#I will probably break hiatus to reply to tis once the move is more under control

[westallenfun]

A Most Unexpected Love, Chapter 5

WestAllen secret santa gift  

From: @jade4813

For: @sophisticatedloserchick

Author Notes: For the lovely @sophisticatedloserchick from @jade4813! Merry Christmas, and I hope you like my first fic after a long hiatus!

Title: A Most Unexpected Love

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Iris has loved Eddie Thawne Allen her entire life. When she returns home just before Christmas, it looks like she might finally have a chance to catch his eye…unless an accident puts his older brother, Barry, directly in her path. Story inspired by Sabrina (with some quotes lifted more or less directly from the source material).

Chapters: 5/7

Chapter Five

When Iris’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, it was with the vague feeling that something had awoken her, but she couldn’t bring whatever it was to mind. She was warm and toasty in bed, and though the light coming through her bedroom windows was bright, she told herself that could just be due to its reflection off the fallen snow.

So what could have awaken her? As she debated the various merits of going back to sleep or staying awake to ponder the mystery further, she heard the soft thump of snow against her windowpane. That must have been it.

Dragging her body out of bed, her mind clouded with a sense of muddled confusion, she headed over to the window and peered outside just as another snowball struck the side of the house with a wet thud. Pulling the curtains aside, she looked down into the yard to see Barry beneath her window, bundled up in a thick coat, heavy scarf, and woolen hat. The moment he caught sight of her face, she saw him break into a wide grin, gesturing wildly for her to come out to join him. Laughing lightly, Iris rushed to dress, wrapping a scarf around her neck and buttoning her coat as she headed outside.

It didn’t even occur to her that she hadn’t yet checked on Eddie.

“What is this about?” she demanded with feigned affront, bracing her hands on her hips.

Barry took her show of indignation in stride. “We’re making a snowman! Come on!”

As he stooped to scoop some snow into a ball, Iris followed suit, the first touch of icy snow against her palms an immediate reminder that she’d neglected to pull on her gloves. Stopping just long enough to do so, she threw herself into her task, barely noticing as the chill soaked through her jeans where she knelt to build up the body of the snowman. When it grew large enough, she tried to roll it, but the heavy weight of it quickly became too much for her, her feet scrabbling uselessly in the snow when she tried to give it a push.

Iris giggled, collapsing on top of her creation, and Barry bounded up next to her, as enthusiastic as a puppy. “Need help?” he asked. She nodded and was almost disappointed when he took position next to her, rather than framing her body in his arms. Did she really long for him to hold her? She tried not to give that urge too much thought.

With his help, they pushed it until she decreed it the perfect size before tackling the second piece of the body and the head. Once completed, Barry lifted the snowballs into position while Iris packed snow between them so they would remain in place. It took a few tries, but eventually, the snowman stood on its own, and the two of them stepped back to fix it with a critical eye. “Hmmm,” she murmured, pondering its absent face. “I don’t suppose you have a bunch of coal lying around, do you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch as he demanded indignantly, “Just how bad do you think I’ve been this year?”

Feigning innocence she replied, “I don’t know, but I thought I should keep my options open!” He let out a small bark of laughter, and she suggested, “Okay, no coal. How about…you see if you can find some rocks for the eyes and mouth, and I’ll track down a couple branches for the arms.”

“Deal,” he agreed, racing off to perform his task. Meanwhile, Iris headed for the woods, keeping her eye open for branches that were just the right size. Several minutes passed before she found what she was looking for, distracted as she was by the quiet stillness of the forest around her. Once she turned her attention back to the task at hand, she saw the perfect branch above her head, sagging low under the heavy weight of snow.

Reaching up to grab the branch, she grabbed it in one hand, giving it a hard yank to pull it closer. The sharp tug jostled the tree, which unloaded what felt like a mountain of snow onto her head. Iris let out a loud yelp of surprise as the thick coat of white cascaded upon her head and down the back of her coat, her feet sliding out from under her.

Landing hard upon the ground, she blinked in astonishment, trying to process the strange sequence of events and shivering at feel of snow against the back of her neck. She was about to get to her feet to rise again when she heard Barry shout her name.

“Iris!” he cried, racing through the trees to get to her. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” she asked, taken by surprise. “Yeah, of course. I just fell.”

Kneeling in the snow by her side, he explained, “Oh, I thought you might have sprained your ankle again. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” she reassured him gently, touched by his concern. She didn’t protest as he took her hands in his and helped her rise to her feet. Her eyes met his, and she sucked in a ragged breath, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she found herself swaying closer, the warmth of his breath on her cheek drawing her in.

Their noses met, brushed, and she froze, her mouth barely an inch from his. She couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right. Was it? “We should – we should finish our snowman,” she breathed. But still, she didn’t pull away.

“Right,” he agreed, his forehead pressing against hers as their noses brushed together once more.

Acting on impulse, she stretched up, pressing her lips to his cheek instead. “Thank you for coming to make sure I’m okay, though,” she said, as though in explanation, as she rocked back on her heels.

Her action had broken the tension that had built between them, and he smiled down at her. “No problem.” He helped her retrieve the sticks of her choice and followed her back to the snowman, seemingly as eager as she to pretend that nothing untoward had almost happened between them.

Unless…he hadn’t felt the same urge to kiss her that she’d felt to kiss him? What a depressing thought. Caught up in these reflections, her mood was subdued as they returned to the snowman, but Barry didn’t seem to notice. He applied the eyes and mouth while she added the arms, and then they stood side by side as they considered their creation once more.

“I don’t know. It still feels like it’s missing something,” he remarked with a troubled frown. When she remained silent, he shot her a look out of the corner of his eye and said, “I know!” Pulling his scarf from around his neck, he looped it around the snowman and tied it in a knot, drawing away with a grunt of satisfaction.

“You know, it could probably use a nose,” she offered in a flat voice when he still seemed dissatisfied. “You wouldn’t happen to have a carrot, would you?”

“Good question. Let’s find out.” Grabbing her by the hand, he led her into the house, heading directly to the kitchen. Once there, he went in search of a carrot while she approached what looked like a pile of groceries on the kitchen counter. “I don’t see a carrot, but would an eggplant do?” he called, his head still buried in the refrigerator. “Or how about…oh, no, that’s no good. What even is this? Green pepper?”

“What’s this?” she asked, staring at the objects in question rather than investigate the state of what sounded like possibly some very dubious vegetables.

Her question drew his attention, distracting him from his task. “Oh,” he replied sheepishly as he joined her side. “Well, I thought it would be fun to build a gingerbread house, so I went out this morning and got everything I thought we would need.”

“I’d say!” she said in amazement. “You got enough to make a whole village!” But even as she spoke, she pulled off her gloves and shrugged out of her coat, tossing it on the back of a chair. Unlooping her scarf from around her neck, she tossed it aside as well, all but pushing up her sleeves as she turned to the items in question. When Barry didn’t move right away, she prodded him, “Well? Are we doing this or aren’t we?”

The unfinished snowman forgotten, Barry grinned and shrugged out of his own coat, tossing it on top of hers. “Okay, why don’t you get everything set up and I’ll heat up some hot chocolate. I assume you want mini-marshmallows in yours?”

She threw him a skeptical look. “Is it really hot chocolate without them?”

“Good point!” They each focused on their respective tasks for the next several minutes, but as Barry placed her full mug of hot chocolate by her elbow (complete with six mini-marshmallows, and, yes, she checked), he asked, “Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope. You?”

“Never. Well, this should be…interesting.”

It was interesting, indeed, she decided a short while later. Not entirely successful. But interesting. “We did it! I think it’s – no!” she cried when two walls they’d been trying to cement into place for the last ten minutes collapsed for the sixth time. Throwing Barry a frustrated look, she groused, “I could have sworn the peanut butter would do the trick. It sticks to everything.”

“What can I say? I wanted to be a scientist, not an architect,” Barry pointed out, throwing their efforts a considering look. “You know…there’s nothing that really says we have to make a gingerbread house,” he suggested skeptically.

Pursing her lips, Iris followed his gaze and asked, “What did you have in mind?”

“Gingerbread…modern art?” he offered weakly, making her snort in response. She actually snorted.

“Deal,” she agreed, latching on to his suggestion like it was a lifeline. “But only if you make us some more hot chocolate!”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled good-naturedly, turning back to the stove. “I’ve dealt with lawyers who drive less ruthless bargains than that.”

“Flatterer.”

Happy to abandon their gingerbread architecture efforts, Iris waited in silence as he refreshed their drinks. She was reluctant for this time together to end, but she couldn’t think of something else to suggest to pass the time.

He seemed as eager to prolong the moment, falling into step beside her as they strolled in the general direction of the living room. “So,” he began, his voice trailing off lamely as they passed through the foyer, shoving his hands into his pockets once more. She was beginning to realize it as something he only did when he was nervous or uncertain.

“So,” she agreed, slowing to a stop. He turned to face her, and she swallowed wracking her brain to think of something more to say. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head back to look at him, her body swaying toward his. Which is when she saw it. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh what?” he asked, following her gaze. When he saw what had caught her attention, he breathed, “Oh.” His chin dropped, their eyes meeting, and she noticed he was blushing. “You know, we don’t – it’s a silly tradition, anyway.”

He was offering her a way out, and she appreciated it. But it only made her realize that she didn’t want a way out. “But it is tradition,” she pointed out, resting her hand on his chest, just over his heart. Her voice dropping to a whisper, she said, “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I want to,” he breathed in return, causing her heart to race.

His hand cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin, and she leaned into his embrace. He tilted his head toward hers, and she caught her breath, her eyes fluttering closed. And then his mouth was on hers, his lips surprisingly tender. The kiss was supposed to be brief, but when she felt him start to draw away, she clutched the front of his shirt in her fist, silently asking him to stay.

He hesitated for just a second and then leaned in again, his hand moving from her cheek to cup the back of her head. Iris gasped, her lips parting, stretching on her toes and pressing her body against his as his tongue swept into her mouth.

She was breathing heavily by the time the kiss broke off, and the two stared at each other in silence as she tried to process what had just happened between them.

“Iris I—” he began, but a voice interrupted them.

“Iris!” Eddie cried, and she whirled around to see him hobbling toward the two of them, relying on a cane to support his weight.

“Eddie!” she gasped in surprise, jumping away from Barry. “What are you doing up?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Barry look between the two of them before drawing away. She wished she could reach out to him, but she forced herself to remain still.

“I was coming to find you,” Eddie said with that practiced smile of his. Wait, practiced? When had it changed from boyish to practiced in her mind? “I hope Barry hasn’t been boring you too much in my absence.”

Though his voice had been light and teasing, Iris felt her muscles tense as an automatic defense rose to her lips. “He hasn’t been boring me at all! We’ve been having…fun.”

Barry’s voice was flat and devoid of emotion as he said, “Yeah, but since you’re here, I really do have some work to do. See you later, Iris. Eddie.”

“You don’t have to—” she protested weakly, but he seemed not to hear her as he strolled away, not looking back even once.

Eddie shifted toward her, drawing her attention. “You know, it occurs to me…we never did get our dance in the solarium. What do you say I grab us a bottle of champagne and a couple of plastic cups from the kitchen and we head out there now?”

Torn between the longing in her heart to call after Barry and the memory of the years spent pining for the man in front of her, she asked dubiously, “Are you sure you should be drinking? You are on some pretty strong medication.”

Seemingly charmed by the thought she was worried for him, Eddie’s smile widened. “All right,” he conceded, “we don’t need to drink, but we should dance, at least.”

“And what happens next?” she blurted, unaware the question was even on her mind until she’d uttered it. But, of course, she knew what would happen next. There would be a plane flight to Martha’s Vineyard. A show on Broadway. Dinner and dancing and a carriage ride in the park. And one day, there would be diamond earrings and a goodbye. Because that was Eddie. That was what he did. And while she may have spent the last decade or more telling herself she was special, the truth was…she wasn’t. At least, she wasn’t to him.

“Next?” he repeated, sounding confused.

“After. What happens after the dance?”

“After?” he parroted again, as though the question was entirely foreign to him. As though he’d never before pondered the concept of time or the linear progression of events. For every event, just as there was a before there would inevitably be an after. There was before his injury and after his injury. There was before she returned home and after she returned home. Before she kissed Barry Allen in his own foyer and, well…

Whatever happened next, she would now forever be the Iris who existed after that kiss. She lifted her hand, lightly pressing her fingers against her lower lip as she remembered the feel of his mouth against hers.

Ignorant of her thoughts, Eddie offered her his well-worn charm and admitted, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Can’t we worry about that later?”

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, pretending she hadn’t noticed his effort. Ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her confusion and the conflicting feelings in her eyes, she agreed. “Yes. Of course. We can worry about it later.”

“So, our dance…?”

“Maybe tomorrow. You really shouldn’t push it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

Eddie seemed disappointed, but he held out his arm for her to take. “My guardian angel. Okay, I’ll go, but only if you walk me back to my room.”

It was the least she could do. He’d injured himself coming to see her, so it really was the very least she could do. Plus, while her unexpected change in feelings left her reeling and uncertain, she did like Eddie, underneath it all. And so she didn’t begrudge looping her arm in his or walking him slowly back to his room, her body pressed against his side.

As she took his arm, however, she felt a shiver go down her spine. “Are you okay?” he asked, feeling her sudden trembling.

Iris nodded. “Yeah, I just…cold chill. I’m one of those people who always feels cold, you know?”

“Really? I didn’t know that. But I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, and after our dance,” he paused and threw Iris a proud grin, as though he’d just said something charming and clever, “we can spend as much time as want learning it all. And, of course, I’ll be happy to warm you up any time you want.”

She forced a laugh at his wolfish grin, as she knew he’d expected. After that, she let her mind wander as she escorted Eddie back to his room, laughing lightly whenever there was a break in the conversation that seemed to call for one. Wondering what Barry had been thinking as he’d left her standing alone under the mistletoe.

[zevlors-tail]

I’m glad you at least got lunch! Maybe try eating again if it’s not too hard? And I understand that family can suck sometimes, maybe straight up try telling them some stuff to clear things up a bit at first! Like set boundaries? Other than that, I do hope Thanksgiving isn’t a bust for you. Only eat as much as you’re comfortable with, but remember your definition of a lot is kind of a mind trick, so try to eat a bit more if you can. Overall, you’re very valid, and you deserve to have a good week

LIFE UPDATE

First of all, thank you for this whole thing, it’s very sweet and caring of you. I really appreciate people taking the time to reach out and make sure I’m okay and telling me to have a good week. <3 That means a lot to me that you guys do that.

Second, I’m just gonna make this my life update post since it kind of ties into everything I’m about to spill so uh.

TW: Eating Disorder and Covid mentioned under the cut in case anyone wants to scroll past or doesn’t want to read, which I understand. But here’s a lengthy life update that no one asked for.

TLDR: I’m moving soon, going on a mini hiatus, have been exposed to Covid, and generally not well but surviving.

I’ve been on an upswing today, so I’ll try to get this out rationally and coherently while I can. If you don’t know by now or you’ve somehow (luckily and miraculously) managed to not catch any of my stupid vent posts, hello! I’m Sweater, I’m 23, and I run this blog! I also have an eating disorder that I am actively trying to battle, and at this point I am in what I would call a full scale relapse for me.

Holidays this time of year (or any time really) are especially hard for me since food is a big factor in them. Without getting too much into specifics, restriction of food is common for me and often it just doesn’t feel or taste right. Eating can make me feel nauseous, disgusting, and ashamed, while not eating causes the exact same effect, except with the added point of apathy. Mostly this is an addiction that I have been fighting on and off since high school (a little over 5 years), but for me it’s also about punishment and control, and so when things get chaotic in my life, I tend to relapse habitually, sometimes without even realizing it. This can happen when I’m extremely stressed, when I feel out of control over my life, or just forget to take care of myself in general, whether that’s working through my lunches and breaks or sleeping too much or too little through meal times.

Right now, my life is really hectic. Covid has really upended everything for me, made me question my sexuality, my gender, and pretty much my entire identity. If you haven’t caught on by now, I’m also married, and this was a very recent thing that happened just this year in July. Unfortunately, things have not worked out, and since I’ve changed a lot as a person, my current living situation and relationship are on the line, and I’m having to go through the stress of figuring out divorce and an apartment in the middle of a pandemic. 

This is definitely not where I saw myself in just a year. I’m actively pursuing therapy, I’ve just gotten my own car, and I’m on track to get better, but things aren’t that simple and it’s really just taking a toll on me both physically and mentally. I was not looking forward to Thanksgiving and eating in front of people this year anyways, but now I definitely can’t go since there are people in my specific department at work who have Covid. We just found out today that someone who I was in close contact with all the time has it, and so I’ve been exposed for a second time. Because of this I’m not attending my family’s dinner, so I don’t have to worry about food anymore, but I do have to worry about whether I have Covid or not.

I am under a tremendous amount of stress. I have about a month of crunch time to get a new license plate and title for my car, find an apartment that I can afford that allows pets, get a divorce, and start therapy (hopefully). My family has been unsupportive for the most part and mostly just frustrated that I don’t want to stay with my spouse. But I have to say, I think the most frustrating thing in all of this is the ED and the symptoms that come with it. I mentioned above that I feel apathetic when I don’t eat. That gets in the way of me doing other every day things like work, being active at home, writing, taking care of myself, and giving attention to others. I lose motivation at work, I can’t focus on anything (my brain often feels foggy and hazy and it’s hard to remember anything; it all blurs together for days, weeks, sometimes even months), and I just feel drained and exhausted 24/7. So I feel stressed, yes, but I also don’t care about it and I do care about it at the same time.

I have okay days, and that almost makes it worse, because on days I do eat I end up with huge mood swings right after having been apathetic, and honestly it’s like giving myself emotional whiplash. One minute I’m having intrusive thoughts about how i’m certain negative words and phrases, the next I feel nothing at all and can hardly bring myself to walk around (often it’s a feeling of “what’s the point in existing?”), and then after I eat something I feel high in a sense, or lethargically warm and upbeat at the same time. It’s exhausting, really. To feel everything awful all at once, and then go from feeling absolutely nothing at all to the most upbeat positive things ever. It’s almost like false hope, if that makes sense? When I eat something and feel better, it’s easy to tell myself that things will be okay, that the ED isn’t real anyway, that I don’t have a problem and that I can feel normal. And if there is one, I’ll be fine, I don’t need help, etc. 

I’m dealing with all of that combined into one giant mess that is my life right now. That being said, this blog is my escape. I’ve met a lot of cool people here, gotten to know some really lovely friends, and I’ve written really cool things that people seem to really enjoy. I want to continue to write, but that requires focus and time, both of which my ED is actively taking from me. I’m doing my best to be here as much as I can and I will still continue to work on requests and writing, because it’s a way for me to cope and escape. But I do need to acknowledge that my life is out of control and I need to do something about it.

I’m doing my best to stabilize myself and work on things. I think a mini hiatus at some point in December will be inevitable, however, especially considering there will be a point in time where I will not have access to an internet router/the internet for my laptop to write. So I’m not sure when exactly, but it’ll probably be towards the end of December. 

Anyways, this is not a post asking for pity or attention, just a post for me to process some things and give a life update. You are in no way obligated to respond to this or to comment on this unless you really feel the need to. I just wanted to be open and honest about where I was and what was going on with me. I understand if you don’t want to follow me after this or if you just want to scroll past.

Just know that I’m working on myself, I’m trying really hard, and it’s really difficult for me sometimes to get a grip on my writing and my own sense of self because of this. If anyone needs anything I’m usually always here! But again, all of this is the reason I don’t always respond to messages. It’s nothing you’ve done or said, I just literally can’t remember that I was having a conversation sometimes, or I can’t focus enough to type out a reply, or I’m sleeping through the day or just dissociating and feeling apathetic. But I love you all, and I’m thankful for your support, and I want to be better.

Much love and care,

-Sweater <3

[snickerl]

The Return

XF Fanfiction

Now that season 11 is on hiatus, I hope the fandom is ready for a (sorry!) loooong background story about an almost unknown family member.

tagging @today-in-fic

He looks out the window and sees her sitting outside on the porch alone, deep in thought, her eyes fixated on something in the distance. She looks so lost and despite the still existing chasm between them, he feels the strong urge to console her. She said goodbye to her mother today, scattered her ashes to be reunited with her father's just as the last will stated, and he's utterly surprised about how deep the impact of all of this is on his own soul.

Charles Scully has been distant from his family for he doesn't know how long. Very long. The last time he had personal contact was when they were mourning another family member, his sister Melissa. She had been shot by a cold-blooded killer and the news had toppled the house of cards he'd been constructing so conscientiously around his family history and his reasons for cutting the ties. He had booked the next available flight out to become one of the mourners. Everyone, including him, was too shocked by how a young woman's flame of life had expired so very suddenly and randomly that nobody, including him, questioned his being there. And now he's in this house once again because of a funeral.

He'd spoken to his mother on the phone seconds before she drew her terminal breath. Bill had called him, informed him that she was in the hospital suffering from a heart attack and that she had asked for him before she had slipped into a coma. He had given him the number to Dana's cell phone and more or less commanded him to give her a call as if Charlie was one of his plebes from the Academy. It was a short, awkward, and one-sided conversation, reminding Charlie of the ones he used to have with his father before he turned his back to his family.

Being on the phone with Dana was different. She sounded so relieved when she realized it was him. Charlie could hear in her voice how desperate she was, how she was overwhelmed by the fear for her mother. She begged him to talk to her, didn’t order him like Bill. When her voice broke in the end, it touched a heartstring he already believed to be numb.

He can't remember what he said to his mother, something about why all of a sudden he was willing to reconnect probably, but he remembers the fuzz he overheard when his voice had obviously really caused her to open her eyes. He heard Dana's sharp intake of breath, he heard a man's voice asking his mother if she knew her name and where she was, he heard his mother say something but couldn't make anything of it. Then he heard Dana calling out to her in panic, the faint sound of the heart monitor indicating a flatline followed by his sister's heartbreaking sobs. Eventually, someone picked up the phone and talked to him. The words he heard only confirmed what he'd already suspected, feared even.

"Hello, Charles, this is Fox Mulder. We haven't met, I'm, uh...I'm a friend of Dana's." "I know who you are, Mr. Mulder." "Oh, okay, well...I'm very sorry but I have to tell you that your mother just passed away. My deepest condolences."

Charlie didn’t reply, he just killed the call without even saying goodbye, and when Dana called a few days later to inform him about the funeral arrangements, he didn’t want to attend at first. He talked himself into believing that he had paid his dues as a son by fulfilling his mother's last wish and that this was it for him, that he was through with his family for good now that both his parents were dead. Three sleepless nights and an earnest conversation with his better half later, he booked a flight to Washington.

And now he's here, in his mother's house, shaking hands with people he's been alienated from for a long time. The only person he feels slightly connected to is his sister who hugged him fiercely instead of clumsily holding out a hand like his brother. She thanked him for having talked to their mother, for having brought her back if even only for a split-second.

Dana's forlornness and grief don't leave Charlie cold, and so he opens the back door and joins her on the bench outside. He gets her attention by leaning to the side and nudging her shoulder. "You and Mulder are back together?" he asks to start the conversation.

"What makes you think we are?" Dana tosses over her shoulder without looking at him.

"He was at the hospital with you when mom died and today he's here, observing your every move like a bodyguard. He looks like he wants to wrap you in cotton wool. I'm surprised, that's all. The last thing I heard was that you'd left him."

His sister turns her head now and looks at him. "Heard from whom? I was under the impression you didn’t care to know anything about us."

"And yet, people have been telling me things."

"People?"

"Old high school friends. Navy acquaintances. Aunt Roberta calls once in while. You remember her? She's our father's half-sister's out-of-wedlock daughter. We met her once at a Scully family reunion out in Portland when we were kids. She was never really accepted as a member of the Scully clan but she has her sources when it comes to what happens in this family."

"Yes, I think I remember her. And she's telling you things about us? What things?"

"For example that Dana and her FBI agent with the funny name broke up."

"I have an FBI agent with a funny name?"

"At least Aunt Roberta thought so." Charlie chuckles when he thinks back to the more than peculiar conversation. He tries to imitate her Southern accent and her slight sigmatism which had amused them already when they were kids. "Charles, honey, have you heard about Dana and this FBI agent of hers? The one with that funny name I can't remember. It was some native flurry four-footed species with a bushy tail and pointed ears." His assumed voice makes Dana laugh and the unexpected joy he managed to bring to her urges him to continue. "She went through the whole list: lynx, coyote, raccoon...jackalope."

On the last one, her head turns slowly toward him and his ever-suspicious sister only needs to cock an eyebrow to make Charlie understand that she is questioning his story.

"Okay, I'm kidding on the jackalope, but I swear she mentioned the other three!"

"I wouldn't have thought, I bet if I browsed through the cabinet long enough I'd find an X-File involving someone named Jackalope," she retorts and her deadpan expression makes Charlie chuckle now.

The amusing twist their conversation has taken helps Charlie cover what he doesn't want to tell his sister about his telephone call with Aunt Roberta. For example, how troubled he was by the news of her failed marriage, partnership, romance, or whatever it was. The family had been discussing the state of her relationship to this man for years. Aunt Roberta once reported a 'friend of a friend' who was with the IRS had seen them file their income tax as a married couple. Those rumors coming from a questionable source were never confirmed and it didn't matter anyway if they were married or not, when a relationship fails it hurts, that much Charlie knew from experience. So when Aunt Roberta told him Dana and her FBI agent had separated, he felt an instant pit in his stomach. He later identified this as a mix of compassion and sympathy. He was sorry for his sister that she suffered from another setback in her life. He also doesn't want to tell Dana how conflicted he was when Aunt Roberta offered her new address, also obtained through rather murky means. He had declined and regretted it later on, because at that moment he had felt that one day, maybe, he would want to reach out for her.

Charlie doesn't fail to see that Dana isn't particularly generous with information about her relationship to Mulder, a trait which isn't new to him. When they were kids, she already hated being interrogated by her family about her teen romances, especially by her mistrustful father and concerned mother, but also by her siblings who, of course, teased her more than they really wanted to know what was going on in her heart.

Charlie wants to assert her now that they don't have to talk about Mulder if she doesn't want to, but then she picks up his initial question on her own accord and clarifies, "we didn't break up, at least not with finality. I moved out of our house about a year ago, but it was meant to be only a temporary separation. Mulder needed space to....ugh, well, it's too complicated to explain. We're both back at the FBI and have gotten closer again working alongside each other. Besides, he's still my best friend. I don't know how I would be able to survive all this without him."

"You call him by his last name too."

"I do."

He's heard the man his entire family has been gossiping about for years call his sister 'Scully' today a few times and at first, it bothered him a bit. Calling someone by their last name usually was a put-down, a means to create a distance. But the way he says it doesn't sound rude by any means, rather gentle, more like a term of endearment. And now he's just heard Dana call this man 'Mulder' for the first time as she hasn't spoken much during the service, and it also sounds so affectionate.

"A very special relationship you have there."

"Yeah," Dana huffs, "as if you knew anything about it."

"For someone to follow a convicted murderer underground, I'd say the relationship has to be very special. He's your son's father, I assume."

Her pinched mouth clearly indicates he's reached the limit now of what she's willing to share of her love life, and she doesn't hesitate to verbalize it either. "I don't want to talk about it. Besides, it's none of your business."

"Sure. Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. It's just good to know that you have someone who looks after you."

Dana's head whirls around to look at him so fast, he fears it might give her a whiplash. Her steel blue eyes pierce through him and an ice-cold draft wafts off of her. It gives Charlie an idea that what she's going to say won't be very pleasant for him to hear and the sharp undertone she spits the words out with strengthens the impression.

"Is it, Charlie? You worry about me all of a sudden? I haven't heard from you or seen you in ages. You didn’t care if someone looked after me after my abduction, when I had barely survived a gunshot wound to the abdomen, when I buried Mulder, or when I had my baby, your nephew. You didn't even care when I was dying of cancer."

There's going to be no warming up, he realizes with a start. No getting reacquainted first after so many years of separation, no holding back, no fence time. She throws the accusations right at him and every word feels like a slap across his face.

"I cared," he replies flatly, a bit shocked by the list of terrible things that happened to her. He's heard about all of them. Sometimes only years later, but he knows that she's been at death's door too many times in the line of duty, he knows he once had a nephew called William, and he's heard a lot about one Fox Mulder playing a decisive role in almost everything. He also was in the loop when she was ill with terminal brain cancer. His mother had told him, had left a message on his answering machine pleading with him to visit his sister at the hospital. It was the time she still tried to bring the lost sheep back to the herd. It was only after the umpteenth message he'd left unanswered that she gave up and left him alone. Probably to save herself from more hurting. Even a mother can only take so much rejection.

"Why didn’t you come to the hospital? I was waiting for you, Charlie! Day after day after day, I told myself that tomorrow you'd show up with a good explanation why you hadn't been able to make it earlier, until one day I realized you deliberately stayed away. I can't say it didn't make me sad."

"It would've been a sorrowful cause for a family reunion."

It's the only explanation he can think of this quickly, fully aware that it's a lame excuse. It's a pretext he tries to hide the real motives behind. It's not going to help him out of the confrontation lurking right in front of him, he figures. He sees the determination in his sister's eyes to get to the bottom of the matter and the bundle of questions she's been waiting so many years to ask him.

"I was dying, Charlie. It was your last chance to ever see me alive. Didn't this have any effect on you?"

"You didn't die."

Another useless remark. The fact that she didn't die doesn't lessen his wrongdoing in the slightest.

"No, I didn't, but nobody was able to foresee that at the time. My body was weeks away from shutting down, maybe only days."

He has nothing to say to this. Not even some senseless, placatory words. He's getting more and more uncomfortable. His pulse rate must have risen significantly, the lump in his throat is growing, and the air around him feels sticky. Beads of sweat start forming on his forehead, although the temperature is moderate and a light breeze is blowing in his face.

"Don't you have anything to say? Any explanation, any excuse?"

"There is no excuse," he admits meekly to his sister and actually the first time to himself, he realizes. Deep down at the bottom of his heart, he knew he was making a terrible, irrevocable mistake, but he never had the guts to concede this fact to himself.

"You're damn right there isn't! I don't get it, Charlie, your surviving sister being at death's door wouldn't bring you to put aside the family dispute for just once? Huh? Didn't it matter just a tiny little bit that I was diagnosed with a terminal illness?"

He sees the hurt in her eyes, the wound he caused that has never healed completely and still oozes.

How is he to make her understand that both Ahab's and Melissa's sudden deaths had paralyzed him? He felt strong and invincible having dissociated himself officially from his family, a family whose paternal structures of command and obey had suffocated him. But when his father had died unexpectedly from a heart attack, he felt deprived of the possibility to ever set things right. The family he had left was never going to be the same with its head being gone, the person Charlie had rubbed against the most. There seemed to be no way back to where he once had been. There had been no doubt that Bill would take over, moving upwards in the chain of command from being someone receiving orders to giving them. The friction that had existed between his older brother and himself would increase tenfold with their father gone, of that Charlie had been sure. And things got even more complicated for him when with Melissa another pillar of the family structure was eliminated without a warning. His place in the remaining mesh of relations was evermore undefined and Charles Nevin Scully, youngest branch of the pedigree, departed more and more from his family, even from the ones he never had a reason to be at odds with other than that they belonged to that particular family: his mother and living sister.

Charlie's sinister flashbacks leave him silent which leads Dana to voice her very own interpretation. Misinterpretation, that is. What else?

"You were of the same opinion as our older brother, weren't you? That it was all my fault. That only I was to blame for everything that happened to me because it had been my choice to join the FBI. A choice which killed our sister."

"Bill said that to you?"

"Yes."

"When you were in the hospital?"

"Yes."

"What an asshole!"

Dana narrows her eyes and furrows her brows. "That wasn't what you thought of me?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice.

"No. Never."

"Then I understand even less why you completely ignored my being ill. If a hospital bedside visit was too much to ask for, why didn't you call or at least write a few lines? Something. Anything. I was longing for a sign that you cared about me, Charlie."

He would like to tell her that he cared. He cared so much that he called the hospital every day to ask how she was doing. He had been able to convince a nurse that he was a family member authorized to get next of kin information. Her name was Estelle, and she reported to him every up and down of the course of his sister's illness. How she battled her way through the aggressive treatment, how the hopes everyone had pinned on chemo and radiation were disappointed, how she became a little less every day. He knew of the mysterious chip Dana's FBI partner had come up with even before his mother and brother heard about it. The last time he spoke with Estelle was when she called him the day the cancer had gone into remission to tell him about his sister's miracle cure. He cried when he put the receiver back into the cradle. A few days later, Dana was discharged and Estelle received a huge bouquet of flowers.

Why he can't tell his sister this, Charlie doesn't know. Instead, he gives her some other reason, one that is equally true though. "What good would it have done to rekindle, Dana? Tell me. Why get close to someone you're going to lose again?"

Her eyes wide and gasping for breath like a fish out of water, her indignant reply isn't long in coming. "Pardon, I'm not sure I got this right. Are you saying it wasn't any use? That it wasn't worth the effort because I would be gone soon after anyhow?"

Tears flood her incredulous eyes and Charlie hates how he is making things worse instead of better.

"No, that's not exactly what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Charlie? I don't understand a word you're saying. I never really understood why we were estranged in the first place."

"We," he fidgets with his hand between them, "were never estranged, Danes."

"No? Then how come you didn't get on a plane and pay me a sick visit as long as you still could?"

Maybe it's time to finally be honest, his mind supplies, to finally explain his state of mind at the time. If it only wasn't so damn difficult to pour his heart out to someone he had taught himself to cut out of his life. But she is his sister, and back in the days as kids, they were like two peas in a pod. The two youngest Scullys were inseparable and always attached to one another. He owes her an explanation, she deserves to understand why his behavior as an adult differed so much from when he was a child.

He musters all his courage and clears his throat, then starts to explain, his powerless voice revealing how hard it is for him to speak the words. "I had already lost one sister, I wasn't ready to lose another. It had been hard for me not to be able to say goodbye to Melissa, but to watch you die, Dana, simply seemed impossible for me to handle. I thought that if I pretended that the family drama didn’t have anything to do with me, it would be easier for me to cope with the inevitable, which would be the...the, uhm..."

"My death," Dana supplies unmoved.

"The loss of my second sister."

It doesn't take her long to understand the essence of his profession. "So you're saying you ignored my medical condition to protect you from the pain my passing would eventually inflict on you."

"I know that was selfish of me."

"It was. Very selfish. Incredibly selfish." She hesitates a moment until she goes on, probably because it takes her a moment to grasp the whole concept, something that took him years to accept, and he sees it coming, she won't spare him his shortcoming. "All you saw was your loss and how you would have to deal with it. The situation I had to fight with at that very moment didn't even exist in your imagination. Do you want to know what I had to deal with, Charlie?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "There was no hope for a cure but I underwent treatment anyway just to buy myself a bit of time. Chemotherapy made me vomit my insides out, radiation gave me gum sores and made it difficult for me to swallow. I suffered from constant fatigue and lost so much weight they gave me nutritional IVs so I wouldn't die from malnutrition. I was terrified, Charlie, I didn't want to die. I was too young to die, and I didn't deserve to die. I was so scared. I could've used you to help me through this, little brother."

Scanning his face, her eyes tell him how hard her struggle was, how it had taken every bit of strength she had within her tiny body. Charlie feels the same horror as all those years back when Estelle gave him the minutae medical reports of her ordeal, and he's employing the same whitewashing technique to justify his failure as a brother, only it was much easier back then to convince himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong than it is today.

"You had people taking care of you much better than I would've been able to. You had mom and Bill. Your partner."

He had heard from Estelle that there was an FBI agent who moved heaven and hell to be allowed to sit at his sister's bedside outside visiting hours, that he spent the nights either holding Dana's hand or in her bed spooning against her. Estelle had never witnessed so much compassion from a patient's work colleague before. Charlie didn’t have to be a psychic to be able to conclude that this man had to be the infamous Fox Mulder, of whom his mother had spoken so dearly during Dana's abduction, but his brother had called a joke figure unworthy of being in law enforcement.

"Mom's sad face only reminded me of how much fear and worry I had caused her since the day I joined the FBI. She tried to hide her tears from me, but there were days her eyes were so red and puffy, I knew she'd been crying until she stepped into my room. I was grateful to her for her love and care but sometimes the way she clung to me made it difficult. Mulder also tried to put on a show for me and acted as if there was nothing to worry about, but I knew him too well not to see the underlying fear. I noticed how he tried to keep a calm face as long as he was in my room but deep inside struggled with the idea of going on without me. I wanted a pledge from him that he would continue our work but he refused to even talk about it. He tried to keep from me that he was searching for a cure, breaking every FBI rule there was, but I looked right through him. He reminded me of a duck that floated serenely on the water but paddled frantically underneath. There were days I worried more about him than about myself. And Bill, well...you know him, he's not really good at displaying his soft, compassionate side, although he has one. When he said he wanted to come to terms with me, he just did not go so far as to add 'as long as you're still here'. He's never forgiven me my decision to join the Bureau. He's been more unforgiving in this than dad ever was. Mom told me that Ahab had eventually accepted my choice before he died."

Charlie isn't so sure about it. Their father could be very stubborn and unrelenting. He himself had been at the receiving end of the paternal pressure, they all had. Their mother had always been the balancing force and of course, she wanted Dana to believe that her beloved father had finally made his peace with her career choice. That Bill had taken over Ahab's role as her stern critic also fit into the mold of how he pictured the family dynamics from the distance he had been keeping so eagerly.

"I don't understand it, Charlie, we'd always been so close. I loved how you lived for the moment, how you looked at your life so differently from how I did. You were always so carefree and confident. I could've used your optimistic attitude to cheer me up, your inappropriate jokes to lift my spirits, your positive thinking to assure me that everything was going to be fine. I badly needed someone to distract me, to take me away from all these people with their worried faces and sinister forebodings."

He doubts he could've been this someone for her, given the worry and sinister forebodings he was hatching inside himself at the time, but he would never admit it. He's already told her so much more than he ever thought he would. There was something else though he needs her to understand.

"Danes, I may have been a selfish bastard...correction, I was a selfish bastard...but there's one thing you have to believe. There never was a time I did not care about you. You've always been my favorite sibling. I mean, Bill and I never had a lot in common. Being so much older than me, he always thought he could boss me around when dad was away. Melissa was fun and easy-going but too occupied with herself to pay a lot of attention to her baby brother. You, Dana, you were the only one who looked after me. Do you remember how you once intimidated some boys who bullied me in school?"

Dana shakes her head in disbelief as if his well-meant words don't make any sense to her, probably because they contradict his behavior during these past years, but he needs her to understand that he's always loved her dearly. The distance he put between them has only been physical, never emotional. The happy childhood they had shared wouldn't let him dissociate completely from his sister, even if he had tried.

"They were taller than me, and a lot taller than you, but you put your hands on your hips and told them to leave me alone if they didn't want you to give them a lesson of a girl's secret combat strategies. Your flaming red curls and fiery eyes put them to rout alright. You were my heroine then, today, and always."

"Your heroine?"

"Yes, my heroine. Geez, you never avoided a confrontation, never abandoned your beliefs. You were the only one of us who dared to argue with dad, and I adored you for that. Not even our older brother would've had the guts to do what you have done: choose a career against our father's explicit will. I asked myself if the Navy really was Bill's first choice or only dad's. You were the tiniest of us four but also the strongest and most courageous."

"Overpraise."

"Oh no, not at all. I couldn't have wished for a better big sister."

Charlie watches her with silent scrutiny and when his eyes find hers, a little smile sneaks from the edge of Dana's lips. Her voice becomes softer with every sentence of the childhood memory that leaves her lips.

"I was so happy when mom and dad told us we would have another brother or sister. I'd always wanted to be a big sister like Melissa. Mom told me years later that she had two miscarriages after me and didn't dare to try for a fourth child for quite a while. That's why the gap between you and me is somewhat larger than between us other three. When you were born and dad took us to the hospital to visit you and mom, I was allowed to hold you although I was the youngest. I remember that dad said it was Bill's right as the firstborn but mom insisted I should hold you, and of course, Bill didn't mind. He had his hands in his pockets the whole time to keep anyone from placing the fidgeting baby in his arms. Melissa was too occupied with the current book she was reading to bestow as much as a glance on you, so I held you the entire time. You looked at me with wide eyes, then fell asleep in my arms. Mom said that you'd been crying all day, that she'd thought you were never going to stop, and that from now on she would call me to help her soothe you whenever you were upset. I almost burst out of pride. I had fallen in love with my baby brother at that very moment and I felt that nothing and no one would ever come between me and him...until I was lying in a hospital bed, sick and scared, yearning for my brother to hold me for a change. And he didn't show up."

The way her voice breaks at the end is stealing Charlie's breath. "God, Dana," he groans. His stomach churns and he feels like he is being stabbed in the heart. It's not easy to be told so plainly how wrong he had been.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's alright. I deserve every word of it."

"Maybe, maybe not. I mean, I guess you had your reasons to distance yourself from the family. Seriously, how many fights did you have with dad about scholastic merits, majors, and fields of study? About the so-called serious sides of life?"

"He wanted me to become a second Bill Jr., one more son he could push into the Navy to follow his footsteps. Why did he never argue with Melissa like that? She wasn't exactly an industrious, determined student either, was she? When she told him she was going to move into this esoteric commune to learn how to free her spirit from the shackles of the performance society he only shook his head, shrugged and continued reading the paper. I didn’t get it. If it had been me, he would've given me an hour-long lecture."

Dana has to chuckle now. "She was a girl, Charlie. Dad probably thought she'd get married one day and left it to the future husband to put up with those silly ideas of hers."

"And he had you, of course. Bright, ambitious, A-student Dana at the onset of a career in either science or medicine. You raised the bar to unreachable heights for us ordinary mortals."

"That was never my intention. I just loved to study and I found joy in being the best possible in everything I did. I still do actually. Mulder can tell you a thing or two about it."

"I knew you didn't become daddy's pet on purpose, but you were, and at a certain point there just was no valid place for me to settle myself in. Bill was his golden Navy boy, you were the brainiac, Melissa had already taken the role of the black sheep, so what was I going to be?"

"Is that why you went away?"

"I couldn't do anything right by him, he was always on the lookout for mistakes he could blame me for. Mom always tried to make up for it but let's face it, dad wore the pants in that marriage. One day I realized I was happy and satisfied as long as he was away. The nearer his homecoming, the more uncomfortable I got. The family was thrilled about his return, whereas I dreaded it, and when you cried when he left us again, I had to feign being sad. At a certain point, it had become so obvious for me that I was an outsider in this family that I decided I would move out as soon as possible."

"And so you did," Dana states.

So he did. On the morning of his 18th birthday, he let his mother and siblings know over the birthday breakfast they had set up for him that he was going to move in with a friend. His father was at sea, luckily. Charlie wouldn't have had the guts to go through with it probably if Ahab had been sitting at the table with them. His mother was utterly aghast, his brother ridiculed him, the older of his two sisters babbled something about how one must pursue the path being offered, the younger cried, pleading with him to stay.

"Please believe me when I tell you that it wasn't you personally I needed to get away from, it was this family dynamic I couldn't cope with any longer."

"A dynamic I was a part of."

"Yeah," he sighs, "you were. It wasn't easy for me, especially in the beginning, but I needed a complete cut. It wouldn't have worked any other way for me."

"I hear you using 'I' and 'me' a lot, Charlie. Have you ever wasted a single thought about what your leaving did to us? Mom especially?"

He had. He thought a lot about his mother and it felt terrible to turn her down in her persistent attempts to reestablish contact. He can't explain what made him react to this last effort of hers. Maybe he'd realized that even if it was too late for him to reconcile with his mother, he didn't want to lose a third family member without even saying goodbye. Fate had been so courteous to him as to give him a second chance with Dana, it didn't offer him a second one with his mother, but at least he got to show her he still cared about her before she died.

"I did think of her, more than I would want, but, well...it's just that you can't make an omelet without breaking the eggs."

Dana cocks an eyebrow, a gesture Charlie is familiar with since early childhood. "Weird analogy here," she snorts. "It means you accepted you hurt her, I guess. "

"I'm afraid I have to say yes."

Dana presses her lips into a sharp line and nods slightly, processing his painfully honest words. "Well, thank you for taking the time to ease her heart at her last moments on earth." If she tried to prevent sounding sarcastic, she's not succeeding.

"Even at the risk of you not believing this, I'm glad I did. She was my mother, I owed it to her. I, uh...I did love her."

He's rendered his sister speechless for a moment with these last words. A tear escapes her eye when she finally says, "I believe you, I only wished she would've had more time with you."

Charlie swallows hard. His voice is small when he replies, "I'm sorry, Dana, I know I should've come back earlier. I should've been there for you, and for mom, when you needed me."

"You're here today, Charlie, and that's all that matters now."

They turn toward each other and after a moment of hesitance they hug, long and tight.

"Mmmm," Dana hums and the sound vibrates comfortably in Charlie's ear, "I'm so glad to have you back, little brother."

"It's good to be back, sis."

"You won't hide anymore?"

"No. I promise."

After a moment of significant silence they spend with Dana clutching Charlie as if her life depended on it, he breaks the embrace. To his dismay, the moment he lets go of her, his sister collapses. Her shoulders start trembling and when her chin falls to her chest, he hears the first sob escape her throat. He looks at her, not knowing exactly what she is crying about. She has so many reasons to cry. There were so many losses in her life she had to deal with, starting with a brother who vanished from her life without leaving a trace. Guilt crawls up his spine for having left her in the lurch for so long. He places himself right next to her, their thighs touching, and puts an arm around her shoulder. She instantly falls into him and the dam breaks. Her body is shaking from heavy sobs and soon Charlie feels his shirt getting wet from her tears. It's as if she's bottled up her sadness for too long that it now gushes out of her unchecked.

It takes Dana several minutes to recompose herself, minutes in which she's being rocked and comforted by her long-lost brother until the sobbing subsides eventually. She disentangles herself from him, pulls a tissue out of her pocket and blows her nose. Looking at him with red and blurry eyes, she manages a weak smile when she says, "seems you've returned the favor now."

"What favor?"

"To hold me until I stopped crying like I did when you were a newborn."

Charlie can't keep the sour chuckle down which is climbing up his throat. "Superb, it only took me 46 years. Well done, dude!"

Now Dana chuckles too, but hers is full of relief, not reproach. "Better late than never."

The sudden realization strikes him hard. How he wishes now that he'd been her rock also back then. Hell, how often had she stood up for him when their father had told him off, justifiably or not? How often had she covered for him, both in school and at home? She'd helped him out of more than one predicament, and he had only taken, taken, taken. He'd taken his unselfish, giving sister for granted and he'd never given her anything in return but his outright admiration and brotherly affection. As a kid, it had probably been all that could've expected from him, but as an adult in his mid-twenties, he should've had the decency and morality to swallow his personal sensitivities and shove his pitiful ass all the way from Fresno to her bedside in Washington to hold her hand.

"I'm so glad you got cured, Dana. I would've never been able to forgive myself."

In his state of harsh self-flagellation, Charlie fails to recognize that Dana's mood has already shifted from reproach to reconciliation. If he wasn't so self-centered once again, he would be able to read it in her face, in her open look and appeasing smile. She lays her hand on his forearm and squeezes it gently.

"Let's not talk about it anymore, Charlie. The cancer is gone, I'm fine. I've been cancer-free for years. We have all the time in the world to make up for the past years."

"What? That simple? You're forgiving me just like that as if I'm belatedly returning a book I borrowed from you? I failed you in the moment of your worst distress and you're saying 'let's forget it'?"

"If I learned anything during my illness, it has to be that it's no use trying to redo what's past. The past can't be changed, only the present and future.  When I was still in the belief that my remaining days were numbered, I struggled with what I had missed doing in my past and it was hard to accept that there were some things I would never be able to catch up with. Then a miracle happened and I got cured. I was given a second chance and I swore to myself I wouldn't waste it with regretting the mistakes I'd made in the past."

"You got cured thanks to a...erm, somewhat alternative approach, so I heard."

Dana's hand goes to her neck, her fingertips reaching for the spot where an implant had first been taken out and later on another one put in. He heard the whole story.

"Mulder's chip, well...it certainly led to some discussion with mom and Bill. They thought I was being crazy to even try it, but I had nothing to lose. And I trusted Mulder."

"Are you still carrying it?"

"Yes, I am. It seems to have kept me in remission ever since."

"That's wonderful, Danes. How did Mulder know it would work?"

"He didn't, but he is a believer. And he taught me to believe."

"What a great partnership. How long have you been together now?"

"More than 20 years."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it's quite a time span. What kind of life are you living, Charlie? Do you have a significant other? Are you married?"

"Divorced. Twice."

"Children? Any nephews or nieces I don't know of?"

"No children, no. At least no biological ones. Carrie, my second wife, has two boys, and we get along pretty well. Once in a while, I take them to a football game or out for burgers. They're cool kids, but it seems I'm not made to be a family man. I'm not good at playing house. I definitely won't marry again. I'm living with someone though. Haley. She's 32, a free spirit, artist. She reminds me of Melissa at times. She's very open when it comes to addressing my flaws," he adds with a grin. "She's good for me."

"Sounds wonderful. It's good not to be alone."

"What about Mulder and you?"

"We're not living together at the moment."

"You already said that, but will you again? One day?"

"Maybe," she says, and with a little more emphasis, "probably."

"He seems like a good person. Quite different from what I've been told by Bill."

"How come Bill talked to you about Mulder?"

"Well, you're not going to like it, but uhm...he wanted me to help bring you to your senses. Back in the day. I think by now, he's given up on the endeavor to eliminate him from your life."

"Bill and Mulder have never really connected. Bill blamed him for dragging me into this dark world of his, into his quest of finding the truth. He completely neglected the fact that I was a grown woman who made her own choice when I decided to follow him. One day, his quest had become mine."

"And you had fallen in love," Charlie points out.

"It's a very long and very complicated story but yes, somewhere along the road we fell in love with each other. I think neither of us can pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, one day we simply found ourselves being in love. When you've found your perfect other, you don't let them walk out of your life just like that, even though not everything is always perfect."

"I like him."

"You do?"

"Yes, he seems kind and decent, and absolutely devoted to you. He guards you like a mother bear."

"He's always been very protective of me, unlike what Bill thinks."

"He was in the hospital with you. When mom died."

"He was. I received Bill's call at a crime scene and Mulder sent me to go see mom right away, saying he'd cover for me. He came to the hospital later. He knew I needed him. Apart from that, he liked mom and was worried about her. She liked him too. She liked him a lot. Her last words were to him. I guess she said them to both of us, but she was reaching out for Mulder and looked him in the eye when she said what she said."

"That she also had a son named William."

"Her last thoughts were of the two people that were lost to her - William and you. She loved you, Charlie, despite everything, and she needed to know you were alright before she was ready to go. As a mother, she never gave up on her child."

He's surprised about the warm feeling spreading inside. Maybe as a son, he also never gave up on his mother. Maybe even if the umbilical cord is cut there's an invisible bond between a mother and her child that never ceases to exist. He thought he had burnt all bridges behind him but that obviously wasn't true. He's glad he made that last phone call and talked to his mother. It not only gave her peace but also him. He missed the chance to make full amends with her, but maybe she'd known what their last-minute reconciliation would do for him. A mother always knows what's best for her child.

"But why did she tell you she also had a son named William? She should've known you were aware you had a brother with that name. It seems a little peculiar to me."

"I don’t think that was what she was trying to remind us of."

"Of what then?"

"That we, Mulder and I, have a son named William too."

"Huh? She thought you forgot that?"

"No. She knew we missed him every day of our lives. She wanted to tell us to never give up hope, to keep believing that we will reunite with him one day, just like she had reunited with you after so many years of separation."

"Well, reunited is probably too big a word. I spoke two sentences to her. She didn't even answer."

"She felt the connection re-established, Charlie. Your two sentences pulled her out of the coma. The fact that her prayer for you had been answered, that you had come, even if only through the speaker phone, gave her peace, and she wanted the same peace for us."

"Awesome. I never would've thought."

"It took me a while to figure it out myself. At first, I was confused and even a bit angry at her. I asked myself why she had to remind us of the child we had lost. What was the use of hurting us? Only days later I understood what she was trying to tell us."

"To look for him?"

"To always feel responsible for him. We are his parents, even though he's not living with us. Mulder and I created this life, and for as long as we live, our obligation is to assure he's safe and happy. If it means we have to stay away from him, so be it, that's what we have done the past 15 years, but maybe the day will come when we can dare to contact him. She told us to never stop hoping for this to finally happen."

"With saying she also had a son name William she put herself in your shoes."

"She acknowledged my motherhood, something I've had difficulties with since I gave him up. She always saw the mother in me, never the woman who gave her son away. I can't tell you what this means to me. Especially because she disapproved of my decision to give him up for adoption, and very strongly so. She loved William and didn't want to lose her grandson. I've been told many times by people who didn't know better that I would understand a certain situation better if only I was a mother. Working at the children's ward does that to you, it puts you in a situation where you have to talk to parents making tough choices for their sons and daughters. The choices I made for my children-"

Dana stops mid-sentence, takes a deep breath and bites her lower lip for a moment, then turns toward her brother. "Do you know that I had a daughter? A beautiful girl. Emily. Begotten with my ova, carried and given birth to by another woman."

Charlie nods. He has never fully understood the whole story of that girl's existence, but his mother, God bless her, had written him a letter back then giving him the news of how her first grandchild had entered her life so miraculously and then left it again within the blink of an eye. The letter even contained a picture of a little girl that looked so much like his sister it had taken his breath away, but he had been in a phase where a lot of things were going on in his own life, so he had never really allowed this story to get at him.

Dana's eyes become unfocused and she looks beyond her brother to an image only she can see. Charlie is aware that she hides the full depth of her pain. To her questioning look as how he'd come to the knowledge of that other child of hers, he only answers taciturnly "mom". A fleeting smile crosses Dana's face at the mentioning of her mother, then she takes on from where she left a moment ago. "I didn't know Emily existed until she was three years old. She was so terribly sick when I found her. There was no hope for a cure, and I decided to accompany her on her way of death instead of prolonging her suffering just to have her with me a little while longer." The last sentences come out in a staccato without drawing a single breath in between them as if this was the only way for her to be able to do it.

"Jesus, Dana, there's been so much suffering in your life, so much pain and loss."

His sister heaves a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, it seems that my adult life has been one long master class in death beginning with my choice to go into forensic pathology. Fate would've had it that I not only studied death but gathered a lot of personal experience to add to the scientific approach. God, there are so many deaths, one after another, it's almost difficult to put them in a chronological order." She squints her eyes for a second, then starts the morbid list. "Dad, Mulder's father, Melissa, Emily, Mulder's mother, Samantha, Mulder, the Gunmen, and almost myself now and then. Now I have to add mom to the list."

Some names don't make sense to Charlie, like Samantha and the Gunmen, and he asks himself how Mulder made it onto the list, but he won't dwell on it. There's no use in deepening the cuts in her heart. His sister is a textbook definition of a strong person but where is her breaking point? When would all this death be too much for her to take?

"Well, anyway," she shakes her head as if to push the thoughts about death out of her mind, "what I wanted to say was that the choices I made for my children left me at a point where I wasn't seeing myself as a mother anymore. All I felt I was, was being the biological origin of two human beings who lived, or had lived, their lives far away from me with other women raising them. Mom never saw it that way. Every Mother's Day she sent me two white lilies and a card, thanking me for the two grandchildren I gave her. In her eyes, I never ceased being a mother, and I'm so grateful she reminded me of it before she left us."

As a man, not even a father, Charlie can only try to imagine what it was like for his sister to lose two children, and, to make matters worse, under such unfortunate circumstances beyond her control. From the way she so fondly speaks of her emotions connected to her motherhood, he feels safe enough to ask her a question that has been on his mind for a while.

"How was he? My nephew?"

Dana's self-containment is gone for a moment. She sucks in her breath deeply through her nose while her eyes slide closed. Charlie already fears he's gone too far, but then a slight smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. When she opens her eyes, they are filled with tears, but they don't seem to be sad, rather dreamy.

"How was he? Let's see. Hmmm, he was such an easy baby. He didn't cry a lot, he was happy and satisfied most of the time. As difficult as the pregnancy and childbirth were, it didn't have any negative influence on him. He smiled mostly, ate and slept well. He would look at you with his big, curious eyes and melt your heart. He was a godsend for a first-time mother."

"Did he look a lot like you? Like a Scully? Bill's kids all looked so much like him when they were babies, I almost pitied them," Charlie deadpans.

"It's what nature intends. Fathers don't share a mother's certainty that a baby is theirs, so newborns resemble their fathers early on to assure men they invest their resources in their own offspring."

"So he resembled Mulder more than you?"

He can't stop himself from asking the trick question. So far, she has spoken of her partner's fatherhood only in casual half-sentences and Charlie wonders why. At this point, he's certain that no one else can be her son's father but Fox Mulder.

"Well, he had blue eyes like most babies have and only peach hair when he was born, but whenever I looked at his face I saw Mulder, especially after he had to leave us. William was all I had at a time I didn't even know if Mulder still lived." Leading her yet again to a sad chapter of her life story hadn't been his intention but she seems unfazed and Charlie doesn't even have to voice another question for her to continue and eventually answer his question. "When I picture him now, I see a mixture of the both of us: a lanky teenage boy with Mulder's brown unruly hair and my blue eyes. I hope he's been spared the red hair, I remember how Bill and you wrestled with the color of your hair as kids. And you're dying it now, I see." She rakes her fingers through her brother's hair with an amused smile on her face.

"I've tried more or less every single color, I can tell you as much. It was green for quite a while," he quips.

The information makes her laugh. It's a wholehearted laughter, taking a bit off the edges of their sad conversation. "Well, you were far away enough from home to be allowed to experiment. Imagine Bill with green hair. Dad would've been mad as hell."

Charlie joins in her laughter and they both can't hold it, they laugh until the tears stream down their cheeks. It's a good laughter which puts an end to the heavy talk and lets them both cherish their togetherness. This is how it used to be between them when they were kids, light and easy.

Dana and Charlie are both so absorbed that they startle when the back door opens with a creak and Mulder pops his head out.

"Sorry to interrupt but there's an Aunt Roberta on the phone who wants to pass on her condolences to you, Scully. She says she's a distant relative, the second daughter of your father's cousin or something like that. She asked me if I was the FBI agent with the funny name. What am I supposed to make of that?" Dana and Charlie look at each other and burst into hysterical laughter, much to Mulder's bewilderment. "Well, I'm glad to see you're having fun," he growls with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Sorry for that, Foxxx," Charlie says, stretching his name for emphasis and gritting his teeth at the same time in order to keep himself from laughing. He gets up and puts a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "I'll talk to her."

After Charlie has vanished into the house, Mulder takes the now empty spot next to his partner and mumbles under his breath, "agent with the funny name...moi?"

She also tries to suppress a grin but is only half successful. "There's obviously been some talking about us within my family and Aunt Roberta has been adding her own anecdotal details to the stories."

"Anecdotal details, I see. Well, as long as she calls me funny and not spooky, I shouldn't complain."

"I never thought you were spooky, Mulder."

"Not even when we first met and I showed you the slides to our first case?"

"No."

"I can't quite believe that, Scully. Everybody thought I was spooky."

"First of all, I'm not everybody...." Mulder smiles consentingly, "second, I thought you were nuts when we first met."

"Ouch." Mulder's face contorts in feigned hurt for a second before he shoots back, "and I thought you'd last a week maximum. I guess we've both changed our minds."

"Who said I have?" she deadpans.

"Funny. Very funny, Scully." Mulder's face is empty now, whereas Dana's lightens up upon their banter.

Inside the house, Charlie isn't listening very closely to what Aunt Roberta is saying. He tries to follow the interaction outside on the porch and strains his ears to get at least some of the conversation. Casually, he tells her now, "stop calling him that, Aunt Roberta. His name is Fox, and forget what you've been told about him, he's a good person." It only takes his aunt, who's probably a second or third cousin or actually not a real relative at all, a brief moment to process this new information before she showers Charlie with more questions he chooses to ignore. His attention is again directed outside when he hears Dana and Mulder resume their conversation after a few moments of silence. He takes the receiver away from his ear to be able to follow what's being said outside.

"Did you two have a good conversation?" Mulder asks

"Hmm, yes, we did. A long overdue conversation, but a good one. I lost my mother, but I got my brother back."

Charlie's heart swells.

"That's good, Scully. I'm happy for you. He seems like a nice guy."

"He said the same about you."

"Seriously? Should there really exist a male Scully on this planet who doesn't hate me?"

Instead of commenting, Dana places a gentle kiss on Mulder's cheek. It elicits a delighted smile from the man who in Charlie's head had been an ego-driven, reckless, unhinged sorry son of a bitch destroying his sister's career in his stubborn pursuit to find little green men until he was able to form a view of his own on the infamous Fox Mulder meeting him personally today for the first time.

"What was that for?" Mulder asks, obviously surprised by Dana's gesture of affection.

"For helping me through this, Mulder. For being my friend."

"Anytime, Scully."

"Yes, I know. That's what I mean."

Charlie watches his sister lean into her partner, and he can see that he is so much more than just an FBI partner - with or without a funny name. She puts her head on his shoulder and he pulls her closer with one of his long arms. What a cute couple, Charlie thinks. This is how she's been able to survive all this, with Mulder at her side. That she'd been taken care of by this man while he had been absent from her life makes it a little easier for Charlie to come to terms with what he'd done wrong. He smiles and puts his ear back to the receiver, his eyes still locked on the display of human compassion and love outside.

"Pardon, Aunt Roberta? The connection is a little wonky. What did you just say?"

He listens to her babbling some more and doesn't deem it worthy to interrupt her flood of words, but then she asks him something meaningful and he's happy to give her an honest answer.

"Yes, it definitely was the right decision to come back."

[blackcroweamon]

Black Crow- Part 1: Angel of Death

Hey. It’s been a while since I was on this blog. I just didn’t have the motivation to continue with Eamon and I just went on what could’ve been a permanent hiatus for him. 

Yet, I found myself starting to miss him and, eventually, I decided to go back and write about him again. This might turn into an ongoing series, but I won’t make any promises like I did before. 

Other than that, I hope you like it ^^. 

(Side note: If there’s any suggestions on how I can improve on this, let me know)

I wonder how long I’ve been doing this? Walking through life, putting on an act by day, and peeling back the layers by night. It gets tiring, but somehow, I’ve managed to get through it all.

After a few moments, I turned off the faucet, allowing my face to simply float in the water for a moment before stepping back. My reflection hasn’t gotten any better. I stared back at the person in the mirror; a pale-skin kid with green eyes and brown hair. Water dripping down from his disheveled hair and onto his face. The bags under his eyes made it clear that he’s gone several nights without sleep. Yet that was the life of Eamon Brown, the Black Crow.

“… Back to it then.”, I sighed.

I walked back over to my laptop on the bed. Nearby, the TV was still tuned in on the news. Recently, there hasn’t been any reports of crimes going around; causing me some problems. Not that no crimes weren’t good, but it was becoming difficult to meet my manager’s quota every month. I might have to start taking more visits to the nearby prison if I wanted to catch up.

Not that there was any rush to do so. I had already turn in my mask a few days ago for this month’s quota, but it was better to start on the next month’s quota rather than waiting for the last second.

After a moment of getting situated, I started to scroll through my messages and alerts, but it was just the usual. Notices for quota deadlines, concert schedules for next month, old updates on crimes, and messages from Horace, the Leghorn Chicken, regarding our training sessions. I clicked on the later, a smile creeping onto my face as I read it. It seems he wanted to meet with me tomorrow.

Training with Horace was probably one of the only two things I enjoy doing. He’s a bit eccentric and seems a bit foolish, but he’s a great mentor. He also seems to be the only one in the company to care about my wellbeing as well.

A loud beep shook me from my thoughts as I turned my attention the new alert that appeared on screen. It was a police report from New Haven street. The report seemed to mention an on-going hostage situation that was taking place in the abandon Aaron Company warehouse. Three armed thugs and a single hostage…

Quickly, I grabbed my hoodie and made my way toward the door, grabbing my mask as I went. Looks like another hunt for the Reaper…

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I arrived on the scene about ten minutes later. Already the warehouse was surrounded by a blockade of police cars and vans. Men and woman rushed around to position themselves; the dogs braying wildly as they tugged against their handlers’ leashes. Didn’t look like there would be anyway to get in and out without being spotted, but, if there was one good thing I can say about my manager, it was that he knew the right contacts.

As was expected, Officer Roy was waiting for me in a nearby alley. Even to this day I was uncertain what sort of ties he had to the company. Whether he was being bribed to help me or was secretly part of the company, I was never sure. Yet, every time I’ve gone after these cases or sneaked into the prisons, he was always there as the inside man.

After a few moments, he spotted me and waved with that disarming grin of his. You’d think he was a clean guy if you didn’t know anything about the Sirens.

“Was wondering when you’d show up.”, Roy said, extending his hand in greeting. After a few seconds of realizing that I wasn’t going to shake his hand, he shrugged. “Had to try every once in a while.”

“What’s the situation…”, I asked, allowing my annoyance to creep into my voice.

“… A couple of days ago, we got a tip on a new drug gang opening up shop near the Delta train station. Nothing major, just a few punks looking to make a quick buck, but, well, you know how it can escalate. Small time drug dealers are one thing, but it starts to become a problem if they get themselves organized.” He stepped back and leaned against the wall. “Anyway, we busted their operation, but a few of them managed to escape. They nab a bystander and barricaded themselves in the warehouse.”

I gave him a small nod and prompted, “Is there a way in?”

“Yea. There’s a ladder in this alley that can reach the roof top. From there, you’ll have yourself a thirty foot drop down onto the warehouse itself. Most guys might break their legs jumping down, but, well, I’m sure you got that covered.”

I touched my mask. “You could say that.”

“Figured as much. Though the problem will be the drug dealers themselves. Two of them are armed with pistols and they’re all paranoid. They hear even a peep and they’ll pull the trigger on the hostage.” He rubbed his face wearily, like a person that was about to ask something difficult. “I know who you guys are, but... I ask that-“

I place a hand on him, cutting him off. “I won’t let them kill the hostage.”

I understood what he meant. The company I work for doesn’t just take the lives of a single group. They go after everyone. Young, old, innocent, or corrupted. It didn’t matter. All that mattered to the company was taking the life force of others.

A look of relief passes over his face. “Oh… good. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” I moved back. “Now… show me where this ladder is.”

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That was a pretty big drop.

I felt my stomach quiver when I peeked over the edge. I wasn’t afraid of heights, I’ve been on the upper balconies at the company building before, but this was the first time that I was actually going to jump off and hope to land on the warehouse instead of the street floor a hundred feet below.

I took a few deep breathes to calm my nerves. It wasn’t as bad as I was making it out. I had a large margin for error so it wasn’t likely that I was going to miss the landing. Plus, I had my mask in my pocket.

Pulling it out now, I allowed myself a few seconds to look at it. It was quite the ornate piece of work. The mask was a mix of black and white with a black nose piece and gold outlines. Musical notes danced under the right eye socket. It looked like something you would find in an opera house, but it’s purpose was far more sinister.

Taking one last breath, I put the mask on. In the brief moment, a strange sensation overcame me, culminating onto my back. Flexing, my wings spread out to either side of me, the black feathers blending into the shadows around me.

Suddenly I felt calm; my body relaxing as I looked back over the edge. Truthfully, I never used my wings in this fashion before. Despite appearances, we couldn’t fly, but Horace had taught me how I could use them to glide. Though this would be the first time I’ve every tried it outside of a training session.

“No second thoughts now.”, I whispered, jumping off the edge. I allowed my wings to spread out parallel to me as I was taught and, for a moment, I feared that it wasn’t going to work. However, my wings soon took effect and I started to glide down onto the warehouse.

I stumbled as I landed; wincing in pain as I fell down onto my hands and knees. I turned my hands over and, sure enough, my palms were scraped. Could’ve been worse, I thought to myself as I stood up. Fortunately, it didn’t appear that anyone had noticed my sudden landing.

Carefully, I looked around for an entry into the warehouse and spotted a door. As I got closer to it though, it was apparent that it was boarded and locked on the other side. I slammed my fist into the door in frustration. All this effort and I can’t even get in.

I closed my eyes, furious, but then I froze. I could hear the sound of fluttering wings. Opening my eyes, I looked over my shoulder and spotted a crow perched on my wing. It’s beady, black eyes stared at me for a moment before flying past me into the side of the door. Curious, I walked around to the side and spotted a hole.

It wasn’t that big, but the wall itself seemed to be crumbling apart in certain spots. Seeing it as my best way in, I tore at the hole bit by bit until I had myself a hole big enough to crawl through if I removed my mask. I smiled slightly as the crow cawed at me. Seems like this wasn’t a waste of time after all.

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The voices were starting to get louder as I neared the bottom floor. Peering through a crack in a wall, I could make out a larger room. Crates and broken-down cars dotted the room. Overheard, support beams and walkways overlooked the room. A few windows shined into the room, but, otherwise, it was mostly dark. The two front doors outside were completely closed off by crates, but there appeared to be a side entrance that the thugs appeared to have left open if escape was necessary.

One of them, a nervous looking kid in ragged clothing, muttered, “David… what are we going to do? They have us surrounded.”

Out of sight, a gruff voice replied, “Shut up Daniel! We’ll be fine. They won’t be try anything while we have the hostage.”

“B-but what if-“

“Will you just chill?!” Another man in a hoodie walked into sight. “Don’t you think I want to be freaking out now? Just calm down and don’t worry so much. Ma told me to look after you and I’m not about to let my little bro get caught, ok?”

“O-ok Zack…”

The kid seemed to calm down as his body relax slightly. Though it was obvious that he was tense… and for good reason. It would be safe to leave him last when I start taking them out. However, first I needed to locate the hostage.

I quietly made my way onto one of the upper walkways and quickly spotted the hostage tied up and gagged against one of the pillars in the room. She appeared to be around my age; her black hair roughed up and her dark skin bruised from their mistreatment. Yet, her green eyes were alert and defiant as she stared at one to the other.

The last thug, a big guy in a white top and black pants, was looking out through one of the windows. As far as I could see, no one was paying any real attention to the hostage. Perhaps they were confident that she couldn’t escape or incompetent in general, but now was the perfect time to act.

Carefully, I climbed down onto the warehouse floor, making an effort to not make a sound, and carefully moved toward the girl. After a few seconds, her eyes widen as she made out my figure in the shadows, but she was smart enough to look away as one of the thugs, the hooded guy, Daniel, turned to her.

Time seemed to go by slowly as the thug checked her bindings. A small, irrational part of myself feared that they would hear my rapid heart beat as they drew close to me, but, eventually, the thug walked away.

I allowed a few more seconds to past before crawling up to her. Quickly and quietly, I undid her bindings, making sure to not make a sound as I worked. As she reached up to pulled away her gag, I grabbed her hand and whispered as quietly as possible, “Leave it on until you’re out of here. I need you to be as quiet as possible.”

I looked into her eyes to make sure she understood before removing the last of the bindings. Gently, I pushed her toward the side entrance, placing the crates between us and the thugs.

Perhaps some six-sense warned him or maybe we made a noise, but, suddenly, the big man turned around, shouting as he pulled out his pistol. Unconsciously, I pushed the girl aside as a burning sensation burrowed its way into my side.

I gasped as the pain wracked my body, but I ignored it and shoved the girl towards the door.

“Run! I’ll be right behind you.”, I lied.

She looked like she was about to stay and help, but, after looking into my eyes, she simply nodded and quickly ran through the door. Meanwhile, I crawled behind one of the nearby crates as the sound of the thugs’ footsteps came closer.

“Shit! She got away.”

“We need to get out of here! If they-“

“We can’t. They’ll be looking that way now that the hostage escaped.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We find the person who freed her. They’re still in here. I can feel it…”

As they talked, I had moved myself into one of the crates. I didn’t have a lot of time before they found me. Carefully, I took out my phone and shined the light on my wound. I stared at the wound as fresh waves of pain went through my body. This was the first time I’ve ever been shot and seeing wound made me feel sick. The bullet had gone clearly through my side and I knew I was losing blood fast.

I considered making a break through and try to escape, but an inner voice told me that I needed to take care of these guys first. They were criminals and they were willing to kill an innocent person for their own selfishness. They deserved to die.

Silently, I put on my mask as adrenaline started to kick in. I crawled out of my hiding spot a carefully walked around the crates. The thugs were spread out, peeking around cars and into crates. Without making a sound, I moved toward the big thug. As I got closer, the man turned around to face me, but it was too late. I quickly delivered a jab into his gut, causing him to bend over, before bring my elbow down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

The man’s groans quickly caught the other thugs’ attention as they ran over, but I already moved behind one of the cars.

Zack quickly looked around, clearly terrified as he shouted, “Where are you!?”

I stayed silent, which caused them to become more unsettled as they looked around. Carefully, I made my way around and, before Zack could react, I tackled Daniel and dragged him behind another stack of crates; choking him as we crawled behind a stack of pallets.  

I could hear the few wild shots Zack had shot at me as I tackled his brother and, now, I could hear the terror in his voice as he searched through the crates. “Daniel! W-what did you do to him!”

As his brother’s struggles slowly came to a stop, I whispered, “Nothing… yet.”

Quickly, he turned to where he thought the voice was coming from, his gun raised. “Who the hell are you!?”

I crawled up behind him, a smile creeping into my voice as I simply said, “The Angel of Death.”

Before Zack could turn around, I flapped my wings and used them to propel me into Zack; elbowing him in the back of his head. His body crumpled onto the ground and I allowed myself a small sigh of relief as I observed my work.

“Now… onto business…”, I whispered as I started to sing.

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I stared at my reflection in the mirror and grimaced. My left side was bandaged heavily and my injuries was covered with enough gauze for several wounds. The landlord of the apartment complex wasn’t the type of person that took things in moderation, but at least he said I was going to be fine. Would’ve been a bit difficult to get admitted into a hospital and explain what happened. Not that my manager would’ve allowed me to go anyway. At least I was alive though. I suppose that’s all that matters. Sighing, I walked back out into the living room; the tv tuned to the news channel as they reported on last night’s incident.

“… the drug dealers were found dead on the site, but there were no signs of what caused their deaths. The hostage, Lisa Jones, told reporters that a male individual freed her and helped her escape the situation. When asked if she could identify the person in question, she said that he wore black clothing and a hoodie, but she was unable to make out his face. Whoever it may have been, we would like t-“

I turned off the tv with a sigh. I was afraid that she would’ve remembered my face. Fortunately, it seems my fears were unfounded. As I laid back on the couch to get some rest before meeting up with Horace, a knock suddenly came from the door. Great, I thought, and just when I was about to get some sleep.

Angrily, I stormed toward the door and swung it open.

“What is i- “I stopped, my eyes staring in disbelief as I found myself face to face with the same girl from last night. A wide grin broke out on her face when she saw me as she held out a CD of one of Tsuba’s latest hit songs.

“Hey! I never got the chance to thank you for last night. My name is Lisa and it’s nice to meet you!”

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

The Mighty Pine - 3

PART 1 - PART 2

a/n: sorry for the hiatus, i hope you enjoy! please leave a comment if you liked or with your thoughts

@beautifulramblingbrains @frecklefaceb @vitaevandal @anditcametopass @pathybo @mimigemrose @abfoster1s @jojuarez26 @purple-hime @audreyfulquard @sharknadoslut @societalfailure @fadetoboom @insertamazingwords @megnificent07 @roslea @captstefanbrandt @ombrophiliax @lauraaan182 @ariwolff14 @jaihardy @socktrollqueen  @di-in-al  @loveimnotafraidtodie [[lleave a reply if you wan be tagged in future updates]]

Warning: Nothing too serious, just some mackin

Captain Boomerang X OFC // Suicide Squad // Lumberjack AU

word count: 3,300

Digger guided you down the hall of the stables, his fingers laced with yours until the pair of you were just out of sight from Jean-Claude, who was busy putting the horse back before heading to his cabin to settle in for the evening. Quickly stepping to the side, Digger spun you around, pushing you against the wooden boards that made up the wall next to the door.

You could see the steam of both his and your breath billowing from your lips in the cold night air as he moved in closer, his hands resting on your hips. "Come back to me cabin."

"I can't," you replied in a soft voice as you lifted your hands to his shoulders, wrapping your fingers around the elastic of his suspenders. Giving a slight tug, he followed your urging and closed the space between you.

Since the moment when he stole your first kiss a little over a week ago, you had come to very much enjoy making out with Digger. In fact, it was all you wanted to do and it was constantly on your mind. The next day you would find yourself with far more nicks and burns on your fingers than usual, all due to your thoughts drifting to him while chopping vegetables or near the stove.

After that carriage ride, you knew that you did want to join Digger in his cabin, but you also knew that you shouldn't wait to tell him the news of your impending betrothal.

Raising his arm, he slid his fingertips along your jawbone, bringing his palm to cup your face as he kissed you, his form engulfing yours as he kept you pressed against the wooden boards.

"Come back to me cabin with me," he whispered again without moving away so his lips brushed against yours as he spoke. In an instant your last meager bit of resolve collapsed and you agreed.

Swiftly, Digger turned around, urging you to climb onto his back. Gripping his shoulders, you hopped up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he linked his elbows under your knees, keeping you in place. Circling your arms around his neck, you tugged yourself closer, holding on tight as he headed into the night.

"Don't want te get yer hem all muddy," he explained as he stomped through the wet soil, most of the freshly fallen snow already gone.

Entering the cabin, Digger quickly crossed the single room to the old bed before turning and releasing your legs so you fell onto the mattress. You laughed lightly when you bounced on the creaking springs, your brain still heavily influenced by the wine from earlier. Lifting your hands, you tried to hide your smile as Digger strode to the small stove in the corner, the cast iron door creaking as he swung it open.

While he was busy loading the logs and kindling, you took the opportunity to take in the small room and see what his private space looked like. The room was pretty messy with his various personal effects scattered aimlessly across the floor. On the wall was a pennant for a sports team you never heard of and you couldn't help but notice his bed, which you were sitting on, was unmade; the blankets still balled up from when he'd kicked them to the side before rising that morning, leaving the sheets exposed.

Once the fire was started, Digger stood up, hoisting his arms up and clasping his hands above his head as he stretched. Waiting on the mattress, with your feet tucked under your bottom, you watched as he turned around, yawning before he slid his thumbs under his suspenders, guiding them off his shoulders. You bit your lip as you stared at him, watching how he deftly kicked his boots to the side while unbuttoning his flannel shirt. Shrugging off the garment, he threw it to the floor and stepped towards you. Bending forward he brought his lips to yours, his moustache tickling the skin on your face as he tugged at your blouse, freeing it from your skirt's waist band.

You could feel a jittery excitement beginning to boil somewhere behind your stomach as he untucked your shirt. Unsure of how to respond, you brought your hands to his shoulders before leaning back into the pillows. He followed, staying close as he climbed to rest between your knees, continuing to suck on your bottom lip.

Shifting, he lowered his head, tracing his mouth down your neck while nipping along your jugular. Each of his slow kisses elicited a verbal response from you. You wiggled against him as his steady movements became sluggish. Then, after a moment you realized he wasn't moving at all.

"Digger?" you asked, shaking his shoulder while his face remained buried in the crook of your neck. His only response was a loud snore.

He'd fallen asleep.

Rolling your eyes in disbelief, you attempted to maneuver from underneath him, but even with your best efforts, his broad and heavy form kept you pinned to the mattress. You did your best to get somewhat comfortable despite the weight on top of you and try to sleep, but it didn't work.

The second time you were able to free yourself. Not wanting to bother trudging all the way back to the dingle alone in the dark, you chose to curl up next to him. You lifted his arm so it rested along your side before pulling the blanket up to cover the pair of you.

When you woke up the following morning you were uncomfortably warm and a little sweaty. With a yawn you stretched and took in your surroundings, recalling the events from hours earlier. Sitting up you found yourself fully clothed and next to the human furnace known as Digger. He began to stir as you shifted to climb over him. Without a glance he grabbed your waist, bringing you down so you laid on top of him.

"Don't go," he mumbled, wrapping his arms tighter around your middle, immobilizing you.

Relaxing, you let your chin rest on his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall as he took deep, slow breaths while you contemplated your next move.

"I have to tell you something," you stated, breaking the calm silence of the morning.

"Oh?" Digger asked, finally cracking his eyelid to look at you, "What's that?"

You hesitated for a minute, trying to think of a way to play it off, but it was too late to change the subject. "I'm supposed to get married to this banker from Boston. His grandmother and my Aunt Jo are friends," you explain with a somber tone.

"So it's an arranged thing?" Digger questioned as he slid one hand from your waist to tuck under his head. Biting your lip you nodded, waiting for his response as his gaze drifted to the rafters. You grew uneasy with his silence.

"What are you thinking?" you probed in a tense voice, obviously nervous.

"I was thinkin'," Digger sighed as he lowered his chin, his gaze reconnecting with yours, "That this bloke probably wouldn't marry yeh if I knocked yeh up." Your eyes went wide at his admission while he smirked at your expression.

Moving quickly, he shifted his position, rolling over to pin you into the mattress. One of his hands drifted to your thigh, snaking its way under the hem of your skirt as he leaned in for a kiss. You could feel the burning excitement in your abdomen begin to spark with his touches but you didn't plan on giving in that easily. At the last second you turned your head away before he made contact, his lips colliding with your cheek instead.

"No!" you yelped as he moved to kiss your neck, undeterred. "You had your chance last night and you fell asleep!" Digger responded with actions, lifting your leg to his side as he pushed his hips into yours.

"Come on, luv," he pleaded, keeping his mouth against your skin while you wriggled, fighting to get out from underneath him. He relented his grip, allowing you to get away, tumbling from the bed onto the hardwood floor. Standing up, you straightened your skirt as you glared at him. Digger laid on his side, watching you move as you tucked in your blouse. Wanting to check your appearance, you glanced around the small cabin for a mirror and found none. Unsurprised, you moved on to search instead for your shoes. Finding them in opposite corners, you sat on the edge of bed to pull them on.

Quietly Digger reached up, running his fingers down your spine, causing you to shiver as you tied your laces. Once finished, you rested your hands on the lip of the mattress before turning your head to look at Digger over your shoulder.

"Do you want to marry the bloke?" he asked as he lounged against the pillows, his hand drifting to play with the small bit of lace on your cuff.

"Not really, no," you admitted with a gulp. "I've never even met him."

Without speaking Digger sat up. Sliding his palm along the nape of your neck, he guided you towards him until his lips locked with yours.

Entering the dingle, you quickly pulled an apron from the nail in the wall and secured the band around your waist with a knot before settling next to your aunt at the counter.

"You seem tired," she mused, barely glancing at the bags under your eyes.

"Oh, well, I didn't sleep too good last night," you murmured, grabbing the paring knife and beginning to help slice the carrots.

"Ah? And what kept you up?" Rosemary asked, never lifting her gaze from the butcher block, "Or should I say 'who' instead of 'what'?"

"Auntie," you sighed, resting your hands flat on the surface as you faced her, "Nothing happened, I swear. I was just a little drunk and-,"

You were interrupted by her raised palm, a sign you learned at a very young age mean 'shut your mouth and listen'. "I don't want to know the details," she punctuated as she turned to study you. Even though the usually jovial woman was a bit shorter than you (and had been since that growth spurt when you were 14) when she needed to, she could make even the largest men in camp freeze mid step with one glare. Your theory was that the rarity of her temper made it all the worse.

"You are a grown woman now," she began once she was positive she had your obedient attention. "You can make your own choices. But," she held up a single finger to keep you from responding, "I want to be certain that you are thinking about these choices and you are not making a mistake." She raised her eyebrows as she looked at you, dropping her fist to rest on her hip so her elbow jutted out while the other sat on the counter, supporting her weight with her elbow locked before she finished, "Because I do think you're making a mistake. A big mistake, and one that could affect the rest of your life. How well do you even know him?"

With a huff of air leaving your nose you crossed your arms and rested a hip against the butcher block before you scoffed, "I told you, nothing happened, and I know him better than the dip Aunt Jo wants me to marry."

Rosemary's expression dropped at the news. "And who is that?"

"Her friend Mrs. Pottings' grandson, I think his name was David or something, I don't remember," you replied with a shrug as you lifted the knife.

Your aunt tutted with a small shake of her head before turning back to the cooking while mumbling, "Mildred was alway such a stuck up ass. Numb as a hake I tell you, but her dad had money from running a hotel down the river in Bangor, so everyone loved her."

"How did she and Aunt Jo meet?" you probed while gliding the knife alone the end-grain of the butcher block, pushing the remnants from slicing into the compost bucket by your feet before grabbing at an onion to start peeling.

"Oh, at some church function, or maybe a social at the grange, I don't really remember. But they got along as thick as thieves from the first second," your aunt grumbled as she also grabbed an onion. "But I didn't complain much at the time, that was around when I first met your Uncle. He worked at the camp while your grand dad was still running things and all I wanted to do was-," she cut herself off, pausing for a second as she reflected on the truth of what she'd almost said.

Spying her distracted expression out of the corner of your vision, you nudged her with your elbow, bring her back to earth with the question, "What were you saying about Uncle John?"

"Oh never mind that," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. Scanning over her shoulder she eyed the cast iron stove before instructing you, "The pot of coffee should be ready now. Go make some for cups for the men. Jean-Claude and the McInerneys are in the stables, Digger's chopping wood out back."

Gripping the four handles of the tin mugs, two in each hand, you walked carefully through the mud, cautious to not slip and fall, pouring hot coffee all over yourself. Using your hip to push open the door, you entered the barn. Almost instantly you spotted the brothers across the way, Peter was mucking out a stall while James was brushing down the horse. Kicking the door shut, you hurried over the floor boards towards them.

"Morning," you called as you approached James and he took one of the mugs from your grasp. You set the other on the ledge of the stall's half wall for Peter before turning around. "Is Jean around?" you asked as you walked forward, carefully placing an open palm on the horse's snout as James sipped at his drink.

"Ayuh, up in the hayloft," he nodded towards the stairs as his brother set down the pitchfork and lifted his own mug from where it rested. With a smile you turn around and climbed the steps to the second level of the barn.

"Bonjour!" you announced your presence as you entered the loft, noticing the Jean-Claude had his back turned.

Standing up straight, he glanced over his shoulder at the interruption. You could see the smile spread across his face as he realized who had come to call. "Mignon! Salut," he replied as he dropped the bale he was holding onto the stack.

"Café pour toi," you offered as you shifted the mugs in your hand to hand one to him.

He readily accepted the cup sighed as he took a sip, "C'est magnifique." He took a second gulp before looking at you and raising his eyebrows, "Alors, tu-as amusé la nuit dernière?"

"Uh, what?" you asked, not understanding, your grasp on french was still quite limited.

"Did you have fun with Digger?" he elaborated, switching languages, "You two weren't exactly quiet in the back of the carriage last night."

You could feel the blush burning as it rushed from your ears to your cheeks while you stood there wide eyed at his comment. Jean-Claude smiled as his brought the the mug of coffee to his mouth.

"I have to go," you stammered, quickly spinning and scurrying to the stairs.

"Merci, Mignon," Jean-Claude shouted at your retreating form. You could hear him fighting the urge to laugh.

"Bienvenue," you responded automatically with the expected polite return as you continued to retreat in embarrassment.

Exiting the barn, you couldn't help but sigh as the cool air sooth the flame in your cheeks. Clutching the last cup in both hands, you took a deep breath to calm yourself before rounding the building to where you could hear Digger splitting logs.

Peaking around the corner you saw him. He had shed his flannel, which laid discarded on the log pile with his ribbed undershirt. He stood barechested, his muscles in his back flexing as he held the axe raised above his head. With a grunt he swung the blade forward. There was a loud crack upon impact as the axe wedged its way into the log before the wood split apart along the natural grain. One of the two halves fell into the mud as Digger repositioned the other on the stump, readying it to be chopped.

Slowly you crept up behind him, careful not to disturb while he had a sharp, heavy tool in his hands. You watched him raise and drop the axe one more time before speaking up, "Hey, I brought you some coffee."

Digger quirked his eyebrow before looking over his shoulder to you after burying the blade in the stump. The axe stayed stationary as he let go, turning around to face you. The corner of his mouth quirked into his crooked grin as he stepped nearer, letting his hands linger on yours when accepting the cup.

"Thanks, luv," he spoke with a nod, entertained by your flushed expression. Biting your lip you fought the urge to stare openly at his bare chest. "Enjoying the view, darl'?" Digger teased as he moved towards you, resting his palm on your waist while you anxiously played with your fingers in attempt to keep your hands to yourself. "Be happy ta show you the rest latah."

You gasped slightly in embarrassment, quickly raising your arms you cover your open mouth with your fingers. Digger couldn't help but laugh as he brought you closer, wrapping his arm around your middle, holding you against him.

"Digger!" you squeaked, pushing him away before leaning back and twisting out of his grip. You barely moved an inch when his fingers latched onto the back of your skirt, halting you from moving any further. The coffee cup long since discarded in the mud, Digger brought his other hand forward, lightly ghosting his touch along your sides to tickle you. You tried to worm your way out of his grasp as you fought back the giggles bubbling inside you. Digger shifted, pushing one of his legs between yours as he let go of your skirt. He snagged your wrist, pinning your other arm against your chest with his forearm and immobilizing you with one hand, as you continued to gasp for air from laughing.

His facial hair tickled tickled your neck in a different way as he buried his face somewhere between your shoulder and neck, peppering kisses along the exposed skin. His hand at your side stalled once you let out a moan instead of a laugh. Sliding his arm around your waist he held your back flush against his chest while he focused on nipping that spot just underneath your ear. Letting out a sigh, you unconsciously rolled your hips back against his. You could almost feel the smirk on Digger's lips as he lifted his head.

Bringing your chin to your shoulder, you looked up to his clear blue eyes before letting your own lids flutter shut as you shifted closer, pressing your lips to his. You felt content as he returned your affection, his strong arms holding you tighter as he kissed you back.

Unbeknownst to either of you, the tender moment did not go unseen. Your Aunt Ro had been returning from the compost pile when she noticed the pair of you. She watched the way he teased as you attempted to play keep away. It wasn't until you finally kissed that she sighed to herself and decided it was due time she paid her sister a visit.

I hope you enjoyed! please leave a reply with your thoughts!!

PART 1 - PART 2

[ode-of-odr-archive]

​❌The Curse of Starters❌

So there have been a number of posts on my dash about people feeling dishearten over people not responding to starters whether they are just open ones made, or people not responding to ones made for them from a starter call.

I’m just going to share my two cents here and you of course can ignore it if you want ^.^

Alright with that out of that way let’s get into it. It’s all under a cut cause this is long.

Anxiety is a bitch

So I’m sure many of you have noticed, but a large number of people in the rp community as a whole have anxiety in varying levels, me included. And you can bet your sweet asses this affects the number of people responding to your open starter.

How many of you have seen an open starter or banter, liked it but never responded because you thought, “Oh they probably want X and Y to respond.” or were just so overcome with negative thoughts that the person who wrote the starter doesn’t actually want to rp with you even if they are following you. If you haven’t, then good on you, but this is a common mindset for a lot of people and it just hinders everyone.

There is also the case of if you are a semi-selective or selective muse blog(nothing wrong with that) and it makes the anxiety even worse because even if you put “open to all” in the tags, people might still feel like it’s a no go because of what your rules state (you being selective and such).

Then there is the fear that they took your starter wrong and replied in a way that upsets you, or doesn’t work and now you don’t want to interact with them (people worry about this a lot!).

Honestly out of everything I’m going to mention I think this is the number one “offender” as it were. 

You intimidate your “silent” followers (sub problem of anxiety)

Even though you reblog and even post a ton of PSAs telling people not to be intimidated by you, people are going to be, again anxiety is a common problem among muns in rping. So when they see that open stater you made, they want to respond but they think your muse is way too good to be interacting with theirs, or your writing is better, you have icons and they don’t, you format and they don’t. 

Sadly even with your saying it doesn’t matter it doesn’t stop the worry, and your followers might end up seeing you as unapproachable. It’s not your fault, and it really isn’t theirs, because even though we aren’t seeing each other face to face, we are basically putting a form of art we did out there and when you have anxiety it’s easy to compare yourself to others and feel lacking. 

Someone has already replied (sub problem of anxiety)

I have heard people say this so many time and I have even thought it myself, “Oh so many people replied so I won’t.” 

Now you might be thinking but this is about people not responding at all. Another common thing in rp? People liking openers or replies so they can find them later. So a lot of people might be thinking all those people are going to reply and they missed the boat.

I know there isn’t a limit on people who can reply to a starter but this is a thing I see pop up all the time.

Your opens are too specific 

I have personally run into this problem with Ras in the past. I see an open banter or thread and I want to reply but the way it’s set up there is no way Ras would be in that situation. Like Ras wouldn’t be stealing something or threatening someone’s life, mostly if he doesn’t know them. 

This is super bad when it’s done with banters because there is even less context and some muses might just feel alienated. So while they like the starter they feel like they can’t reply to it. This can tie up into the anxiety problem of you only want certain people to reply, but aren’t saying so.

Your opens are too vague

First they were too specific now they’re too vague? Yeah, exactly. So sometimes less isn’t always more in rp. If your opens (this is excluding banters) are too vague people might not respond because they have little to work with or to go on so they just don’t know how to reply to it. 

Your opens are too aggressive

Look some of us have aggressive muses, and that’s fine, but when you are doing a starter or an open starter if your muse just channels how aggressive and or cruel they are in one go, you don’t leave most muses with much of anything to go on. When talking to other muns they feel their muse would just walk away, or become instantly violent and most don’t like to start a thread, mostly first time interactions with pvp( player vs. player or in this case muse vs. muse.)

No one liked my starter call

Again anxiety is a bitch and this ties in heavily with that. I still will see starter calls and not click on them because I’m just so wound up on whether or not the person who posted it actually wants to rp with me, or if there is any real reason for our muses to interact. 

I have heard so many people echo this same feeling many, many times over. It’s cruddy and I know most people reading this are shouting, “Yes I want to rp with you!” but none the less it’s a problem that seems to be common among rpers. Mostly if the starter is from a semi-selective to private blog (and no there is nothing wrong if you are in that group.)

I made a starter for someone and they never replied

This can be a number of things. One they never saw it, it happens I have missed replying to something for ages because tumblr is amazing at notifications, and not everyone runs a tread tracker and even then hard to track a thread you just started and they missed. 

Are you sure the @chem-addled-merc tagging worked? Sometimes the url will get dropped because you put a coma or something too close to it. 

The person who liked the starter and you did it for is a low activity blog, or is running replies on a slow moving queue because they get backed up easily, because they have a super busy life and can’t handle more then a few people replying back to threads at a time and your thread is somewhere in their long queue or their drafts waiting to be replied to. They will get to it and it will be replied too, just not as quickly as you might like. 

Lastly, and sadly, you might have done a starter with someone who goes on hiatus a lot for a number of reasons, school, work, their mental health, and those are all sad, but valid reasons. Or they muse hop a lot and often have a long list of left blogs for muses they lost interest in and no long play. 

So what can we do to help this?

Outside the obvious on trying to find the great middle grounds for your starters and opens, you could really look at the blog you are writing the starter for, how active are they? Do they have a notice saying the move slow? Is that okay with you? And be honest about that. Did they like your starter and you noticed they haven’t posted anything of note sense? Maybe hold off or message them to see if they are still active. 

Look like I said most of us have anxiety and because of they we also don’t like feeling like people don’t actually want to rp with us because no one likes for a starter call or replies to opens. So most of us need to try and put effort into breaking out of this shell of “let them come to me.” because they won’t. We all need to go to each other. 

Not everyone is going to want to rp with you, it’s true, but yo if you see an open and they don’t have restrictions? Reply! If they say mutuals only, are you a mutual? You are? And you want to rp with them? REPLY!

Someone does a starter call for everyone? You want to rp with them? Like that call! 

Someone posted an open starter and three or more people replied to it already? Did the mun put a cap on how many people could reply? No? And you want to reply? THEN DO IT!

If they don’t respond to you, yeah it sucks and it hurts, but you know what? What if they do reply? What if you end up having a blast and make a new friend and all that? You would miss out on that because you’re waiting for people to come to you but not wanting to go to anyone else. 

Like it’s scary putting yourself and your muse out there and no one wants to feel rejected but large fear of rejection in rp communities ends up unintentionally hurting each other because were are too afraid to put ourselves out there. And I think we could all work on that. 

So once again this is only my thoughts, opinions and what I’ve seen, and have heard in my two years on here. Take them as you will.

[stolenbythegods]

Why do you feel like nobody likes you? You seem really nice.

Thanks nonnie, that means a lot. 

This is probably going to get very long, and I know nobody asked for it, but I feel like maybe having an explanation as to why I’m insecure might help? Or not, there’s the possibility that nobody will care, but just in case, I’ll explain. 

I’ve been RPing on this site since 2013, and in that time I’ve had a lot of experiences. Most good, but there are a few bad experiences (3 major ones specifically which i will be talking about) that have ultimately contributed to the anxious mess I am today, and why I don’t approach people even though there are a fair few people I really would like to interact with.

The short version, for those that don’t wanna read through heaps of text, is this:

-I was strung along and eventually ignored by somebody I looked up to who couldn’t just tell me they didn’t want to interact.

-I was blocked by somebody I considered a friend for reasons I still do not know. 

-I was accused of copying somebody else’s OC which resulted in me losing a ‘friend’ and ultimately made me quit writing for almost a year. 

If you want more detailed explanations of what happened in each experience, you can find them under the cut. Warning: It’s very long. Feel free to ask for clarification if things seem unclear. There’s also a bolded part at the end which you can read that kind of… ties things together, I guess?

The first experience is the reason for my ‘Don’t ignore me’ rule. Back when i was still fresh to this site and didn’t know how things worked, I came across this amazing marvel OC, and I fell in love with the writing. They were my first ‘tumblr senpai’, as the term used to be. My mind was blown when they actually followed me back, and I was very excited to write with them. So I did the logical thing and sent a message. They responded positively; I was over the moon. We had one or two very brief interactions, and I guess those were enough for that person to decide they didn’t want to interact with me. Now, if they had just come out and said that, things would’ve been fine. Yes, it would have hurt, but I would ultimately have understood and moved on. Instead, they strung me along. 

Any direct requests to interact were responded to with excuses about them not having the time for new threads, which does happen, so I understood, but they ultimately promised me that we would interact when they had the time. But after a while, I noticed the memes I sent in would go ignored, unless they were just headcanon stuff, and despite saying they were busy, they still had time to interact with new people. I still gave them the benefit of the doubt and guessed maybe tumblr was eating asks, or they just didn’t know how to respond or initiate a thread with me. It only clocked with me that they were avoiding attempts at interaction and ignoring me when I responded to a short open starter they posted, and everyone who replied to it got an answer except for me. This was the point I realised they didn’t want to interact with me but just didn’t want to say anything, possibly as some odd way to avoid hurting my feelings. Now you might be wondering if this was me pestering somebody I followed, but I just want to say that me and this person were mutuals right up until I realised what they were doing and made a PSA saying if you didn’t want to interact with me, then you should just tell me instead of being rude and ignoring me. After that, we stopped being followers and I pretty much did everything in my power to make sure I didn’t have to see them on my dash ever again because I was hurt.

Their intentions may have been somewhat innocent in that they didn’t want to hurt my feelings by rejecting me, but ultimately they hurt me far worse than a simple ‘I’m sorry but I don’t feel like interaction is going to work between us’ ever would’ve. In fact I recently discovered this experience still has an effect on me, because that same person crossed my dash just a couple of months ago and It felt like I had been punched in the gut and I had to take a moment to just breathe. So yeah. This experience enforced the part of my anxiety that now tells me that just because we are mutuals does not mean they want to interact (even though selective following is now a thing).

The second experience happened not long after the first. I had followed this blog, and we had a bunch of threads going together. 4, maybe 5, and we were in each other’s inboxes a lot with memes or just general shenanigans. One day we were talking, can’t remember what about (followers? I think? something to do with followers idk) and they suddenly disappeared off my dash. I though tumblr had just freaked out, but after realising they were no longer following me, it dawned that I was blocked. Now, I was still very much an ‘assume the best in people’ kind of person, so I messaged them on a different blog like ‘Hey, i think you may have accidentally blocked me?’. No response. I tried again, and nothing. I was… very confused, and was starting to feel a sense of dread. So i messaged a mutual friend/follower and asked them if they could find out what was going on. She also got nothing out of them, this person was essentially ignoring all mentions of me. Now what I did next might not have been smart, but I was very upset. I messaged them once more on another blog, asking them to please just tell me what I had done wrong. Maybe I should have just moved on and gotten on with shit, but I had thought we were friends and I wanted answers. I never got them. This experience is the reason why I constantly fret over whether or not people actually like me, and why I’m always afraid that one day everyone is just going to turn around and start hating me. 

The third experience was the most recent, and by far the worst. So In 2015 I got a message from a ‘friend’ of mine. I had been on hiatus for a while because I had been feeling insecure and had decided to fall back on some older methods of RP and take a break from the tumblr RP community. I had just gotten back, when they messaged me stating that a person they had started roleplaying with while I was away with had noticed some similarities between her OC and mine. Now, I had no idea who this person was prior to this. So I was very confused, and I said as much. My ‘friend’ went on to say that this person thought I had stolen her OC and that they also agreed, and also that the time I made my blog had been about the same time this person had decided to go on a long hiatus. Now the similarities were this; We both had the same FC, both our characters had abuse in their background, they were both UK born, and they both had interests in cooking careers. I thought this was fairly weak evidence, and said as much. They then countered that there was one more thing I had ‘stolen’ from this person and they sent me an image. And I was shocked. 

You see, when I had still been in college, one of my assignments had been to make a floorplan of a vet surgery. Now because I suck at drawing, I found a pretty nifty site called floorplanner.com. And while working on my assignment, my brain piped up and said ‘hey, we could use this site to make a floorplan of our OC’s apartment!’. And I thought that was a great idea, so I did it. Now, the image my ‘friend’ sent to me was none other than that very floorplan I had made. The person accusing me of plagiarism was claiming it was theirs. I said no, I definitely made the floorplan, and I was responded to with information about the exact date the person had saved the image to their computer. Not only did I send a screenshot of my account on the site and the floorplan itself open in the floorplan creator, I also countered with an image showing that the date I posted the floorplan to my blog preceded the date the person saved the image to their computer, but I was brushed off by being told ‘dates can be edited’ (yeah, cuz I’m totally smart and skilled enough to do that??). 

Anyways, by this point, I was extremely upset. I talked about it on my blog, but I did not mention names or URLs. I was then told my accuser was apparently getting anon hate (though they never posted any) and their friends kept coming into my inbox to tell me to ‘call off my followers’. One even made a public post and tagged me in it. I was beginning to get really stressed out, so I messaged my accuser and asked if we could just talk about this privately. I got no response, but they did make a lovely public post about how I was being emotionally manipulative and that they had 0 doubt I had copied them and about how they were so hurt by this whole thing. 

I asked my ‘friend’ why they didn’t believe me even though i had at the very least proven the floorplan was mine, and their response was that ‘of course they were going to believe the person who talked to them every day over me, who didn’t talk to them very much’. Looking back, I realise this ‘friend’ was not good for me at all. My reasons for not talking to them came down to a few things. First, I did not feel safe talking to them about my depression. The one time i did, i got some rather intensive comments. And you remember the break from tumblr I mentioned earlier in this story? I had spoken to them privately about it and explained my reasons had been I wasn’t feeling the most welcome, and that I needed some time away. They decided to take this as a personal attack, and when I had updated them about what was happening with me on the other site, they kind of flipped out and accused me of shitting on something they loved (tumblr) because I was criticising some of the uglier parts of the RP community (cliques, elitism, anon hate, the stigma towards OC’s over canon characters etc.). After that, I didn’t feel like I could talk to them, so I kind of stopped.

After all this had happened, I tried to move on with things. But the fact is, it really affected me. My ‘friend’ was, and still is I believe, a very popular RP blog with a lot of weight. My accuser had a fair few friends too, and my name had been slandered about. I removed all links to the blog this happened on from my other blogs out of fear, but even then I felt scared. Every blog I wanted to follow would be checked first to see if they had any obvious connections to my ‘friend’ or my accuser. If they did, I would make note of them, their other blogs, and the main people they interacted with all to avoid the chance of somebody knowing me and deciding to bring the shitstorm back up again. Eventually, i was so scared that I just… couldn’t find my love of writing anymore. It was tainted by anxiety, and I finally made an announcement on all my blogs; I was quitting. I didn’t delete my blogs, but I made the message clear that it was no guarantee that I would ever come back. 

I made that post in September 2015. It was only after reconnecting with a very old RP partner back when I was still new, that I finally was convinced to come back to tumblr in May 2016. My writing quality had fallen during my hiatus, because I barely wrote at all for the majority of those months. It still isn’t what it used to be, and the style varies wildly from day to day. 

These experiences, along with some milder ones, have ultimately shaped me into the anxious mess that I am now. My anxiety constantly reminds me that friends can turn on you, and that sometimes people might just be being polite when they compliment me or seem willing to interact. I do try my best to ignore it, but there are times it overwhelms me. It’s nothing personal to the wonderful people who follow me, it’s just my own inner demons that like to torment me. I found my love of writing again, and I would like to be the confident person i once was. I just need.. patience, honesty and some people willing to put up with my awkwardness.

This is horribly long and I’m very sorry, but I hope maybe it cleared some stuff up about why I am how I am. I’m open to more questions, if anybody cares enough to ask lmao.