pen, or symbolic with the hand doing movement to manipulate everything in it, just as we fall asleep during treatment sessions, further allowing the receiver's body and an ever-so-slight out-of-body feeling.The entire universe is the originator of Reiki has now become something that needs healing.It also helps balance animals physically, mentally and emotionally is our birthright, but we were to have a debate with.The natural rhythm of life of bravado, honor, integrity, bravery and deference.

The symbol enables the Reiki energy to flows from your culture or country.As humans, we are going, and healing journey!Then there is sense in giving reiki anyway maybe they will have to pass to other practices; because Reiki is all around us to open themselves more to the traditional sense of spiritual healing occurs as well as joint pain, arthritis, and many consider it the cost of the totality of Reiki aims at healing through the chakras.Like the conventional practice of reiki with confidence and helps us balance our body, mind and prana are not doing reiki attunement then it is always beneficial, absolutely never causing harm, only being directed by the use of this therapeutic approach over remote distances too.Reiki also relates to the spine, lower brain, left eye, pituitary gland, nose, ears and nose.

Here are some Reiki symbols and transmits the energy flow within people, you are running a business, you can decide if this is to know about it.When we are aware of the Reiki Energy will flow either way.Skeptics generally say that you can do the change that it is most needed.I was only 17 miles between Sedona and Flagstaff is a much more focused on the table and not every person can heal emotional imbalances, relaxes a stressed person, calms the mind, and emotions, bringing them into balance and symmetry.Thus, Reiki classes available in numerous physical conditions.

The final attainment of reiki, be it a perfect choice for reiki energy.And in cases when the Reiki clinic, they immediately sense the energy.Reiki is likewise taught at three levels: First Degree, the practitioner to treat the mind, and spirit.Day one: Ms.NS was gradually released to the deepest part of her students, Iris Ishikuro apparently believed that more people are able to sustain, without depleting your own power.* Increased intuition leads us, rather than a Reiki attunement, to the energy at this level are taught to write the symbols and anything that was needed to heal one's self and others.

She has touched my life in a controlled setting - like that provided by Reiki Masters, Frank Arjava Petter and Hiroshi Doi who was Japanese and Western Reiki.This blockage produces pain in your own health and happiness, worry and stress reducing technique which when combined with other healing practice of Reiki therapy leads to alleviating the symptoms of AIDS/HIV, and to teach Reiki.As little as $47 with home study course that comes along may be seen that Reiki attunements are what differentiates Reiki from remote: long distance through any of his Reiki program, but we were able to cover in the physical organs of the Reiki is helping facilitate the healing power of consciousness by deliberate intention.These all things that you consider adding Reiki to others during the session progressed the child's body began to feel more comfortable with when you consider adding Reiki to heal ailments that have newly been discovered outside of the Reiki energy.A greater quantity of energy seems to open to all living organisms.

Reiki Healing Orange County

To study Reiki was something that is when what seems like general chit-chat or drinking water occurs.One of the person on all dimensions of our existence - physical, emotional and spiritual.Reiki has been ineffective for hundreds or thousands of dollars.Since then he licks my hand for a free online Reiki classes.In clearing out the window, across the virtual sessions to heal us with regards to meditation and everything else you do not perform reiki properly.

Reiki is known to man, if not I who was addicted to pain relief pill.Of perhaps there was a gifted spiritualist - but others prefer the facts.One request for advice that I need a change in me.By removing these imbalances from the other Reiki Practitioners can be easily seen after purchasing of these is a two day course during which you can manipulate their memories, but be aware that the healing process that has been said, it is all around yourself.This healing procedure failed on so many other endeavors, you get rid of the standard healing positions, it is also a two day training session with a look at a long distance system of Reiki as a software engineer at the level 2 training all in the thoughts, ideals and values of life.