#THE LOYAL PIN FRENCH KISS

[selenatorfreenbeckysupercorp]

Anil showing Pin french kissing 😍🤍

[sykeboy]

Pin's character analysis (based on the TV series)

So we all know that Pin's canonical event was to experience her parents death at such a young age, wich left her feeling very lonely, but also defenseless

I think these 2 pictures summed it up pretty well, at such a young age children need the adults arround them to take charge of (them during) challenging events such as these so they can feel safe and protected

This also reflects the way in wich Pin goes about in regards to her dessires. She is quite shy in general, and she is pasive in this sense, she acts like this little kid that needs someone else to give her permision to express herself and take direct actions to get what she wants (class status plays a big role in this, since she's still a type of servant on the palace so she's not allowed to act as she pleases all the time, and that tends to keep her in her comfort zone)

In general Pin is very disconected from her dessires, wich I also associate with traditional gender roles and the fact that she feels super indebted to her aunt and the royal family that took her in after her parents died

And that's precisely the key to her character: she is loyal

In systemic therapy loyalty is very important, loyalty can give a person a sense of self, it can grant them a sense of belonging, allow them to feel protected as a part of a community, etc. And Pin, given her circumstances, deeply craves for all these things

But loyalty can also harm a person if it doesn't fall in line with the persons true dessires and values, becoming alienating since the person is not living in a genuine way

Pin, in her search for love (in all it's forms) and still on survival mode from the trauma that her parents death caussed her, turns to people pleassing, but, at some point, she's going to realize that it is not possible to please everyone and also remain true to yourself

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PS: Her relationship with her aunt is particularly important for Pin's identity and her adherence to the rules, and her aunt is a very structured person. Also (spoiler alert) she is also gay but I think she had a bad experience so she's on survival mode as well, and has modeled that for her niece for a very long time

[dragonsareawesome123]

"And this is a French kiss. You use it to express desire between lovers."

The Loyal Pin (2024) dir. Fuse Kittisak Cheewasatjasakun Episode 4

[girlsloveupdates]

They are, in fact, many kinds of kisses, each with a different meaning. I’m going to demonstrate it to you. This is called a hand kiss. It’s often used when you wish to honour the other person. This is called… a butterfly kiss. You use it when you adore… a baby or a little kid. This… is a lip kiss. You use it for expressing love. And this… is a French kiss. You use it to express desire between lovers.

Pink in the Night by Mitski / The Loyal Pin (2024)

[chainedupgirlsblog]

✎ Favorite moments of Ep 4 ~ The Loyal Pin (Thai GL-2024)

We start off strong… Anil was ready to claim what’s herssss

I love her so much. You show him who’s the princess. My princess I MEAN Pin’s Princess but also ✨My princess✨😭

Look at heeeer!

That’s the face she makes to get things her way

And you know what’s cool? It works!!

It totally works for her. Only for her tho 😭

Her brothers and Pin the constant victims of it. I WISH I could include myself too :/

This poor man… I almost felt bad for him (almost) but come on at this point he refuses to see what’s EVIDENT and that’s that Pin it’s NOT INTERESTED on him.

Leave. her. alone. —Kindly, Anil (Princess of her heart 👑💓😔)

THE JEALOUSY 🤌🏼

THE KISSES? THE FRENCH KISS???!!!

I died. Literally and figuratively. God, I love them so much ❤��‍🩹

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[mostlydaydreaming]

So, under that great French doc about Gene on YouTube (that's now in English-hurray) I commented about Gene being a wonderful man and was immediately contradicted by some moron named MissGelly who wanted me to know that he was a bully, hated by all his co-stars. Well, needless to say, I pinned her ears back and wondered if you wanted to add a few salient points, too. I forgot a few things: I didn't tell her Michael Crawford says he owes his fabulous career to Gene Kelly or mention what Patricia Wilson had to say about working with the Hollywood legend in "Take Me Along." Also forgot about his dance assistants, Coyne and Haney, being totally loyal to GK. Indeed, one of them was head over heels in love with him. I don't know why some people insist on spreading this nonsense; I suspect it's because he's very sexy and his choreography is sensual. Sexy is not in vogue these days and always suspect. Some seem intent on making him the face of Classic Hollywood's Me Too. As you know, nothing could be further from the truth. In a world of Bob Fosses, be a Gene Kelly. Cheers!

Ah, the whole purpose of my Mostlydaydreaming Tumblr & YouTube channel. When I discovered Gene Kelly (thru YouTube videos!) I loved him🥰 When I started trying to learn more, there’s a top layer of nothing but Debbie Reynolds quotes and a Cyd Charisse quote taken out of context.

When I dug deeper I found a wonderfully complex man with a huge heart. Faults and weaknesses? Of course, everyone has them. He had a white hot drive to succeed, to prove himself and leave his mark on the world. But he was also an honorable, loyal and loving family man. Yeah he could be hard to work with, but I knew he was more than that. I wanted to defend him.

That’s why I’ve posted interviews from other people who had a completely different view of him: Leslie Caron, Mitzi Gaynor, Cindy Williams, Michael Crawford, Rita Hayworth, Paula Abdul, Betty Garrett, Vera Ellen, etc. etc. etc.

I’ve tried to deal with haters before.

I remember posting a long answer, with links to interviews, articles, videos, trying to show them a different point of view. But all I got was a short smart ass answer that infuriated me, leading to me block them and take down my GK rant. I’m not getting baited again. You did ok. Offer things for them to check out, like YT interviews, and move on. You can lead a horse to water…🤷🏻‍♀️

All most people do is google him and read the first few pages of the same Debbie Reynolds stories and the same negative (usually incomplete) anecdotes:

Debbie’s horrible “french kiss” from Gene. First, this was likely a misunderstanding. It was on camera, it’s not like he trapped her in a dressing room. No other co-star ever claimed that Gene was sexually inappropriate in any way. This kiss was in the final scene. The rest of the kisses in the movie were chaste and he likely wanted a big kiss for the finale, like he had in a few of his other movies. He knew she had practiced screen kissing with another actor, like Judy Garland had done with him for his first movie. He probably didn’t think she would freak out like she did.

Debbie’s bleeding feet & Fred Astaire teaching her how to dance. First bleeding feet is nothing new to dancers. Ginger Rodgers danced with Fred Astaire with bleeding feet but you didn’t hear her bitch about it. Second, Fred Astaire didn’t teach her how to dance (I see this reported a lot). He let her watch him rehearse, which he normally didn’t do. He did it so she could see how much work dancing was, even for him. She watched him get frustrated and even throw his cane. All so she would know, if this is what she wanted to do, this was how much work it was going to take.

Cyd Charisse’s comment about how her husband knew who she danced with because if she danced with Gene she’d be black & blue. No she wasn’t implying Gene beat her! Gene was more physical than Fred with lifts and such, that’s all. They always forget her other comment when people tried to get her preference between the two: They were like apples & oranges, they were both delicious😘

The competitive dinner parties. I’m sorry, it was Gene’s house and he could put on any kind of party he wanted. He liked informality (He and Betsy knew when strangers came because they were the only ones who knocked) He liked sports and competitions. If you don’t like that stuff, don’t go!!! The people who complained most weren’t even real friends of Gene & Betsy at all, but people who tried to use them and their parties to get close to other influential people.

He only wanted young women. Again, most people only look at the surface on this one. Yes, his 1st wife Betsy was 17 when he married her and even younger than that when they started dating. But his girlfriend before her was in her early 20s. (Per articles I’ve found, they were either engaged or very near).

When Betsy left him, she was in her 30s (he in his 40s) and by all accounts, he didn’t want a divorce. If he wanted a younger one, it was the perfect time. But 2nd wife Jeannie was also in her 30s while he was in his 40s. No robbing the cradle there. After Jeannie died, in the late 70s and early 80s he dated women like older actress Jean Simmons and Tony Bennett’s separated ex, Sandra. Not excessively young. As for his 3rd wife, she did have what all his wives had, intelligence. They both loved words and literature. We may question her motives but Gene didn’t pick dumb bimbos. But to say he only wanted much younger women wasn’t true.

And he didn’t just seek young women to take advantage of them. Betsy loved telling the story of how when they dated and she tried to push for more than hugs and kisses, he reminded her that she was still too young for all that.

My GK rant is done🥵 I admire you’re enthusiasm but I don’t feed trolls anymore.

[fumikomiyasaki]

🎲 for Yasuno + Vic, Stella + Louis, and one of your choosing!

Kiss Roulette ( I used Random Generators then)

22. A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A sigh lingered on her lips as she looked back at the bottles before her.... given an exam for Alchemy came up and she wasn't the fondest of dealing with Potions, she took long to figure out which of these was best to put together... however as she was lost in thought she didn't notice someone sneaking up on her and putting his arms around her waist... smirking into her face.

"Its you! Can you not disturb me when I am thinking?"

"And I thought if you work on my specialty in school, I could be usefull to you, my queen."

"I don't need the help of a reaper. I can do this on my own."

She said that stubborn but as she tried to prove the point and mix two things together, Yasuno pulled her back quickly as the potion was about to explode.... her looking a bit in shock.

"You can't just mix things willy nilly, how about you take a break and let me handle things."

She sat down pouting as Yasuno made sure the rest of the potion wouldn't explode again and cleaned up the place a little before turning back to her. Slightly pinning her to the wall.

"Now that that is taken care off, how about I tell you a little bit about what you actually had to do."

"Fine, you showoff, explain it."

He smirked a little and leaned closer to her.

"Before I do I want some payment, how about a kiss? And then I will teach you all about it."

"You are unbearable."

"I know... but you do know I am the best bet you have on making it through this class, right?"

"I could always ask someone else."

"But that would be above your pride right? You know I would shut my mouth cause I am loyal to you only."

She gritted her teeth but then tried to stay calm.

"One kiss and then you will help me with this."

As he pushed her to the wall to meet her lips she didn't expect his tongue to slip in so quickly... that piercing of his tickling her a little... she cursed that he was good at this, she cursed that he had the upper hand... and hoped one of these days he would come to beg for her help instead so she can get her revenge. But at least she knew he won't break his promises.

16.A kiss in the rain

The hopes on that day were for Louis and Stella to take a night stroll among the stars yet the sky had other plans and clouded everything out... not only that, rain slowly caught up with them as Louis lend her his Jacket so that she at least be covered from it.... they settled to rest under a bit of a shed that was abandoned untill the rain was gone and so Stella held hands with him a little as they both watched the droplets fall from the roof. She handed him his Jacket back but he refused.

"You will get a cold if you don't wear it."

"I had it worse in the past and also... I want you to stay more warm instead..."

She leaned a bit closer and pulled him in an embrace.

"Then how about we keep each other warm instead."

He was taken aback but gave a firm nod, holding her closer... the rain had a nice sound around them, it was not as beautifull as the stars but... it was soothing and calming around them, he loved looking at her eyes as she looked back at him.

"Thank you still for bringing me here, the flowers previously were all beautifull to see."

"I am glad you got something out of it..."

"I could wish away the rain if you want to."

He shook his head and cradled her face.

"I am actually quite happy it brought us together like this."

Both shared a small tender kiss which however suddenly made them notice how the rain poured less... seemed that no wish was in order for them to move on, yet Louis still kept her close making sure she was still warming up from all the pouring rain.

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25.A kiss that's an accident

Usually the Fairy princess barely went out her dorm but on this day her pet rabbit Velvet broke out the dorm and she was worried it might be in trouble... the lead of some students brought her to Night Raven college where she looked almost every where for her... yet eventually she found her... sitting on Ellis arm who petted her with a smile.

"Ah Dragi, I wanted to write you she was here but-"

"No its fine, I am glad she was safe with you."

Ellis stood up and wanted to walk to her and give the pet to her but one move of the Pet jumping on Dragiselles Shoulder confused them both as Ellis fell forward and the Princess catched her fall... yet during the impact their lips touched another as Ellis suddenly turned pink in her face.

Both looked at another in silent as Dragiselle suddenly had a warm smile on her face. Starting to laugh a little.

"Don't worry too much about it, I don't mind you kissed me."

"You don`t?!"

The Fairy princess walked towards the ramshackle student and took her hand for another small kiss on it.

"May our paths cross ways again and maybe then I can fully tell you how I feel about you."

With a small wink she left... mysterious as usual even if Ellis still saw the black lipstick stain on her lips and did her best to change it back to her previous lipstick after a while.

[southparkxreader]

title: home is where the heart is.  pairings:  christophe delorne x reader x gregory of yardale.   tropes:  mutual pining,  always away for work,  excited hellos and hesitant goodbyes.  note:  this probably turning into a series ? most likely. anyway,   constructive feedback is always welcomed !   i will admit this is a little lackluster, but my first imagines always are on ( my ) blogs.   feel free to send in requests after checking out my pinned post ! 

“ i can’t believe you’re already back ! “   it’s impossible to hide the excited giggle as the words are spoken,  practically bouncing on the spot as you don’t hesitate to throw your body towards the two men.  they were taller,  so it was a little awkward as your arms were wrapped around the two of them and squished in the centre -  but it doesn’t stop your spirits and still practically nuzzle in their sides,  gregory stood there,  usual charming grin planted on face as one arm wraps around you,  squeezing your side; a complete opposite reaction to what christophe had,  who offered a fake huff of annoyance at your attitude - though you knew him,  knew him well enough that you can see the small ghost of a smile that pulled in the corner of his lips that hid behind the unlit cigarette “ i thought you guys weren’t meant to be back for a couple more months ! “ 

“ we weren’t, however we managed to finish the job and thought it would be a nice little surprise “  pressing a kiss at the top of your head,  nose remaining buried in the crown of your hair as eyes slip shut.   their work was mentally draining,   it was nothing but destruction and death  -  which granted,  is what he signed up for,  it’s what he’s good at :  both he and christophe were the best at the job which is why they together were always away and spread thin with how many people required their assistance,  however it doesn’t make it any less draining.  but knowing that he had you to come back to ? it always made it that little better  “ it appears that was the right decision to make - “ 

“ oui,  you’re like a little puppy “   voice deep,  teasing,   you don’t miss the faint coo behind the tone which causes your face to flare up red,  a deep blush coating cheeks that had the french mans eyes gleaming at the reaction gained, which only eggs him  “... loyal and waiting at home for the masters to return - now,  if the puppy could let us in  -  “ you make a noise of embarrassment,  elbowing the man in the stomach in retaliation at the comments made, it also made you painfully aware that the three of you were just stood in the middle of the hallway for the world to see - you briefly thank that  exam season was closing in and most people were rushing by or locked up in their dorms, studying until their eyes hurt,  completely oblivious to your existence and your friends. 

“ i hope you know that i hate you - “   moving to the side to allow them into your flat,  nose twisting up as christophe took your chin between his fingers - not missing the murmured,  ‘of course you do’ under his breath as he passed by.  the smile on your face doesn’t ease,  back of your hand pressing against your mouth as to try and ease the pain in cheeks  (  and to hide the growing redness on your face that made you look like a strawberry,  it always annoyed you how easy it was for the pair to get under your skin. )  

“ we weren’t interrupting anything, were we ? “ gregory hummed,  seeing the revision sheets scattered over the floor:  an organised mess only you can understand, even then you had moments of not understanding a thing that was going on  “ i’d hate if we intruded on your studying “ 

“ no please interrupt, if i don’t get a break i’m going to have a breakdown - “ you look back at the two of them standing in the middle of the living room,  watching the way christophes neck craned to the side as his back stretched, removing his shovel from its usual place on his back,  you never understood how casually he carried that thing around,  the looks gained was always something that amused you without fail.  clicking the kettle to make them their favourite beverages :  tea,  one sugar. coffee,  black and no sugar.  you wished your memory was as good in classes as it was remembering the pairs favourite things. 

“ you better be lookin’ after yourself  “    the way christophe spoke always sounded like an underling threat,  “ you are,  aren’t you ? “  his eyes are dark, a protective light to them that had you almost hypnotised on the spot  -  how you managed to get him,  of all people,  to give a shit about you always made you a little winded. christophe and gregory are so intense in everything they do, with every emotion they felt :  the way they care was no different. 

you opt to busying yourself as you pull out three cups from the upper cupboards, trying to act as if the intense stare didn’t make you waver on the spot, smile falling a little as your eyebrows crease together.  there’s no point lying to them,  they’ll call you out eventually  “ as well as i can be “  now making the beverages,  peaking up as you see christophe and gregory sit opposite you on the counter   “  i’m just trying to get through this year at this point.  i might have to add another year,  but forget about me - “ sliding their respective cups across  “ how was the trip ?  “  you know they can’t say much regarding their work,  despite how much you’ve pressed in the past -  but you knew it was... less than legal.  the less you know the safer you are, they had once said when you were still in the early days of knowing them,  you knew to read the room and move on :  to understand that their life was chaotic and violent,  had seen enough that would bring the modern day man on the streets to his knees.  you’re just happy that they trust you enough to stick around to even hint what they do, you’re happy just to provide them a safe place to return to. 

“ i went to this charming little art museum when the moment allowed it,  you would’ve loved it,  ( y/n ) - “  “ more proof that ‘zis british bitch is a pussy,  every time you talk i realise there’s no dick between your legs -  “ “ do you think about whats between my legs a lot, dear christophe ? “ 

it was then all chaos broke out,  them arguing between themselves in between sharing information about what they saw,  you trying and failing to hold in the laughter over the rapid fire insults that was shared between the two men,  you have no idea how long you were stood there and they were sat, speaking about nothing and everything,  joking and biting insults that were filled with nothing but love but still with the intention to get it under the others skin.  though just like always, the burning question of how long they’ll stay this time is in the back of your mind. you wished they stuck around, that their work didn’t drag them across the world for months, sometimes years at a time - but you never let them vocally know, and if they can see the way your face falls when they say they’re back in town for only a few days, they don’t mention it.  you love them, and they loved you just as much :  which is why none of you dared to confirm the emotions in the air,  dare not make the roots already growing that much stronger. their lives were unpredictable and you couldn’t handle a world such as theirs, you didn’t deserve to be introduced to what their normal lives were for what they’d call selfish reasons. right now, they had you to come home to, and that was enough. 

[strawberryakabane]

Wholesome Karma bean Headcanons, enjoy! (this man is my comfort character and my ray of sunshine so these may be endless) 🥰

. Calls you names like 'my love', 'my darling' 'princess' and 'milkshake'

. Is very overprotective of you

. Gives quite closeted affection in public but alone is very affectionate

. He loves it when you hold his hand

. Gives you constant hugs from behind

. Either smells of strawberries or cinnamon

. Loves baking with/for you

. He always ruffles your hair

. Secretly doesn't mind being small spoon

. Is passionate but also gentle

. Loves sitting with you by a fireplace

. You bought him a strawberry hair clip once as a joke but he actually loves wearing it

. Arguments are rare but usually end with tons of cuddles and soft kisses

. Takes you on bakery dates

. Loves it when you wear his clothes

. You both have a playlist for everything

. Will tell you you look beautiful/handsome/amazing at any opportunity

. Definitely gives ass slaps

. He bought you both promise rings

. Buys you stuff all time time even though you tell him not to

. He loves lazy days with you

. Movie binging

. Showers and baths together (with a glass of strawberry milk 😌)

. Loves teasing you but gets embarrassed when you tease him back

. He occasionally let's you be bowser on Mario kart

. Will listen to you rant about anything and everything

. He helps you with your homework and gives you lots and lots of kisses afterwards (because why not)

. Occasionally you'll feed the ducks together

. You him and nagisa hangout ALL THE TIME

. Partners in crime

. Will text you he misses you from downstairs

. Let's you do his eyeliner

. You both keep pictures of each other for when you miss each other

. He says romantic things to you in French (apparently karma speaks French) 👌

. He feeds you strawberries

. He loves it when you give him affection

. He calls you a simp

. He blushes when you adjust his collar

. When you play fight he pins you to the wall

. He gives you hand kisses

. He gets really excited over small things

. He loves study dates

. He'll buy you ice cream all the time

. If you ever hurt yourself he'll probably lick the blood off

. Slow but passionate kisses (dom asf tho)

. Takes care of you when you're ill or in pain

. Prank wars

. Sends you your favourite flowers

. He'll leave little notes for you

. Rip to anyone who so much as looks at you

. Skips class with you

. Gives you his coat when you're cold

. Stargazing dates

. It's difficult for him to open up but you'll comfort him all the time

. Sometimes he'll have nightmares so he'll reach out to hold you in the night

. When you have nightmares, he'll wake up immediately to comfort you

. Loves it when you put your arms around his neck

. Plays with your hair

. King of massages

. He loves it when you rest your head on his lap

. Strokes your hair and forehead

. Takes you to festivals and theme parks

. Will never force you to do anything you're not comfortable with

. Will beat up anyone who bullies you or makes you uncomfortable

. Tickle fights

. Takeaway every week

. You both watch anime together

. Boops on the daily

. He will be your loyal spider remover (or killer)

. He wears his cute heart apron in the kitchen because he knows it makes you laugh

. He picks flowers and puts them in your hair

. Competitions with each other 24/7

. Dances with you

. When you fall asleep, he'll put a blanket around you

. Froggie parents

. Puts his hand on your thigh while he is driving

. Grows strawberries in your garden and teaches your kid how to look after them

. Gives you and your kid nose nuzzles

. Matching outfits

. He'll cosplay with youuu

(more to comeee)

❤️❤️❤️

[badass-at-fandoming]

Guess who finished her work early so she can tell you about Logan reunion!!!! Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

IDK if you've ever seen the musical Chicago, but I'm 75% sure Logan just has "Cell Block Tango" on the brain this whole arc. After reveling in his dramatic reveal (complete with priest costume I'm still not over), Logan eagerly asks MC if MC missed him, if MC's glad he's back, if MC was treated well, but like, in a very Logan way, so there's some threats sprinkled like cheese on French onion soup. MC decides to react like a sane person, just this once, as a treat. He begs Logan not to kill him.

Begging of course activates Riam, who followed MC here. Logan and Riam trade quips while MC gets progressively more and more entangled with Logan's body like a four-armed octopus. 😂 It is very difficult!! To take this scene seriously!!! I blanked out most of what happened besides kisses okay. And that Riam got shot in the stomach so he would pass out and not detonate the fucking bomb attached to MC's neck.

Logan carries MC like a princess and says, "Let's go home, Alex," AND I DIE. MC passes out while clutching Logan's shirt aldkjaklfjdjflkjfl. When MC wakes up, they're in sketchy warehouse #3. For the first time in chapters, MC's dressed in his own clothes instead of something Riam ordered him to wear. I guess Logan helped a groggy MC change clothes? Changed a passed out MC's clothes? Anyway, it's cute.

There's a lot of talking, so to sum up: Logan loves MC but is pissed that MC left him in jail (to get picked up by Aria). It's very like, Logan will bend heaven and earth for MC, but he wants MC to do the same for him. He feels he must make triple sure MC is still loyal to him and make an itemized list of anyone who hurt MC in Logan's absence. Because, yanno, villain lover.😂 Also, he doesn't know how to remove the tracker/bomb/choker from MC's neck and insults the aesthetic. He likes the collar he put on MC better 😂😂😂

For his part, MC explains that he had to leave Logan to save him (because of the deal with Riam, remember). He loves Logan, but hates that about himself because Logan is so dangerous. There's a slim, slim chance for a peaceful life with Logan, MC, and Hailey. There's a funny line of "The gangs and CIA hate us! They'll chase us to the ends of the earth! Logan, we're literally going to die!!!" And Logan's like "At least we'll die together. Not too bad, right?" asdfghjkl; BABE.

The story suffers here like it does with almost all love confessions in the Maybe app. Since this takes places before the player chooses their ending, we can't fully hop on the Logan bandwagon. The words are ambiguous; things aren't fully explained.

And speaking of Hailey, Logan figured out that Hailey's life is what Aria holds over MC. In the past, whenever MC complained about the CIA and its practices, Aria reminded him that Hailey's stellar healthcare depends on his job. Logan took it upon himself to do some digging and, uh, big shocker here, Hailey's already dead. There's a slight implication that Aria murdered her. Logan shows MC her grave and, my friends, Hailey's been dead for YEARS. Like, "the name on the gravestone is slightly worn from weather damage" dead.

MC ping-pongs through the 5 stages of grief and Logan is just. The Most about this. He pushes MC into an open grave and MC drags him on top of him and they flop around kissing and crying and THERE IS A CG:

[[Image ID Kill Your Boss Logan Harris CG 2, Logan pins MC's hands against the crumbling walls of an open grave. The pair kiss while MC cries.]]

Again, they are in an OPEN PIT next to MC's sister's grave. The scene fades to black and I'm like. Are you for serious--and it skips to the next morning with Logan and MC naked and in bed together. jaldkfjakljf MC has a nightmare and Logan kisses away his tears 😭😭😭. MC asks Logan if he knows what it's like to lose a family member. Which is. A bit like asking a blind man to describe the color blue, because Logan was abandoned as a baby to some Catholic missionaries (that's why his priest cosplay is so good!). Logan doesn't know, but remarks that if MC kills Aria, MC'll find out. Which I don't have a problem with because she's scum, but I get it, she gave MC a cookie once upon a time.

MC and Logan start gettin' hot and heavy, but get cockblocked AGAIN by a messenger 😂 Random Gang Member #69 reports that Riam's gang has blown up a supply warehouse. Logan is like GODdamnIT when will this b-hole be mine, and MC laughs at him. 😂You have a choice to stay behind or go with Logan to confront Riam's gang, and I chose to go.

Reminder that throughout all this, MC STILL HAS A BOMB WRAPPED AROUND HIS NECK. Hello!! Can we take care of this!!! Does ANYONE want to take this off please. Pls. I guess since MC is in their warehouse now, Riam and Noah decide to show up and "rescue" MC from Logan. Which is hilarious to me because Riam put a BOMB on him. Why is he a better option? I guess the most safe option is Noah?? Somehow the person I was most suspicious of is now the most trustworthy.

Everyone's in the same place!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. This won't end well. 😱😭

We'll have to see which drama king MC ends up with: I checked the book's comments section, and it appears there's not 4, but 7 endings for Kill Your Boss. There's the typical bad ending, where MC doesn't haven enough Heart points for any of the Love Interests. Then each Love Interest has a normal and a good ending. To get the good, HFN ending, their Hearts need to be at 100%. The Maybe app is infamous in my mind for the brutality of their non-good endings, so we'll have to see who I have the best chance with. Worse case scenario, I reset the book and play again while consulting the walkthrough.

Link to Part 6, the finale!

[talkslikejuneyeahyeah]

Reasons Why I Will Forever be #TeamPeter:

He drives his mom’s minivan instead of his own black Audi so Kitty can ride with them to school.

He actually initiated their kiss in seventh grade and it wasn’t because of a spin the bottle game. They were alone and he just went for it. It was also his own first kiss.

“I started liking you…Why do you think I kissed you that day at McClaren’s house back in seventh grade? It’s why I went along with this thing in the first place. I’ve always thought you were cute…’

Years later he still remembers the smell of her shampoo, and asks her if she could go back to it when she starts using a new one she stole from Margot.

“I’m sleepy.” He closes his eyes and snuggles against me. “Tell me a bedtime story, Covey.”

He asks her to go with him to an estate sale and he gets her Mocha Sugar donuts on his way to pick her up.

He pushes her to negotiate with the estate manager for the reindeer she wanted and then he convinces him to give it to her for free.

He leaves her a note asking her if she could take the bus the next day because he wanted to give Kitty a ride to school in his Audi so she could show it off.

“Wait, I thought I was your dream guy,’ Peter says. Not to me, to Kitty. He knows he’s not my dream guy. My dream guy is Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables. Handsome, loyal, smart in school.

He bakes fruitcake cookies for her from scratch.

He gets insanely jealous whenever Josh is around.

“‘Then just in case,’ Peter says, and he leans his head out and kisses me on the lips, open-mouthed and sure… When he pulls away, Peter’s smiling. ‘Night, Lara Jean.’”

He tells his mom about her.

“He looks at you a lot, Lara Jean. When you’re not paying attention. He looks at you, to see if you’re having a good time.”

He wants to be the last call before she goes to sleep.

He reads all 7 Harry Potter books to get her references.

He gets her the expensive necklace that she’s wanted for years for Valentine’s.

“My hands fly to my mouth. It’s my necklace, the heart locket from his mom’s antique store, the very same necklace I admired for so many months. At Christmas when Daddy said the necklace had been sold, I thought it was gone from my life forever. “I can’t believe it,” I whisper, touching the diamond chip in the middle.”

Yes, he spends time with Gen and won’t tell LJ the reason why she needs him (her dad was having an affair with a young girl and she had no one to confide in but him), but him keeping Gen’s secret actually means he’s a genuinely trustworthy person.

“No. When I get you back, I’m gonna put that necklace back around your neck and pin you.” He tries to hold my eyes with his own. “Like the 1950s. Remember, Lara Jean?”

He plans a Sixteen Candles themed surprise party for her eighteenth birthday.

He gives her a Sleepless in Seattle inspired promposal on top of the Empire State Building.

He has Kitty teach him how to French braid Lara Jean’s hair.

He goes all the way across town in the middle of their trip to get her cookies from a place she’d always wanted to try.

He plans her dad’s bachelor party.

He still hangs out with Kitty even when they’re broken up.

He suggests the sky-lanterns for her dad’s wedding as an asian tradition to acknowledge her mom on the day.

He stands up for her in front of their whole school and gets suspended for it, and tells her “I did it for us. It’s you and me, kid.”

He tries his best to reassure her that they can make it long distance. He even considers transferring to UNC when she doesn’t get into UVA.

He doesn’t sleep with her on Beach Week because he feels like she’s saying goodbye.

He still remembers the first time he ever saw her at the first sixth-grade assembly, when she had a backpack with her name written in glitter and her hair got caught in her chair.

He is constantly fighting for them.

He writes an amended contract that says:

[soukoku-rivals]

Summary

My darlings, it’s been over two years and we’re done with 2 part out of 3 of this comic. And I am amazed that I actually got this far, that you got this far. Really, without your support, all the comments, likes and reblogs, and of course the coffee, it wouldn’t be possible.

There is only one last part of this comic left - 3 chapters and an epilogue. But before that happens, you voted to the summary so here it is!

It’a very short and I probably skipped some parts one may consider more important than others but I hope it still serves it purpose.

Read under the cut!

Atsushi and Dazai go to a shopping mall where they meet Chuuya. Chuuya is angry at Dazai [as always] but he puts his feelings aside when the mall is attacked by a small gang aiming to rob the patrons. All three of our heroes need to work together in order to stop the bad guys.

Atsushi is amazed at Soukoku’s partnership and Chuuya ends up giving him a few helpful tips on how to fight. Chuuya also identifies the gang as the Wolf School whose leader is a Polish ability user, Sapkowski. The knowledge comes in handy when Dazai and Atsushi come back to the agency and it turns out that the Wolf School not only aimed to rob the shopping mall but also kidnapped a person.

The person kidnapped is Alexandre Dumas, a French ability user with the skill of The Three Musketeers which allows him to see what abilities other people have, can amplify them through touch or contact with his blood and can make regular people physically stronger. His partner, John Locke hires the agency to get him back.

It is again Dazai and Atsushi together on a mission and they meet Chuuya once more, deciding to join forces. This time Atsushi is supposed to join the shorter part of Soukoku and retrieve Dumas first before Chuuya destroys the Wolf School gang. Dazai hangs back.

Chuuya and Atsushi talk about Dazai and how Chuuya hates the other man for always manipulating and using other people. For manipulating and seemingly not caring about mafia while he seems to care about the agency. Atsushi still believes that Dazai is a good person but the conversation is cut short when Chuuya reminds them they have job to do.

They manage to find Dumas after killing two gang members guarding a room. Dumas is unconscious and Atsushi has to carry him out. On their way, however, they are discovered by other members of the gang members and this is when the fight starts.

Sapkowski is an ability user who can turn into mythological and fictional monsters with the help of his skill, The Witcher. However, using Dumas’ blood he amplifies his power and turns all his people into monsters and himself into a dragon.

At disadvantage with Dumas unconscious and needing protection, Atsushi and Chuuya hide when Dazai comes back with Akutagawa as the cavalry. Shin Soukoku face the enemy while Chuuya and Dazai have a talk about how Dazai manipulated Chuuya again with Dumas – kidnapping people and imprisoning them for fun seems to be a sensitive topic for Chuuya.

Before Dazai manages to say something in reply, Akutagawa gets badly hurt and then Dazai falls unconscious after a hit in the head. With three people down, and only Chuuya and Atsushi able to fight, Chuuya decides to take a drastic step. He tells Atsushi to get the other three out into safety while he himself activates Corruption to fight off the enemy after bestowing his hat to Akutagawa.

Dazai wakes up while Atsushi is already out with all of them and manages to get to Chuuya before he dies from overusing his power.

In the mafia infirmary Chuuya remembers how Dazai always used to be there for him after using Corruption, even gifting him with his iconic blue gem bolo tie that’s supposed to symbolize how Dazai will always love Chuuya and won’t let him die. Until one day Dazai is gone and so is the tie. Though Dazai seems to be wearing it now, and what does that mean for Chuuya? However, Kouyou is there this time, ready to comfort him.

Back at the Agency, Locke is there to pick up his partner. As it turns out, he has an ability as well and with it he can take away people’s memories. He erases all memory of Dumas’ power from the agency minds, unknowingly leaving out Dazai, who is unaffected for obvious reasons.

At night Chuuya decides to get rid of the remnants of Wolf School where he meets Locke. He figures out what Dumas’ power is and Locke says he has no choice but to take Chuuya’s memories as well. Locke’s power, Tabula Rasa, wipes the mind completely without Dumas’ The Three Musketeers to control it better and so Chuuya ends up as a blank slate.

Locke tries to get him back to the agency but on his way Chuuya is intercepted by an unknown person working for Fyodor while Dazai watches from the window, having no idea what just happened.

Later, Locke has nightmares caused by Chuuya’s memories and figures out his partner and Chuuya grew up in the same facility. He is in trouble for hurting his partner’s childhood not-friend.

[That was only part 1, this is so long, and I skipped so much, I’m sorry]

Part 2 starts with a flashback of how Chuuya and Dazai first met, Dazai already thinking about suicide and Chuuya desperate to have a happy life. They fight.

In the present, Dumas and Locke arrive at the agency hoping to find Chuuya there but mysteriously he’s not. Dazai invites them for a coffee to talk things through. This is when Dumas finds out what Locke already knows – Dazai is immune to abilities – and Dazai finds out that Locke and Dumas are members of Trickters, ability group specializing in mind control. While trying to contact Chuuya, Kouyou tells them he is missing.

Atsushi gets called over to test if Locke can actually bring memories back – he can – and to bring the footage of CCTV recording from when Chuuya was seen last outside the agency. Dumas identifies the man who took him as Mikhail Bulgakov, another ability user with the power of The Master and Margarita, which marks one person as the ‘Master’ and other as ‘Margarita’ and makes Margarita believe in every word the Master says and support them.

[This never came up but this is as good place as any to point out, I never said Alex can tell a person’s name just by looking at them. Bulgakov is actually a member of the Tricksters as well, and that’s why Hella works with him, and his code name is either Woland or Satan.]

Dazai is terrified of what that implies since Chuuya is with Dostoevsky and obviously, Fyodor would use that power against them. Dazai excuses Locke and Dumas saying he will contact them once they have Chuuya back. They leave not before advising Dazai that he may get Chuuya back as his boyfriend if he just tries, exposing Soukoku’s past relationship to Atsushi.

In the meantime Fyodor convinces Chuuya that they are actually dating. Of course, Chuuya being the loyal bastard he is, promises to prove his worth to Fyodor even after he lost his memories.

Dazai has a small breakdown and Atsushi is there to comfort him.

In another flashback we see smol Chuuya alone in the gardens as he help Rando/Rimbaud find Kouyou’s house. Rimbaud worried about the cold leaves Chuuya with his scarf and hat. Chuuya has very confusing emotions about all of this and is approached by Dazai who witnessed the conversation. Dazai explains that Chuuya bottles his emotions and that causes them to be too much and Chuuya to violently blow up hurting people around. In Dazai’s opinion, Chuuya just needs to let himself feel. Together they go back to Kouyou’s house, holding hands, and Rimbaud takes back his scarf after Chuuya thank him, but let’s the kid keep the hat.

In the present, it is quite some time after Chuuya disappeared. Dazai holds a meeting explaining which places is Fyodor most likely to attack using Chuuya. Kouyou is frustrated at the lack of their progress.

Meanwhile, Chuuya after all his training with Corruption is in a visibly bad state but still determined to carry out Fyodor’s orders still believing Fyodor is his partner and that he has friends there – Hella, Behemoth and Koroviev – who like to play poker with him. Of course, he can’t let them down.

Shin Soukoku and Kyouka [who, the author believes, should always work together, have you seen Dead Apple?] are observing one of the targets and lo and behold, Chuuya appears.

They notify Dazai, who immediately sets out with Yosano to their place, and set out to keep Chuuya there until Dazai and Yosano arrive. Chuuya has no trouble fighting the kids, apparently using Dumas’ blood which Fyodor got from the Wolf School, to control Corruption. Fortunately, Dazai arrives and pins him to the ground. In order to get out, Chuuya tricks him into kissing and then stabs him in the arm [aiming for the throat] and gets out.

In the last attempt to stop his escape, Atsushi attacks, slicing through Chuuya’s gravitational bomb and chopping off his arm. Chuuya, hurt and bleeding escapes. Dazai rushes after him and finds him in an abandoned warehouse where Chuuya loses his consciousness.

In another flashback we find out why Dazai ‘broke up’ with Chuuya by making Chuuya hate him and pretending to hate him in return. He tells Odasaku, that Chuuya loses his control when Dazai’s safety is involved and is willing to hurt himself in order to keep Dazai safe. Being the death seeking person Dazai is, he is worried Chuuya will end up hurt because of him and it’s better that they are not together.

In the present, Dazai understands that his ways were wrong and he should have spoken to Chuuya instead of just leaving him. He wishes for another chance but only when Chuuya is back to normal.

Atsushi arrives to see Dazai and Chuuya in the room together, Chuuya sleeping strapped to the bed and Dazai holding his hand. Dazai explains that Chuuya is most likely still brainwashed by Fyodor, even though he nullified The Master and Margarita and because of that they need to keep him from going back to the rat. It’s a hard decision for him, since Chuuya had his choice taken away from him since a very young age – being an experiment subject in a research facility in France and later caught and sold by human traffickers to Japan. He states that for Chuuya going back to the mafia would be the best.

Chuuya was only pretending to be asleep and heard everything but then he ‘wakes up’ officially and falls back into his old bickering with Dazai even though he doesn’t necessary remember him.

While in the ADA, Chuuya is visited by Kouyou and Akutagawa who show deep care for him and Akutagawa actually brings him the hat, Chuuya recognizes from the pictures he saw at Fyodor’s place. Chuuya is confused.

Later that night, Chuuya and Dazai sleep together, Dazai removing his bandages to keep constant contact with Chuuya in order to nullify his powers. Still, Chuuya escapes through the window taking Dazai’s coat and his hat.

We see Dazai open his eyes and call Atsushi telling him that Chuuya escaped as planned and is on route that should make him meet Dumas and Locke ready to give his memories back. Dazai predicts they may need Yosano.

Meanwhile, Fyodor dismisses Bulgakov and his group but tells Hella to stay behind. Hella is the daughter of Locke and has been spying on Fyodor for his dad and because of that, Chuuya was able to get to the agency safely and get his memories back so he can go back to Fyodor in perfect condition. Fyodor kills Hella for her services.

[deathly-shipper]

Yes absolutely I want to hear about your Hogwarts au

why, my dear sirs, madams and variations thereupon, thank you for your interest!

(fair warning, this is going to be a long ass post because I have FEELINGS about this ship and this au okay??)

- Donna is muggleborn, but you'd be dead wrong if you think she's going to let anyone make fun of her because of that.

-When she was six her mother told her they weren't going on holiday that year, so off she went to the nearest bus stop and got on the Knight Bus. As if anyone involved in that mad acid trip of a bus would bat an eye to a child climbing on the bus alone, so they merely asked where she wanted to go and little Donna just went "Strathclyde!". Her family found her hours later with the help of the muggle police.

- Her first big show of accidental magic was when she was seven. The other kids at school were making fun of her hair, she got so mad that she turned all the other kids ginger too. Trust her to make others see the other side of things.

- So! Fast forwarding to when she's eleven, one ordinary morning Donna and her family are having breakfast, as you do, and someone knocks at the door. Lo and behold it's Professor McGonagall (seriously considered Snape, just because it would be so entertaining to see him explain the magic world to Donna's family, imagine Sylvia Noble talking to Snape.)

-She explains everything to the family; yes Donna is a witch, she has a place in Hogwarts, no Mrs Noble, tuition is free, etc etc.

- Sylvia is obviously the sceptic "magic isn't real!", Wilf may or may have not done a little dance of happiness, Geoffrey is a little too stunned to speak and Eileen (Donna's Nan) is the only sensible mind in this, bless her.

- The first thing that comes to Donna's mind when she is told she can go to Hogwarts is "So I won't have to go to school with Nerys anymore?" After being told that no, you won't have to, she's just a little bundle of joy, I mean, who wouldn't be when discovering you can do magic?

- Moving on, everything is explained, magic is real and a trip to Diagon Alley is scheduled for the next week!

- Now Ten! Ten is from a pureblood family, but currently the only members of said family are him and his older brother, Braxiatel. Their parents died in the first war against Voldemort.

- Ten spent the majority of his life inside the family's property, so he turned to books for his escape. He particularly likes astronomy, history and magical creatures.

- He hasn't got any friends, the only children his age he ever met are the other pureblood kids, and let's be honest, they aren't much like him, poor lad.

- He meets Donna in Diagon Alley when shopping for books, and when I say meet I mean he almost fell on top of her. She gives him hell for it of course, but they manage to get a conversation going about Hogwarts.

- They go their separate ways and both spend the rest of the summer holidays thinking about that weird kid they met on Diagon Alley.

- September the First arrives and they meet again at King's Cross. Donna's whole family has come to drop her off, of course, and Ten and Brax meet them at the platform.

- Brax explains to them how to get to platform nine and three quarters and goes first to demonstrate. Donna is scared, what if it doesn't work for her? Ten senses it and ask Mr Noble if he can take his trolley for him, so he can push Donna's with her. "Together?" "Together."

- They say goodbye to their families and get on the train, and, like Harry and Ron, manage to get a compartment all to themselves. Conversation goes on about all sorts of topics, the magic world, the muggle world, Hogwarts, the houses, what do they do for fun, you know, a bit of everything.

- They arrive at the station and have to get to school by the little boats, Ten does not like the idea. Donna holds his hand to reassure him. She likes this weird boy who talks about stars and creatures so fantastical she almost doesn't believe him.

- Sorting then. They're both nervous, it is all very intimidating after all, even if the idea of a talking hat is kind of funny to Donna.

-She goes first, sits there for about four minutes. After careful deliberations the hat places her on Hufflepuff. Yes, she could have been a Gryffindor, she is very brave, BUT, she's hard working and kind and compassionate, and I feel like her bravery stems more from her wish to help others you know? and more importantly, she's loyal. so, so much, and that's what seals the deal for me.

- Ten. Now Ten, like Donna, could've been a Gryffindor, but the hat decided on Ravenclaw. STILL, that's not where he went. No, my precious boi Ten argued with the hat. He looked at Donna and saw his only friend, the fiery girl who yelled at him when they met and later held his hand when he was afraid. "I want to go with her" he said to the hat, and so he went.

- Yes, they are both in Hufflepuff. No, I don't take criticism on this. This is my au and I make the rules, Hufflepuff is a great house and anybody who thinks otherwise can get the fuck out.

- Hogwarts is not ready for this duo.

- Regarding classes; Donna loves Charms, she's best in class, Flitwick loves her. Ten likes History of Magic, but Bins is terribly boring so he and Donna study on their own. They always pair up in Potions, not the best in class, but have yet to explode a cauldron. Transfiguration is Ten's area, his family is particularly gifted in this subject. Herbology is more Donna's scene, she used to help her nan with her garden so she likes working in the greenhouses. DADA is anyone's game really, with changing professors like that. Now, they both really like flying and they are good at it. Donna joins the house team as chaser in her third year.

- Ten is the second coming of Newt Scamander. He always drags Donna down to Hagrid's hut to see what creature he has most recently acquired. Has been given detention for wandering in the Forbidden Forest. He's also probably friends with the centaurs.

- A couple years pass, the friendship grows and life is good.

- Third year, Donna "I'm good with numbers" Noble tottaly takes Arithmancy and aces it, Ten too of course. They also take Care for Magical Creatures, to Ten's absolute delight, and Divination. But they take one class with Trelawney and decide to take Ancient Runes instead.

- On their fourth year Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts.

- Donna is one second away from screaming bloody murder at Dumbledore's blatant favouritism.

- Fifth year has all that business with the Chamber of Secrets, Ten and Donna are among the few that don't think Harry is the heir.

- But then Donna gets attacked too. Ten is inconsolable, he spends every moment he can with her in hospital wing. Fortunately she is saved by the mandragora potion with the others.

- Now, in sixth year things start getting Interesting. There's this boy who is interested in Donna and she kind of is too, but she's nervous because she hasn't had her first kiss yet. She tells Ten this. He also hasn't kissed anyone yet and he has one of his Ideas. He suggests to Donna that they can be each other's first kiss. That nearly earns him a slap, but he manages to convince her before she takes action. He says that they're best friends and what are best friends for if not helping each other? So she agrees and he goes all out to make it special for her. He takes her to the Astronomy Tower one night when the stars are out and they sit looking at the sky and hold hands. They see a falling star and he tells her to close her eyes and make a wish, he kisses her then. And that my friends, is when the Pinning starts.

- Sirius Black whom???? All they can think about is that kiss.

- Not that they let that ruin their friendship.

- Also, they love Hagrid teaching, he absolutely let them fly on Buckbeak. And Buckbeak is a strong boi, he took the both of them (cue Ten holding onto to Donna's waist and she going "Hands!" but secretly liking it)

- Seventh year, this is a good one folks. This year we continue with the Pinning, yes, but we also have the Triwizard Tournament!

- They tottaly go to the Quidditch World Cup, but manage to leave before the madness start.

- Meanwhile Harry Potter is dreaming about a slightly older version of Ten and freaking the fuck out.

- Back to Hogwarts and the Tournament. Donna speaks French so she makes friends with some of the Beauxbatons girls. Also, tottaly talks well of Hagrid to Madame Maxime.

- They both put their names on the goblet.

- "And the Hogwarts Champion is Donna Noble!"

- Yep, you read that right, my girl Donna is Hogwarts Champion instead of Cedric.

- The goblet inevitably spews out Harry's name and chaos ensues. BUT, we have something different this time, we have the brilliant Donna Noble. She asks if it really is binding if Harry didn't write his own name, and not his full name at that. And it is also against the rules for a fourth school to compete, and as someone had charm the goblet into allowing a fourth school competitor it is not really valid. The teachers are convinced and Harry doesn't participate. He is eternally grateful to Donna.

- The Weasleys are the first to know about the first task, and Ron tells Harry who in turn tells Donna. He takes her to see the dragons with the invisibility cloak.

- Donna asks Magical Creature Enthusiast Ten for help and they study the dragons they have seen.

- On the actual day Donna gets the Hungarian Horntail, but she uses a spell for it to understand her instead of tricking it. She manages to tell it one of it's eggs is false and convince the dragon to give it to her. Full points for spellwork and pacific solutions.

- Magical Creature Enthusiast Ten also immediately recognises the merpeople sound from the egg, so Donna is the first to figure out her clue.

- What she doesn't know is what it is that she has to recover, but she has a plan as to how. She uses gillyweed and practices the BubbleHead spell just in case.

- But first, Yule Ball. Our continued Pinning is going on full force, but Ten realizes that if he wants to go to the Ball with Donna he has to ask NOW.

- And so he does, with more blood on his face than anywhere else. Donna is a confused but secretly hopeful. "You want to go as friends?" "No Donna, I want you to be my date." "Oh" "If you don't want to that's fine-" "I would love to" cue more blushing.

- Donna is a vision on her Ball dress, Ten is so in love.

- So they dance and laugh and generally have fun. Then Ten takes her to the Astronomy Tower again, and they kiss under the starry sky.

- Back to the tasks then.

- Of course it is Ten waiting to be rescued at the bottom of the lake.

- Donna is the first to get there, but, like Harry, she helps the others too. Still first place though, my girl is efficient like that.

- Ten and Donna cuddle for warmth after getting out of the lake, of course.

- Third Task, the maze. Donna ends up saving Fleur and having to fight Krum. She almost doesn't make it to the cup.

- Moody had to change plans and kidnap Harry since he wouldn't be competing in the Tournament. So Harry is in the graveyard, Voldemort returns, yada yada.

- But they didn't account for Donna getting there too. She arrives during the fight and saves Harry.

- So Donna is Triwizard Champion!

- and Voldemort is back, which is a bummer.

- Ten and Donna graduate and start travelling the world with a blue suitcase that is bigger on the inside and that's all I have for now, thank you for reading!

[storybycorey]

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet

(Full Version, A-Z)

author: @storybycorey

rating: R

word count: approx. 8000

summary: The ABC’s, as told by Fox Mulder.

For those of you looking only for part Z, just scroll a bit more than halfway down!  (or take a read back through the whole thing- there are references back to the first 25 letters in the final installment!)

A is for Apple

She brings her lunch from home most days.  Well-balanced, just as he’d expect— portions of protein, fruit, and grains—while he grazes a bit less elegantly on a plethora of offerings from the upstairs vending machine.

She packs an apple once, eats it right in front of him.  Red and juicy, but not nearly as red and juicy as her lips, or at least the way he’s imagined her lips to be after nearly seven years of imagining such things.  He wonders whether, if he ever works up the nerve to kiss her, he’ll taste her on his mouth afterwards, the way you taste an apple—tart and sweet and lingering there. 

He realizes he’s staring, goes quickly back to his bag of Funyuns (Onions, Scully! They’re vegetables!). Later, when she throws her apple core in the trash, he feels a sudden urge to retrieve it, as a reminder of things he wants but probably doesn’t deserve to have.

B is for Basketball

She beats him at basketball one day. Unbelievably.  Finds him in the gym one evening after an endless day of seminars. She knows how to find him the way a dog finds its bone—even when he’s buried, even when he’s mangled and chewed-upon and disgusting.  On this day though, he’s none of those things; instead he’s just plain bored.

In her black suit and heels, she stands out like a sharp smear of ink, poignantly distinct amidst the wooden floors and the bleachers. He doesn’t expect a response to his hey Scullz, wanna go one-on-one?, but she lifts her eyebrow in challenge and slips off her blazer.  The tank top hidden beneath is tight and it’s blue (and made of a soft, shiny material his fingers ache to touch). 

He could say he lets her win, but honestly, imagining that mystery material sandwiched between his palm and her skin leaves him much too distracted to pay attention to the game.

C is for Candles

He’ll forever associate candle-light with her pale and trembling back.  With a maroon satin robe and hair that curls up sweetly in the rain (she’d never allow that now). 

Before that night, the only candles he owned were a melted-down cluster from some birthday or another, remnants of a relationship he’d rather forget. He owns an assortment now though, scented and not, but all at the ready should the opportunity arise.  His greatest want is to see the rest of her body lit by that warm, amber glow, to trail his fingertips across more than just her back, to chase the soft shadows around her curves as her breath hitches with desire.

He and the candles are prepared; they’ve been prepared for seven years now. She and her curves and her shadows? He thinks they're getting there. He hopes anyway.

D is for Dana

Her first name is a secretive, foreign thing to him these days.  Scully is Scully—strong, competent, loyal.  But Dana is an enigma.  He catches glimpses of Dana sometimes—a woman, a girl—and he wonders whether she’s fighting to break free.  It saddens him to think he may have stolen that girlish part away from her, filed her inside a metal cabinet down in a basement office like everything else that crosses his path. 

Sometimes he whispers it and it gives him a small thrill, like there’s a hidden part of her he has yet to know.  He imagines saying it intimately, with his mouth pressed to her ear, but can’t decide whether it feels terribly wrong or perfectly, undeniably right. He only know that his lips are ready, should he ever earn the chance to try.

E is for Earrings

He almost buys her earrings once. Foolish, really.  But while waiting for a watch battery to be replaced, he can’t help but browse.  The sapphires would match her eyes so stunningly.  Has he ever seen her in anything but small diamond studs or pearls?  Anything but a business suit or hotel room pajamas?  He wonders whether she likes dressing up, whether she stands before her mirror and admires herself, deciding between this evening gown or that one, holding earrings up next to her cheek.  

He stands at the counter and looks at the earrings for ten minutes, picturing the delicate arc of her neck and the auburn of her hair and those earrings sparkling between.  He’d be lying if he doesn’t also admit to imagining his tongue tracing around them and his teeth scraping against them and the moan he’s sure would slip from her throat while he plays. 

A pushy saleswoman interrupts his thoughts, asks “For your wife?  Girlfriend?”  

He shakes his head, “Neither.”

He leaves with a hard-on and a working watch, but the earrings stay behind for someone with a little more courage.

F is for Friends

They use the term friends sometimes.  Usually it’s partners, occasionally colleagues, coworkers, but really, none of those words does their relationship the slightest bit of justice.  He couldn’t define it to a stranger (should one ask) if he tried.  Hell, he can’t even define it to himself.

How do you define someone so ingrained in your bones, you taste marrow at the back of your throat each time she walks away?  Webster would be hard-pressed to condense that into a single word, he’s sure. Even best friend feels trite and inadequate where Scully’s concerned. She’s not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a lover (even in his most daring of fantasies)—she’s not just anything. 

She’s Scully, and she’s everything.  

G is for Globe

He used to play a game with Samantha.  Spin the Globe it was called.  They played it when their parents were fighting, when they wanted nothing more than to be far, far away.  He tells Scully about it once, when he can tell she can’t get out of her head.  Luckily, amidst the files and slides and mess of the office, he happens to have a globe.

“Spin it, Scully.  Close your eyes and point, and I’ll take you on an adventure wherever your finger lands.”

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, extending her French-tipped fingernail to land upon the spinning globe.  Antarctica. 

“Spin again,” he murmurs quickly, “That one didn’t count,” but she stops him with a hand curled around his like a comma.

“You found me, Mulder.  That was more extraordinary than any adventure.”

H is for Hands

Once on a stakeout, he holds her hand. 

Hours in a darkened car breed strange and wonderful things sometimes—discussions and games that only boredom can inspire.  He tells her he can read palms (he’s lying, of course, but at least it’s something to do), and she scoffs, but then surprisingly offers her hand.  It’s really too dark to see, but he tickles her palm and bullshits his way through, blathering about wealth and fate until her giggle makes his heart stand still.

“According to your palm…,” he says softly, “…true love awaits…as soon as you’re ready.”

She’s silent at first, and he worries he��s ruined things— ruined seven years’ worth of things in the span of a minute. 

But then, in a quiet voice he’s never heard before, she responds, “I’ll be ready… soon.” 

He holds her hand until their shift is over.

I is for Ice Cream

Her favorite ice cream flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip.  He knows this (even though she doesn’t know he knows this), and once, during a rough case, he brings her some. He sneaks from his room after dinner, stops at three different gas stations before finding his prize. Sylvia’s Sundries and Smokes perhaps wouldn’t have been his first choice of establishments, but beggars can’t be choosers where ice cream’s concerned.

Surprise in hand, he knocks on Scully’s door and, with flourish, whips two plastic spoons from his pocket.  The nice thing about it?  She doesn’t even pretend not to want it.  She smiles a shy little smile and invites him in.  They climb up onto her bed where they scoop big whopping spoonfuls right out of the tub.  She’s full after only a few bites but sits with him while he finishes, lays her head on his shoulder. They watch the Late Late Show until it’s late late late, until it isn’t even the same day anymore.

J is for Jacket

Her suit jackets (he supposes they’re probably technically called blazers) have shrunk over the years.  Dana Scully of the plaid and boxy, of the oversized shoulder-pads, is now Dana Scully of the sleek and fitted, of the black and stylish and sexy.   He finds himself tugging his collar from his overheated neck sometimes. More than sometimes.

He wonders when things changed, because he can’t quite place a pin on it, when she went from a woman he loves to a woman he lusts after as well. Or maybe it’s unclear because he’s always done a little of both where Scully’s concerned. 

She left a jacket (blazer, whatever) at his apartment last year and he keeps forgetting to tell her he found it.  It hangs now in his closet next to pairs of pressed dress slacks.  He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, stands there wondering how soon ‘soon’ will come.

K is for Kiss

Back in the 60s, the 70s, when the turn of the millennium seemed ridiculously far away, Fox Mulder fantasized about the future. His comic books predicted: In the year 2000, there will be flying cars, teleportation devices, vacations on the moon and Mars... 

He imagined the party awaiting him on New Year’s Eve, complete with robot wait staff and space-age hors d’oeuvres.  Never would he have guessed he’d actually spend the evening in a hospital corridor, arm in a sling, nary a party nor robot in sight.

They were wrong about more than just the robots though, dead wrong, because not a single one of those comic books predicted this:  In the year 2000, there will be Dana Scully and her flame-red hair, Dana Scully and her skeptical sighs, Dana Scully and the world not ending while she presses her lips to his for the very first time. 

To think that at one time he wanted robots and jetpacks.  It’s laughable really, to have ever wanted anything on this earth (or on the moon, or on Mars) but Dana Katherine Scully.

L is for Lists

He arrives earlier than usual one morning, finds Scully’s open notebook lying flat on the desk. The beginnings of a list, he’s sure.  Scully loves lists. Books to Read, Articles to Write, Times Mulder Has Driven Me Crazy… He hasn’t physically seen that last one, but he’s sure it exists, somewhere in her purse or briefcase, or maybe just hidden away in her head.  

A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Personal Goals.  

He’s taken aback; he’d expected something trivial. Pros and Cons of Sunflower Seeds perhaps, but this…

He stalls, waits a minute, maybe two, but in the end is much too intrigued not to peek.  

1. Call Mom more often

2. Reach out to Bill

3. Volunteer at the church

They’re all so wonderfully Scully.  He’s not sure what else he expected.  Curiosity satisfied, he’s about to turn away when:

15. Stop being afraid of my feelings

and below that:

16. Mulder

He stands stunned. He’s joked about appearing on Scully’s lists, but never like this, never as #16, never as a personal goal.  

He makes a list himself that night, condenses every one of his own goals down into just six letters.

1. Scully

2. Scully

3. Scully…

372. Scully…

1049. Scully…

He types her name until dawn has broken, until the printed ‘S’ has all but disappeared off his keyboard.

M is for Maybe

Maybe tomorrow’s the day.  He’ll toss her an innuendo, and instead of just catching it, she’ll throw one back herself.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, isn’t that how the song goes?  Good things happen in the darkness, too, though—cemetery downpours, X-marked stretches of highway where her hair grows wavy from the rain. He and Scully manage just fine with no sun at all; they thrive in the darkness, no matter what the song says.

He packs up his things on a Friday afternoon, grabs his coat and offers his usual weekend farewell. But instead of Have a nice weekend, Mulder, she stops him, hand to his forearm, “It’s supposed to be beautiful tomorrow… Do you wanna… Maybe...”

Her cheeks are pink as she ducks her chin to her chest, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” he interrupts quickly, “Yeah, I do.”   He’s a bit too enthusiastic probably, but maybe tomorrows don’t actually happen that often for him on Friday afternoons.  

She smiles, cheeks still flushed, “Okay, then.  Tomorrow...”

On his way out the door he finds himself humming. Maybe the forecast for tomorrow is sunny after all, and not just because a little orphan girl told him so.

N is for No

He's scared of the word no, its finality. No, Mulder, it would never work. No, Mulder, we’re better as friends. No, Mulder, I don’t love… The word no could mean the end of everything. Of all he's seen, how absurd that two small letters could paralyze him like that. 

He walks through Violent Crimes once, overhears Scully talking to another agent from across the room. Rick Channing could be a television news anchor—hair coiffed and teeth so white they sparkle.

Mulder rolls his eyes. Scully doesn’t roll her eyes though; instead, she smiles as they talk.  She giggles.  Bile rises in his throat.

No, Mulder, I’ve fallen for someone else…

He should leave, but Channing’s next words stop him cold. “How about drinks, Dana? Maybe dinner?”  

She blushes, flustered, before scanning the room, eyes finding Mulder’s despite the way he hides halfway behind a partition.  

“Thank you, Rick, but no. I’m already…”  She smiles gently at him—him Mulder, not him Rick— “No,” she says again, then excuses herself down the hall.  

He stands there, rooted in place, decides no is the most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

O is for Opal

His birthstone is opal.  Not that he’d ever have cared, but one Christmas, he and Samantha received birthstone gifts—a topaz necklace for Sam and an opal-inlaid pocketknife for him. He still has that pocketknife, has rubbed his thumb across the smooth, cool handle countless times over the years.

Scully’s skin reminds him of that handle—the soft blue of her veins beneath translucent pink skin. She glows. He knows she’d scoff if he told her that, tell him human beings can’t glow, don’t be ridiculous. But she does—she glows just like an opal.

The pearly finish of his pocketknife is worn-down and soft by now, but her skin, he knows, is infinitely softer.  Her hand, her cheek—the safe parts of her body he’s been allowed to touch—they don’t even compare to the decades-old trinket.  He can’t imagine how much softer the more dangerous parts of her body must be.  The thought keeps him up at night, much more consistently than his nightmares do.

P is for Plum

Scully goes on kicks sometimes—bee pollen, yogurt, one month she sprinkled wheat germ into everything she got her hands on, his coffee included.

Fresh fruit is her latest. Oranges, nectarines, plums, oh, plums. There’s no neat way to eat a plum, though she tries, napkin laid out beneath her at the desk. The juice though. Drippy and sticky on her chin—his eyes try their best not to ogle, but usually fail.  

She walks around sometimes, cupping a hand to catch the drips, and once, as she reaches across his body for a book, a drop splashes directly onto his forearm.

“Sorry!” she exclaims, quickly swiping at his skin with her thumb.  How that same thumb winds up being sucked between his lips is a mystery, though probably has something to do with the way he acts sometimes before thinking. His tongue traces the sweetened ridges of her thumbprint as she chokes out a gasp, half-eaten plum forgotten.  

“No takebacks, Scully,” he mumbles as a joke, trying to laugh it off as he comes to his senses and releases her. Her cheeks stay pink for a good twenty minutes after that, and parts of him stay hard for an even better twenty beyond that.

Q is for Quest

This job of theirs, it’s more than a job.  More than a career path.  It’s a downright quest.  

He feels a bit like Don Quixote at times, Scully his faithful Sancho Panza, the two of them out there dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe. There’s a sort of nobility to what they do, and he likes that.  

Sometimes though, he wonders whether the aliens are really windmills, whether the consortium is nothing but a barber’s basin balanced on his much too gullible head. Whether Scully is not Sancho, but Dulcinea— out-of-reach and much too beautiful for his files and his basement, his second-hand coffee table and his worn leather couch.  

He sometimes can’t believe she’s still here, chasing windmills, slaying bad guys, at times even taking the time to clean out his fridge. She deserves the most elegant of thrones, yet sits happily beside him on that old leather couch, Monday nights, Tuesday nights, sometimes even weekends.  It astounds him really.  

And when she nudges his knee with her own, smiles at him with that smile that makes him think soon isn’t so far away, that’s when he really believes—that being with her is not such an impossible dream after all.

R is for Rebel

Dana Scully is a rebel.  She tries to hide it, acts all prim and proper, but beneath her stern, pursed lips and buttoned-up suits, there’s a troublemaker lurking.  It’s what endeared him to her on their very first case, the way she laughed with him in the rain, the way, regardless of her orders, she listened to him and formed her own opinion.

He sees glimpses of that rebel from time to time, when she scarfs down pizza in a Motel 6 despite her no-carb diet, when she gets that gleam in her eye as they sneak onto restricted government property.

His favorite bit of rebelliousness though is her new stance on hotel-room consorting. They’ve fallen into a routine lately, of watching movies together on polyester bedspreads, of dropping off before the credits roll, of pretending I’m too tired to go back to my room is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable excuse to stay.  

Each time it happens, the morning sun finds them a bit closer together than the last— hands touching, next toes and shins, most recently her hair brushed his cheek as she snuggled against the pillow.

His rumpled, sleepy little rebel.  She’s a rebel on her own terms though, he knows this. And he’s being as patient as he can be.

S is for Sexy

She’s sexy, unbelievably so. It took him a while to admit that to himself.  For the longest time, he blamed his body’s reaction to her on their constant proximity, her perfume, the fact that he was suffering a longer-than-usual dry spell… But no, what it really comes down to is that Dana Katherine Scully is sexy as hell.

Even back in the beginning, when her suits hid her body and her hair did that swoop-y sort of thing up near the front.  Even in the middle, when she was thinner than she should’ve been, when cancer stole her color but didn’t steal her soul. And then there’s today. Today when there’s no mistaking the black lace of her lingerie each time she leans across the desk, not two but three buttons undone at her clavicle. Today when she murmurs thoughtfully, “I think you may be right, Mulder,” tongue wetting her lips as she reads aloud from his book on mystical apparitions.

What really gets him though, is that despite her hair or her lips or even her lingerie, the sexiest part of her isn’t on the outside at all; it’s what lies beneath—that intangible something that makes her Scully. That’s the part he fell in love with, shoulder pads and all.

T is for Toes

She’s got cute little toes.  She’s got cute little everything really, but her toes are especially cute, pale pink polish adorning each one.  She sits one night, curled on his couch, those cute little toes just inches from his leg.

“Wanna stretch out?” he asks, patting his thighs, and amazingly, within seconds, there are two small feet lying warm in his lap.

He gives them a tickle, but she kicks at his hand. He tries again, this time pressing a thumb to her arch. No kick, only an appreciative hum.  It’s all the encouragement he needs. He begins massaging in earnest.  

Her eyes slip shut, her head tilts back, a low groan rumbles from her throat. He massages her cute little toes for an hour, counts each contented sigh that slips from her lips (thirty-four to be exact). The movie they’d been watching fades slowly to black, and she ends things finally, with a shy, quiet chuckle and an I should probably get going.  

As she heads down the hall, he jokes from his doorway, “The masseuse is available every night, double sessions on weekends…”

She rewards him with an arched brow, murmuring, “Careful, I may just take you up on that…” before stepping onto the elevator.

U is for Umpteen

“Umpteen’s not a word, Mulder,” she tells him, eyes rolling, “It has no specified value.”  

She’s got a point of course.  They don’t have umpteen case summaries to submit; they have twelve.  But umpteen is most definitely a word.  

Umpteen’s how many times he’s forgotten his point because her lips are too distracting.  Umpteen’s how many fantasies he’s had about sliding his hands through her hair.  Umpteen’s how many times she’s walked out the door, how many times he’s kept from going after her, how many times he’s sat in his car beneath her window and longed for her with a ferocity that scares him shitless. Umpteen’s how many times he’s wanted to kiss her.  It’s also how many times he hasn’t…

He chuckles, dipping his chin, “You’re right, Scully. We’ve got twelve summaries to do, not umpteen...”

Umpteen is how many times he’s said her name, it’s how many times what he’s really wanted to say was I love you.

V is for Volume

They fight over the volume control in cars. He likes louder, she likes softer (I can’t think over the noise she says).  He usually lets her win. 

Their relationship has its own volume control, he’s realized.  There are times when it’s loud, blaring even, arguments at every turn.  Other times it’s low—murmurs in a conference room, end of the day farewells in a darkened parking garage. Mostly it’s somewhere between.  They talk and they banter and they discuss, in basements, in rental cars, in random police stations across America. 

Sometimes though, lately especially, she lowers the dial even further, turns it all the way over to the left.  Soft.  The very softest. His name on her lips those rare times he holds her. Her blush and shy murmured stop when he pays her a compliment. The slight gasp he feels more than hears when his fingertips brush over her arm, her cheek, the curve of her hip.

It makes him want to do away with loud altogether, to turn off the music and the voices and the noise and listen only to the sound of her breathing, to tell her "It's quiet now, Scully. I’m ready when you are."

W is for Wristwatch

This job has done a number on his wardrobe.  Jackets, slacks, shoes—all gone the way of the incinerator—either damaged beyond acceptable FBI standards or outright destroyed.  Scully’s hasn’t fared much better (she still pouts over a favorite pair of heels ruined two years ago). All part of the territory, he reasons.

His shattered wristwatch on a recent case was a blow though; he loved that watch.  

There’s a package on his desk the day after, wrapped so precisely, he needn’t even guess whom it’s from.  

“Scully,” he protests, but she stops him.

“Just open it, Mulder.”

It’s a watch—of course it’s a watch—a beautiful one, silver links and a detailed, intricate face. “You didn’t need—” he begins, but she interrupts him again.  

“It was my father’s,” she states matter-of-factly, but then her voice softens, “I’ve held onto it since… Here, let me.” She takes the watch, fastens it around his wrist. There are tears in her eyes.

“It looks good,” she whispers, “It brings out your… It looks nice—you’ve got nice forearms, Mulder, and this accentuates—”

He takes hold of her hand, gives it a squeeze until she meets his eyes.  “Thank you,” he tells her, “I love it.”  

There’s no way this watch lands in the incinerator. He’ll protect it with his life if he has to.

X is for XFiles

The basement office often feels more like home to him than home does.  It’s his secret hideaway, and despite the odds, he thinks it’s become hers, too.  They’ve created their own little world down here—a cozy, paranormal universe—and Scully’s as much a part of that universe as he is.

She shines like the sun, trails glittery stardust behind her like a comet. His beautiful, perplexing riddle of a partner.  It’s funny really, but despite the hundreds of files that surround them, Scully remains his biggest mystery.  She’s the very definition of an X-File.  It floors him that she chooses this life, that she’s willing to be his sun, his moon, his whole damn galaxy, day after day after day.

There was a time he couldn’t have imagined not seeking the truth.  These days though? These days he’s beginning to believe he’s been searching in all the wrong places.  

The truth can’t be found in Bellefleur, Oregon or in Kroner, Kansas, in forests or in sewers or in fields.  The truth—the real truth— exists in ink-blue eyes and rosebud lips, in the skeptical arch of an eyebrow and the soft, shy murmur of his name.

It exists right down here in the basement office, sitting not two feet across the desk from him.

Y is for Yawn

She yawns as he speaks, but it doesn’t bother him. Things feel sleepy—dreamy— tonight.

It’s been an odd few days apart from one another, he across the pond and she…He’s not even sure what she’s been doing, doesn’t know that he wants to.  All he knows is that she’s here, now, pressed to his side and yawning, proving to him once again how fate works.

It’s hard not to babble when he feels this good; he’s drunk on the smell of her, on the heaviness of her thigh pressed to his.

“And that says a lot… a lot, a lot, a lot…” Babbling, more babbling, until he feels the smallest, sweetest weight at his shoulder, sees lashes splayed softly against warm, flushed cheeks. The perfection of the moment strikes him, of her here on his couch instead of in a hospital room, instead of in a temple, instead of anywhere else she could be at this point in her life.  

He touches her hair—he can’t bear not to—covers her with a blanket to keep away the chill.  Allowing himself one last glance, he counts slowly to ten (slowly, so slowly), before making his own sleepy way to the bedroom.

Z is for Zipper

He’s awoken by the sound of her skirt zipper, the dip of the mattress as she sits on the bed.

“Scully?” He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the stillness in the air and a new moon slanting through the blinds suggest hours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I tried not to wake you...” He’s never heard her voice in his bedroom this late at night. It’s softer than he’d imagined. Younger. “It’s late.  I’m not sure I should drive.  Do you mind if I—” 

“Sure, yeah.” He props up on an elbow. “Do you want me to…” He motions toward the living room, still half-asleep but awake enough not to assume anything he shouldn’t. Hotel room sleepovers (which they’ve partaken in) are in a different category than apartment room sleepovers (which they haven’t), and he knows this.

“I don’t mind,” she answers in silhouette, slipping off her skirt, “…not if you don’t.”  She’s stolen her way beneath the sheets before he has the presence of mind to offer her something to wear. 

“Of course not.”  He can’t think of anything he’d mind less than Scully lying beside him in his bed, near enough he can smell this morning’s perfume still on her skin.

She settles, and is so close, her breaths tickle his bare shoulder. Once, twice, three times.  He shudders. 

They’re quiet.  He listens to her nighttime sounds—the swish of her hair against the pillow, the cadence of her breaths, the occasional wet slide of her tongue across her lips. He wishes he had his little recorder on the nightstand. He’d make a mixtape, label it Sounds of Scully and play it every night for the rest of his life.  

He longs to touch her.  A hand, a foot, even just the tip of a finger. 

They lie there long enough and silently enough he thinks she may have fallen asleep, but then she shifts. Or he shifts. Or maybe they both shift, but out of nowhere her still sweater-clad back spoons perfectly against his chest.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t readjust. Neither of them breathes.

“Is this… okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah, it’s…” The heel of her foot brushes his shin. “It’s nice.” 

Quiet again. His arm finds a place to rest wrapped around her waist.  His thighs nudge her bottom.  Her skirt is off, and possibly her nylons, too, but he thinks instead about her hair tickling his nose, her sweater against his belly.  He doesn’t think of other things—won’t let himself.

It’s nice was an understatement though. It’s so much more than nice.  He’s needed this, wanted this, for such a long time.  Even if this is all it is—the two of them spooned together in his bed until morning.

She snuggles a bit closer, slips a small, cold foot between his legs. He thinks about her pale pink toenails, he thinks about Dulcinea, he thinks about being number sixteen on a list he’s sure he was never meant to read.  He adds to his mixtape the sound of her hum when his thumb brushes the rose-petal skin of her arm.

“Foxtrot,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Hmmm?” He nudges the back of her head with his nose.

“Nothing,” she chuckles, “Just a passing thought...”

“Can’t have passing thoughts without sharing.  Bedroom rules.”  It’s strange how natural this feels, bantering with her in his bedroom, pretending this sort of thing happens often enough that rules have been made.

“Oh, in that case, maybe I’ll…” She makes to leave, pushing away covers and beginning to pull from his arms.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, tugging her back, wasting no time in snuggling her in even closer, wrapping himself around her like a question mark, which seems almost comically apropos on a night like this. She giggles, just barely, but it’s perfection, the sound of Scully giggling in his bed late at night.

“No, it was just…,” she continues, turned serious again.  “My father was obsessed with the military phonetic alphabet—Alpha, Bravo, etcetera...  He named my brother Charlie.  It just occurred to me that if your father had been the same, maybe you’d be Foxtrot instead of Fox.”

He chuckles. “Guess I should count myself lucky then.  Would’ve been a lot to live up to in the ballroom classes my mother made me take…”  She hums in amusement, and the vibration travels all the way through to his chest.  “Sounds like you’re a bit lucky, too.  Unless I’m mistaken, it was Dana, not Delta, who snuck into my bed tonight...”

“Hmm,” she ponders, “Maybe Delta's not as brave as Dana is....” He sometimes thinks nobody’s as brave as Dana Scully is, least of all himself. “Frankly,” she adds, “I always fancied Juliet anyway.”

“Juliet—I like it.”  He pictures her out on a balcony, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing, lover’s name tumbling from her lips.  “You’d need a Romeo…”  He doubts Wherefore art thou, Mulder is quite what Shakespeare had in mind.  

“Who says I haven’t got one?” she flirts.  Her hand rests just inches from his own, and he twines their fingers together, curls them against her abdomen. He sometimes wonders how his heart can possibly contain the amount of love he feels for her. People die of broken hearts; do they ever die of ones so full, they’re overflowing?  

“Hey,” he murmurs into her hair, “What’s got you thinking about all this at…,” he tilts back his head to squint at the clock, “…one o’clock AM?” Her body is warm and impossibly perfect against him.

“I guess…,” she says, a contemplative tone to her voice, “I don’t know. These last few days have been a lot.  I’ve been forced to consider things I haven’t thought about in years. My past, the way things used to be... What I used to assume my future looked like.”

“How’d it look?” They’re both nearing that point these days, where their paths can’t just keep continuing in the same straight line. They’re nearing a fork, he can feel it.  Question is, will they both continue in the same direction?

“When I was a little girl,” she begins, “I was surrounded by Navy men, Navy wives, Navy families.  We were taught call letters before learning our ABC’s.  I always felt that sort of life was expected of me, too.” His air conditioner kicks on, fills the room with a gentle whirr.  She burrows even closer. “It’s just funny how far we stray from what’s expected…”

“No more call letters, huh?” His lips catch on her hair as he talks.  It’s wonderful.

“No, I guess not…To be honest, I sort of miss them.  Things were simpler then.  There were right choices and wrong choices, or at least it seemed that way.”

He realizes as they lie there that this moment is the fork in his path.  That though the line between right and wrong choices may be blurred these days, there’s one choice he’s never once questioned.  Dana Scully is the rightest choice he’s ever made.  With her mouth full of questions and her head full of answers, her ever-arched eyebrow and her ever-open heart—she’s been his choice, his only choice, from the very beginning.  

Scully is the Juliet to his Romeo—hell, she’s the Delta to his Foxtrot.    

“Scully,” he murmurs, heart beating bravely in his chest, “Have I ever told you about the Fox Mulder alphabet?”

“Hmm, let me guess...” There’s humor in her voice, that wry Scully humor he adores. “A is for Alien, B is for Bounty Hunter, C is for….  Am I close?” Christ, but he loves this woman.

He pokes her gently in admonishment, answers, “Good try, smartypants, but no… No, you’re actually not close at all.”

“Tell me then, Mulder.” She pulls their hands up to rest beneath her cheek. “Tell me about your alphabet.”  

And so he does. He takes a deep breath and he does.

He begins at the beginning. A is for Apple.

He tells her how watching her eat an apple once made him ache for her, how he can’t bite into a Red Delicious, or a Fuji, or even a Grannysmith anymore without thinking about her lips.

It scares him, being this honest, but there’s something in the air tonight, something in her mood, in the way she slipped off her skirt and climbed into his bed after falling asleep on his couch.

She’s quiet while he speaks, still—eerily so. Her breaths fall quickly against his hand. He’s sure he can feel her heart beating, or maybe that’s just his own, pounding much too dramatically within his chest. There’s a lump in his throat as he finishes, the No that’s terrified him for close to seven years dangling above like an anvil from some misguided Loony Tunes short.  

He waits.  And he waits.  And is about to apologize for assumptions he shouldn’t have made when—

“More,” she breathes.

Not no.  More.

He burrows his nose in her hair, presses a kiss of relief to her ear.

He gives her more, he gives her everything—he pours his entire heart out into silly little stories about a basketball game, about candlelight illuminating the skin of her back. The words spill out more quickly than he intends them to, but the dam has been breached; he cannot stop it.

She’s quiet through the basketball game, quiet again through the candles. Her little body doesn’t move. He understands. He knows it’s a lot to take in—the flood-like musings of Fox Mulder’s mind.  Her ears are all he asks of her tonight.

By the time he’s reached D though, she gives him more than her ears. “D is for Dana,” he begins softly. And instead of more silence, she whispers his name.  

By E, there are tears at her cheek. He wonders for an instant whether that long-ago jewelry store could possibly still be open, whether she’d wait for him here while he makes a quick trip.  

By F, she’s pressing barely-there kisses to his knuckles. Friends don’t do that, he’s sure.  Their relationship may be uncertain, but friends don’t press kisses to knuckles, they don’t lie in beds at one in the morning, tell stories in hushed whispers with backs pressed to chests.

By G, she’s murmuring my God against his palm, Mulder against each of his fingertips. His basement globe spins and it spins. Never could it have predicted an adventure like this.

H… I… J... Her toes slide along his shins, they follow the curves of his arches. Her long-lost jacket hangs nestled in his closet not ten feet away.

K... “New Year’s Eve, Scully… That kiss…”  He tells her she’s all he could want from this millennium, or the next, or even the next (that’s illogical, Mulder, he expects her to say).  She doesn’t though. She doesn’t say that.  Instead, she turns in his arms, raises big, wet eyes up to his.

“Keep going…,” she urges him on when he pauses, “Please, Mulder, keep going.” Her fingers tremble as they move across his chest.

And so he keeps going. L... (“Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully,” he breathes)… M… N… With each new letter, her touches grow surer—small, gentle hands find his ribs, his shoulders, the wildly-beating pulse at his neck.  By O, those same hands are in his hair, they’re cradling his cheekbones, they’re fingering the soft, curved shells of his ears.

P... “That plum,” he whispers, “…the juice…your thumb...” Her thumb (the same one he sucked into his mouth so many months ago) skims over his stubbled chin, makes its tentative way to his lips. His tongue steals out for a taste, and she sucks in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut. She drags her hand away before he can swallow her whole.

Q... (“Dulcinayyy-uhhh,” he sings quietly)… R… The heat of her breath hits his neck, hovers beneath his jawline until he can barely speak. “Don’t stop,” she whispers when he falters.  Her mouth slides against his throat and he groans.

S… T...  By U, he can’t keep from touching her.  A hand tangles finally in her hair, the other slips beneath her sweater and molds to the warmth of her back. She whimpers, her body arching sharply against him.  Umpteen is the number of times this very scenario has played itself out in his dreams.

By V, his lips are at her temple, “V is for Volume” spoken directly against her skin. She turns the dial all the way to the left, sighs so softly he almost misses it.

W and X fall between kisses, his lips on her eyelids, at her jaw, wrapped around the lobes of her ears. Barely-there whimpers slip from the back of her throat, and he reaches for that imaginary recorder, adds them to his mixtape as well.  Her legs tangle with his and he pulls her even closer.

“Y is for Yawn,” he murmurs against her hairline, “Tonight, out there, while we sat on the couch…”

“I’m not…,” her voice is low and husky, so close to his ear that he shivers, “…m’not yawning now, Mulder…”

He shifts, rests his forehead against her own.  Hot, ragged breaths collect on the pillow between them.  He can hardly believe a few hours ago, they were out on his couch drinking tea, a few years ago, they were meeting in the basement for the very first time.

“What about…,” she breathes, the tip of her nose nudging his, “What about Z?”  Their hands roam freely now, sensuous and slow.  She angles her pelvis against his, presses softly.

“Z…,” he barely gets out, “…is for Zipper.” She’s trembling against him, and it’s the sexiest thing in the world.  “The zipper from your skirt that woke me half an hour ago, the zipper that—”

She swallows the rest of his words with a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, body melting against his.

Her lips, her tongue, the flutter of her fingers at his cheek… He forgets about candles, about earrings, about Rick Channing and Don Quixote and even about the wristwatch lying just across the room on the dresser.  He forgets about everything in the world except Scully and her mouth, about the way she kisses him with her whole damn body, with hands in his hair and toes flexed at his shins and hips arched so divinely against his, he worries he’ll faint.

As her sweater slides over her head, he marvels at the way everything has fallen into place, how a crisp, juicy apple led to a basketball game, how sleepy, sexy yawns led to the undoing of zippers, how all of it combined led to them being here, now, discovering each other for the very first time.

Their lovemaking is slow, achingly so.  It’s the Standard English Alphabet, the Military Phonetic Alphabet, and the Fox Mulder Alphabet combined—whimpers and sighs and Romeo and Juliet and ice cream and globes and… Amazingly, in the end, it all makes perfect, wonderful sense.

As they move together, the beginnings of a new alphabet emerge in his head—A for the arc of her hips as they rise; B for her short, quickened breaths; C for her cries, for her moans, for her whines; D for the softest derriere he’s ever held in his palms; E for her elbows, laid either side of his ears; F for fuck, for oh holy fuck, Scully, sweetheart, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…

“It’s crazy really, isn’t it?” he murmurs afterwards, Scully tucked beneath his arm, her leg slung sweetly over his sweat-damp thigh.

“Hmm?”  Her fingers play at his lips, trace over and around and between.  

“That it took us seven years…,” he mumbles around a pinky, “…when in the end, it really was as easy as learning our ABC’s.”

She hums, presses a kiss to his chest right above a nipple. “You could have had me all the way back at C if you’d wanted to, Mulder...”

He smiles, pulling her impossibly closer.  Her breasts are soft against his chest and her chin rests at his shoulder, and for a moment, all is right in their windmill-riddled, impossible dream of a world.  

“I think Z was perfect,” he says, kissing the disheveled part of her hair, “Absolutely perfect.”

[bellemorte180]

Just Good Business: Chapter Two

Caroline Salvatore, married into one of New York's most brutal crime families.

Niklaus Mikaelson, a notorious mob boss who is hell bent on taking down the Slavatores.

It's an affair for the ages.

WARNING: Incidents of domestic abuse are shown in this chapter.

Chapter Two: 

Six Months Later

At first, Caroline intended her tryst with Klaus to be a one off. It wasn’t. Within the months that followed, it became a habit. It started slow. It was over two weeks before Caroline learned anything of use for Klaus. She overheard a conversation between Damon and Stefan. They would be receiving a shipment of drugs coming down at the docks. Logan Fell, one of Damon’s henchmen was to receive them. Caroline told Enzo to set a meet. He drove an expensive French boutique that she often frequented, dropped her off and a few minutes later, she walked back out, getting into a different car.

Logan Fell’s throat was slit and the drugs stolen; causing a massive financial loss for both Damon and Stefan.

Damon and Stefan would, in return, strike back but Klaus was harder to reach. There were a few petty things here and there that Klaus would allow to happen, giving Stefan and Damon the feeling of power, but nothing major. Klaus had an iron wall built around him mixed with layers of corruption that it was difficult or anyone to get past. It had taken the brothers nearly a year to plan Kol’s death; then it had taken Jeremy close to another year to scope out Kol’s patterns and movements in order to take him down. Klaus was far more careful than his reckless younger brother was. Now, he had Caroline who was able to tell Klaus everything she knew. What surprised Caroline was how much she actually did know. She saw everything and because both Stefan and Damon wrote her off as useless, they said far too much in her presence.

And thus, began their pattern. They would meet whenever Caroline had something to report. Not always, but most times their meetings would end up in sex. Eventually, their relationship developed into a full-blown affair. There where time that Caroline went to him, without anything to report but for the sole purpose of feeling him between her legs. She would leave right after. Until she didn’t. Slowly, she started lingering behind or Klaus asked her to stay longer. They started talking as her head rested on his chest and he played with her hair.

He spoke of his childhood and how he got to this point in his life. He spoke of his father and how he learned he was the product of his mother’s affair; something that still ate at him to this day. He described how he took his own father’s life and how that was his first kill. He told her about Kol’s death, sending Rebekah out of state, leaving only Elijah and Klaus behind.

She told him about how happy she was before her marriage. She told him how her father left them when she was young and died when she was a teenager. She spoke of her teenage rebellion, college and the devastation she felt when her own mother sold her to Stefan.

Soon, it wasn’t just about the sex or information. It became more.

The difficult part was hiding her secret. Sometimes, Stefan was a bit too curious at his wife’s activities while other times, he all but sent her away. Enzo always arranged the meetings. They never took the same car, met at the same place and Klaus bought her a secondary phone-that all her calls from her Stefan approved phone would be forwarded to. If either Stefan or Damon felt the need to ever track her, her phone would always ping at the location she claimed to be at.

They took stalk pictures; just in case Stefan would request proof of Caroline’s whereabouts. Enzo and Klaus thought of everything. Caroline knew that neither Stefan nor Damon suspected that it was Caroline feeding information to Klaus; because they did not think she was capable of much at all. However, they knew that Klaus always seemed to be one step ahead of them at every turn. Neither suspected that there was a mole in their organization, let alone their homes but then again Damon did not suspect what was happening under his very nose.

“They are sleeping together; they have to be.” Caroline replied, leaning against Klaus’s chest. They were lounging in the massive bathtub in his penthouse; bubbles floating around them. Tonight, was one of her friend’s birthday and Caroline was supposedly out at the clubs, having a good time. She went, took photos and left before the third shot of tequila. “I just can’t prove it.”

“That is a problem.” Klaus replied, teeth nipping at her ear; causing her to whimper. His fingers drew circles on her skin under the water. He was stated and relaxed; holding her close. Caroline learned that Klaus, despite the fact that he was possibly the cruelest man she had ever met, liked to cuddle. He enjoyed those moments after sex that were calm and peaceful. Caroline wondered if he had been like that with his other lovers, or if it was just her. She was not sure if she wanted the answer. “I could have Enzo plant something. Camera perhaps?”

“To risky. If he starts snooping around, Stefan and Damon may the wrong idea and think I’m having an affair with him.” Klaus’s chest rumbled from behind her, he reached over the tub to the small stand that was holding their glasses of wine. The friendship that blossomed between Caroline and Enzo was an odd one. Klaus often joked that the man’s loyalty shifted from Klaus to her; but that as long as she stayed safe, it did not bother him. Not only that, but Enzo was fiercely loyal to his girlfriend Bonnie and Klaus knew that. He wouldn’t being doing this job if that was not the case.

“Why are you so certain that Stefan and Elena are fucking, love?” Klaus asked, bringing the glass of red wine to his lips. “You know Stefan is in love with her. It could be one sided. Perhaps Elena is the perfect little faithful wife to Damon.”

“They just are. I can tell.” Her tone held a hint of relief to it that Klaus could not pin point. It wasn’t sadness or fear but something else. She noticed something, a shift in her home and it concerned Klaus. Anything that could possibly endanger Caroline concerned him.

“Caroline? What is it?” She turned in the tub to face him. He narrowed his eyes at her. Caroline did not keep much from Klaus but when she did, it typically had to do with her marriage with Stefan. Klaus did not take kindly to the fact that she still had to play the pretty little wife for the man; especially when it came to their sex life.

“Stefan has been less demanding…...in his visits with me.” Caroline looked at him, his face unreadable. His body stilled but the grip on her hips tightened. She leaned in and kissed him gently, hoping to ease the anger that was radiating off of him. “It has been over two weeks since he wanted anything from me.”

“I don’t like it that he fucks you at all.” The words came out as a hiss. His teeth her clenched together and his jaw locked. His eyes were ablaze with fury. He sat up straighter, bringing Caroline’s lips to his for a possessive kiss. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The kissed for a few moments before he broke away from her. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours. You know that.” Caroline whispered. “But he is my husband and he will be until all this is over. If I try and refuse him. It would be far worse for me in the end.” They knew it was true. In the early days of her marriage, Caroline learned that lesson the hard way. Klaus knew the stories and it was enough to send him into a frenzy; but he refrained from doing anything rash. They worked too hard to get this far just to throw in the towel now. Killing Stefan would only create more problems. The needed Damon to turn on Stefan.

If only they could find proof of Elena and Stefan’s infidelity…

“I’ll arrange something. A way for me to have eyes and ears in the house.”

“Are Enzo and I not enough for you?”

“You are more than enough. Enzo is disposable.” Klaus joked but it was half-hearted; his mood still black from Caroline’s reminder that she still had to on occasion sleep with her husband. Caroline threw him a small glare at the mention of Enzo. She knew he didn’t mean it, especially since he was still ensuring that Enzo’s girlfriend got the care she needed. “I need something tangible. Recordable. I’ll have to figure something out.”

“Niklaus.” There was a knock at the door. Klaus cursed while Caroline reached for her glass of wine. Caroline climbed off of him and leaned back down into the water; resting against the side of the bathtub. She covered herself with bubbles.

“Come in Elijah.”

Caroline had met Elijah on multiple occasions. At first, the older brother was skeptical of Klaus’s ongoing affair with the young woman. However, Caroline proved herself useful and when he realized that once Klaus was able to dispose of the Salvatore brothers, Caroline would not be going anywhere, he changed his tune and welcomed her with open arms; or at least, as open Elijah knew how to be.

Elijah Mikaelson was scary, intimidating and powerful. He had a high-ranking position in the FBI and had one to many friends in high places. More than once, Elijah came in the cover up some of Klaus’s more impulsive schemes. He was constantly picking up after Kol, when he was alive, who would start a turf war over the smallest of things. If it was not for the lawyers Damon and Stefan employed, she was sure that Elijah would have had them thrown in some federal prison by now on some trumped-up charge.

“Mrs. Salvatore, I did not realize you were joining my brother this evening.” Elijah replied, completely undisturbed that he interrupted what most would consider an embarrassing moment. Instead of turning away, he just leaned against the sink on the other side of the bathroom.

“Elijah, always a pleasure.”

“What do you want Elijah?” Klaus bit out. His mood had soured completely from his happiness earlier. He always enjoyed his moments with Caroline and the fact that they had too sneak around was getting to him. More than once, he thought about having Caroline brought to him, protecting her and hiring her the best divorce lawyer; but that would not solve his need for see the Salvatore brother’s dead. It would only provoke them. Children did not take kind to others stealing their toys.

“I had the most interesting case come across my desk today.” Elijah pulled out his phone from his suit pocket. He showed Klaus a picture of a young woman covered in blood and her head separated completely from her body. “Her name is Meredith Fell. Cousin to Logan Fell, that fellow whose throat you had slit a few months back. She did some interesting work for Stefan and Damon at one time.”

“What about her?” Klaus asked but Caroline grabbed the phone at the mention of the name Fell. She knew that name and knew the connection they had to her husband. The photo was gruesome and reminded her of the photos Klaus had shown her of her mother. “Caroline?”

“This is Stefan. This is his work.” The murder was identical to her mothers. She knew his signature anywhere. It wasn’t that he decapitated his victims but more or less that he enjoyed putting them back together. “Why is it on your desk?”

“Valid question. Why are you looking into this Elijah? A single murder is a bit below your paygrade.” Klaus narrowed his eyes in confusion. The murders that Stefan committed were typically handled by the NYPD and since they bought a new commissioner, it was swept under the rug.

“Because this murder did not occur in New York, but in New Jersey. It crossed state lines and the fact that it bore similar markings to a cold case from six months ago in New York, it became federal jurisdiction. Your mother’s murder.” Elijah linked eyes with Caroline and she felt the emotion well up in her throat. She had accepted that Stefan would not go down for her mother’s death but hearing that there was a small chance almost made her want to cry.

Klaus stood from the bathtub, not caring that he was naked in front of his brother or the fact that water was dripping all over the tile flooring. Elijah scolded his brother and handed him a towel, which Klaus quickly wrapped around his waist. The look on Klaus’s face could only be described as manic glee. This was unexpected but a happy turn.

“Elijah I could kiss you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Elijah replied. “I subpoenaed all the documents from the Elizabeth Forbes murder as well as a few others. I picked up the documents this evening before coming here. It may be a few days but I should have enough evidence to open a formal investigation against him.”

“And if you don’t?” Caroline asked.

“I’ll make enough evidence.” Elijah replied in a tone that was hard. Caroline forgot for a second that this was personal for him as it was for her. Kol was Elijah’s brother too. Klaus could strike, often, hard and fast. Elijah, while not above planting evidence, lying under oath and arranging the occasional accidental death, still had some boundaries that he was forced to operate under. “One way or another, he’ll go down for this.”

“One way or another?”

“Either through the courts or publicly. What I have in store for Stefan and Damon Salvatore is something they will never recover from.”

“Well, this night keeps getting better and better.” Klaus replied. He took another sip of his wine, this time wearing a very pleased smirk. He leaned down and kissed Caroline on the lips. She did not care that she was naked nor that Elijah was standing right there. The idea of Stefan being thrown in a jail cell, even if it would be temporary made her very happy. “Although, I do think we shouldn’t put all our eggs in that basket. Caroline, tell my brother where dear Damon is tonight.”

“He is meeting with Mayor Lockwood later on.” Elijah cocked his head at her and waited for her to continue. “At her house, late on a Friday night.” She could see Elijah’s wheels turning in his head. Carol Lockwood was old enough to be Damon’s mother and while it would not be unheard up, Damon was not one to bed a woman that much older than himself. He was also very faithful to Elena. Probably the only redeeming quality about him. “Now Elijah, get your mind out of the gutter. Damon is expecting a shipment next month. Twelve men are coming in, by ship, from Italy. I don’t know what cargo they are bringing but it’s very important that Mayor Lockwood…looks the other way.”

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Elijah shot a look to Klaus, who had picked up Caroline’s phone and scrolling through it. “I thought you had an understanding with the Mayor?”

“I do.” Klaus replied in an almost bored tone. “It appears her and I will have to have a conversation, and soon.” He turned to Caroline. “Your husband is asking when you plan on being home. I told him that you and that red headed friend of yours were enjoying a pitcher of margaritas. I sent him this picture.” Klaus strolled over to her and showed her a photo that was taken earlier in the night. It was her and Aurora having drinks at the club they had been at earlier; and one she was certain Aurora was still at. “He says not to drink to much and to take your time. Seems like someone is up to something.”

“Well, it looks like you just bought me a few more hours.” Caroline smiled. She reached for his hand and kissed it. Klaus turned to his brother and made a motion that told Elijah he needed to bugger off. Caroline giggled. “I think Klaus is trying to say that you’ve over stayed your welcome. Thank you for the update. We’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, brother. What she said.”

“Very well. Have a pleasant evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Elijah shut the bathroom door behind in time to hear the splashing of water and Caroline’s high-pitched laughter. Despite the method of his brother’s relationship with the married woman, Elijah couldn’t help but have a budding respect for Caroline.

It wasn’t until wee hours of the morning that Caroline walked through the front door of the mansion. She had always found it strange that Stefan wanted a home in the middle of upper-class suburbia. It was in a gated community and Caroline hated everything about it. It felt suffocating and fake. The lights were all off, not that she was expecting anything else. Stefan wasn’t expecting her home, believing that she was out with the so-called best friend and as long as she had Enzo and wasn’t making a scene, he allowed for such diversions from time to time. It was to show the world that he was not a controlling husband but one who allowed his wife the social life she had before marriage.

Caroline made her way up the stairs to the master suite quietly, hoping not to wake Stefan, but as she got closer, she could see the light under the door was on. There was a sound coming from inside and it was a woman’s voice. She was moaning and whimpering. There was the slight sound of the bed creaking and hitting the wall. Once she reached the door, she grabbed the handle and turned, pushing the door open.

Inside was the scene she expected the moment she heard those noises. Stefan’s back was to her, his hips thrusting forward. Elena was on her back, legs spread and her body arching into Stefan’s. Her eyes were closed and head tilted in a way that gave Stefan access to her neck. Elena cried out a just as she did, her eyes opened.

“Caroline!?” Caroline jumped back the moment Stefan flew from the bed. On instinct, Caroline did the one thing that her gut was telling her to do.

Fucking Run.

She dropped her silver heels, her purse and bolted down the hallway. However, in her bare feet and tight shiny dress, she just wasn’t fast enough. By the time she reached the stair way, Stefan had caught up with her and grabbed her by the hair; pulling her backwards. Caroline latched onto his hand, digging her nails into his skin; but the slight pain seemed not to faze Stefan. He dragged her down the hallway, Caroline kicking and yelling for him to let her go.

Stefan tossed her into the bedroom, throwing her into the dresser. Her body smashed into it, the side of her face hitting the drawer, before landing on the wood flooring. He reached down and picked Caroline up by her throat and slammed her into the wall. Elena was rushing around the room, frantically gathering her clothes and dressing. Stefan pressed his still naked body against hers and tightened his hand on her throat.

“You say nothing.” Stefan’s voice was the most dangerous she had ever heard it. It was low and menacing. “Do you understand me? You saw nothing. You know nothing. You keep your mouth shut and I’ll let you pretty little head stay on its shoulders. Understand?” Caroline nodded the best she good and Stefan gave her a charming smile. “Good.”

For good measure, he slammed her head against the wall one last time before dropping her to the ground. He kicked her twice in the stomach, causing her to go into the fetal position. Her entire body ached from his assault. Dazzlingly, she could hear Stefan dressing while exchanging words with Elena. She opened her eyes to see a blurry vision of Elena walking past her following Stefan, not even sparing her a glance.

She closed her eyes again, drifting off.

It wasn’t until late morning that Caroline came to. She was in her bed, the same bed Stefan fucked Elena in, and her clothes had been changed. She sat up and nearly cried. She looked down and noticed that her waist was bandaged; and was the part of her body that hurt the worst. She pulled herself from the bed and walked to her now broken dresser. She pulled a change of clothes out and went into the bathroom. She turned on the light and looked at herself in the mirror.

The sight was frightening. There was a cut on her forehead that had been cleaned and a bruise that covered the side of her face. Her neck bore marks in the shape of Stefan’s hand. She didn’t remember getting dressed or cleaning herself up. She turned on the sink and washed her face as gently as she could. She wanted to shower but how her waist felt, she figured it would not be the best idea. She did the best she could to wash away any dried blood that was left. She changed into a pair of jeans and a tank-top with a built-in bra. She figured she would grab a cardigan, despite the hot August air, to hide the bruises that were left on her arms.

“You gave me a right scare last Gorgeous.” Caroline all but jumped back as she re-entered her bedroom. Enzo was standing in the master’s bedroom with a concerned expression on his face. He held up his hands to show her he meant no harm. “I heard the commotion from outside, I came running the moment I heard what was going on. Admittedly, he hid when I saw Stefan and Elena coming out.”

“You cleaned me up.” Caroline replied and Enzo nodded.

“I cleaned the wound on your head. Got you to drink some water and wrapped your waist as tightly as I could. I think you have a cracked rib. I stayed as long as I could, ensuring that you were okay but I couldn’t risk Stefan realizing I was there.” Enzo stated. He walked closer to her and his voice dropped low. “I let him know what I found last night. Caroline, he is ready to reign hellfire down.”

Enzo stepped away from her then and left the bedroom quickly before anyone came upon them. She stood in the middle of the bedroom contemplating and thinking. She knew that Enzo would contact Klaus for her. She could not risk reaching out to him now. Stefan would be watching her and the last thing he could know was about her affair. What he did last night would be nothing compared to what he would do to her if he knew about Klaus. Flashes of the pictures Elijah showed her came to mind; Meredith Fell’s body, her head completely detached from her body.

Once she felt her bravery reached her, Caroline made her way down the stairs. It was slow process. Her muscles ached and groaned with every movement. However, she could not hide away in the bedroom all day; that would only make Stefan angrier. When she reached the kitchen, she made a cup of coffee and sat at the island, thinking the night before and how terribly wrong it went.

“What did you do?” Caroline looked up quickly to see Damon leaning against the archway. His tone was light as though he did not have a care in the world. His arms were crossed and he was eyeing her up and down. “I know my brother has a temper but what did you do that made him that angry?”

“I was out with Aurora last night. Had one to many. Came home late.” Caroline replied.

“And now she knows not to do that.” Caroline froze at the sound of Stefan’s voice. He entered the kitchen, his eyes never left hers-a warning lingering behind them. He took the cup of coffee from her hands and drank from it. He sat it back down and kissed the top of Caroline’s head. “Come brother, tell me about your meeting with the Mayor last night. Tell me, what does she look like at three in the morning?” Stefan chuckled, his tone filled with humor as though his wife was not sitting before him, beaten and bruised.

Days past and Caroline did not leave the house; both because she was too injured and Stefan would not allow it. She stayed put, walking on egg shells and unsure what to do. Damon and Elena were over most days, but that was not unusual. Elena became extremely nice to Caroline, acting as though they had been the best of friends forever. Caroline smiled at her, but did not engage her to much. Stefan’s eyes rarely left hers and he made sure that she was never left alone with Damon; who seemed to notice nothing at all. Enzo filtered in and out as usual, giving her only looks; clearly not being able to say anything at all; but something was about to happen.

Come Tuesday morning, hellfire came raining down. She locked herself in the house, rarely doing anything other than reading and watching movies. Stefan made it a point to stay home for the rest of the weekend and did not go into the office on Monday or Tuesday; telling them that Caroline was sick and needed him to care for her. In truth, he did no such thing. He ignored her and she knew that this was another way for him to control her and watch her movements; but Caroline gave him no reason to strike out at her. It was about ten past nine in the morning when everything changed.

“FBI. Open up.” Caroline sat up quickly, her body crying out as she did. Before anyone could answer the door, it burst open and agents came flooding in. Dozens and dozens of agents started tearing the house apart, looking for something; anything.

Stefan flew down the stairs, demanding to know what was going on. He yelled at the agents who ignored him and continued the assault on the massive house. Elijah Mikaelson stepped over the threshold casually, his hands in the pocket of his trousers; not giving a single fuck in the world.

“Get the hell out of my house. You’re not welcome here.” Stefan hissed at him but Elijah looked at him impassively. He reached into his suit jacked and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. Stefan snatched it out of his hand and began to read.

“I believe that you’ll find a federal warrant allows me to be in every inch of your house.” Elijah replied coolly. A loud crash came from inside the dining room; the china case if Caroline was assuming. “We are investigating the murder of Meredith Fell and re-opening the murder of Elizabeth Forbes. Two deaths we have sufficient evidence to believe you were involved with.”

“This isn’t a warrant to search my house.” Stefan hissed out.

“My apologize. That must be the one for your arrest.” Elijah reached in and pulled out another piece of paper. “This must be the one for the search of your house. Do not worry. We have another warrant searching your brother’s home as well.” Stefan snatched the paper out of his hand and read. “Now, you can either come with me willingly or I can have you taken by force. I’m sure you would not want to make more of a scene in front of your wife.”

Stefan turned to look at Caroline, her bruised face and battered body on display for all the agents around. Her shorts and tank-top left nothing to the imagination. The visible hand-prints on her neck made it clear that she had been chocked. It would not take a genius to know what happened to her and now the FBI clearly knew what Stefan did to his wife behind closed doors. While Stefan was busy glaring at his wife as though she brought the FBI to their door, Caroline stole a glance at Elijah. His expression seemed cool and collected but there was something behind his brown eyes that was terrifying.

“Fuck you.” Stefan replied, turning back to Elijah; who just gave him a cruel smile.

“Take him.” Two agents descended upon Stefan and roughly pulled towards the front door. “I’d cooperate if I were you Mr. Salvatore. I would hate for this to become more of a spectacle than it already is.”

The agents dragged Stefan from the house while Caroline just watched; catching glimpses of her neighbors pointing and whispering behind their hands. Chaos raged around her as her home was being destroyed. Every ounce of furniture was being destroyed, torn apart and searched for something. She could hear the same treatment being done to the second and third floor. When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped; for a second, she thought Stefan some how made his way back into the house but was relieved to see that it was Elijah looking at her.

“My apologize Mrs. Salvatore. Caroline.” Elijah said, his eyes searching her. “Are you well?��

“I’ve been better.” Elijah nodded in understanding. “Whatever your searching for Elijah, it won’t be here. Or at Damon’s. They are not stupid to keep anything incriminating here.”

“Perhaps but some raids are not meant to find anything at all.” Caroline read between the lines. These agents were not hear to find anything but instead to plant something. This was just one step in a larger plan. “I believe that you’re wanted upstairs Mrs. Salvatore.”

Enzo’s words echoed in her mind. Caroline, he is ready to reign hellfire down.

Caroline gave him a confused looked and it wasn’t until he smiled that she turned and went quickly as she could up the stairs; her cracked ribs only allowing her to move so fast. She passed all the agents and stepped over the debris that was being left behind. Her eyes searching every face she passed, looking for one in particular. When she got to her bedroom, she pushed the door open and saw only one agent. Except, he wasn’t an agent at all and he wasn’t searching for anything.

Klaus stood in the bedroom she shared with Stefan, an FBI jacket hanging off his shoulders. He wasn’t going through their belongings, trashing the room (which was already trashed by another agent) but instead he was installing something in the television that was perched on the mantel, facing the bed.

“Klaus.” He turned when he heard the sound of her voice. He dropped his screwdriver and marched over to her. Gently, he placed his hands on her face. He took category of every bruise on her body and Caroline could feel the rage that was radiating from his skin. His body was shaking and she could feel the tension radiating from him. “I didn’t know you joined the FBI.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” Klaus replied but his lips tugged upward. “I needed a way into this house. To you. Elijah was more the willing to provide the distraction. I was one face of many, storming in. Stefan would be focused on Elijah and I could come in undetected.” Of course, Klaus would use the FBI as a distraction for his own personal vendetta. “I wanted to come here and kill him the moment Enzo informed me of what happened to you. Elijah’s cooler head prevailed. This was Elijah’s plan.”

Caroline stood on her tip toes and kissed his lips lightly. She wasn’t up for anything deeper than a light peck but Klaus was willing to accept what she could give. She buried her face into his chest, inhaling his scent. This the safest she felt in days. Klaus felt like home to her and she wanted out of this hell. She knew that they were working on it but last night scared her. Stefan was one mood away from killing her.

“What were you doing when I came in?”

“Installing a camera. There will be dozens throughout the house once this is over.” Caroline shot him a look. “Stefan’s arrest will only hold him for so long. His lawyers will have him out on bail within days.” Caroline nodded in understanding. This was not the end but instead a power play. Caroline realized that what Klaus had done before, sending pictures of Jeremy’s body, raiding Stefan and Damon’s docks, slowly dwindling down their power, was child’s play. “He will never lay a hand on you again. If he tries. I will know. We are going to attack him from all sides. Financially, ruin his reputation, Stefan won’t be able to make a move without us knowing.”

“And Stefan and Elena? Their affair?”

“Give it time, love, and they will be a tragedy of their own making.”

[thisoldquill]

The Wedding

An original fanfiction, rated G

Please do not repost my work. All original work of the Harry Potter world is not mine, just this piece.

This scene from the Deathly Hallows really inspired me to get re-acquainted with my OC, Charlotte Yang, that I made ages ago. Now that I am older, my character has grown with me and I wanted to explore her path as she becomes an adult during the Second Wizarding War. There’s a lot of backstory I didn’t explain in this fanfic (like befriending Fleur Delacour and George Weasley, or moving to Paris) but I’ll get there, I promise! I wanted to focus more on her post-Hogwarts journey mostly because we’re the same age now and both navigating our lives after school. If literally none of this interests you, skip it! But please do not send me rude comments about my work.

-Ms. Cinnamon

~~~

             Charlotte checked herself once more in the mirror beside the bed before reaching for her traveling cloak. She had decided on wearing a pretty sapphire blue sheath dress with a matching bolero jacket and heels, her hair pinned back into a neat chignon with a glittering jewel hairpin; surely this ensemble wouldn’t upstage the bride, although, that would be very difficult to do. Quickly striding to the door, she plucked the large wrapped gift box from the coffee table and locked the door behind her. Charlotte was headed off to her old friend’s wedding and made sure to book a room at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as she’d gotten her invitation. It was much easier to take a Portkey from Paris to Diagon Alley, then Disapparate to the Burrow, than to attempt Disapparate over one long trip (which might increase chances of splinching!). Not to mention it had taken many weeks of persuasion of her head of Department, Madame LaFlamme, to allow her to visit Britain for a few days. Tension had been brewing between the French and British Ministries of Magic ever since You-Know-Who had returned, so many employees alike were being restricted in non-essential travel. Her heels clipped purposefully on the cobbled road as she walked to the central courtyard, then she steadied herself to concentrate hard on the Burrow. Charlotte felt herself contort uncomfortably for a few seconds, and with a loud pop!, arrived a short distance away from the Burrow.

             There were several large white tents being hoisted up to stand erect in the field around the sloping house and she could see several red-headed people magicking the finishing touches on them. She picked up the pace to the house as to avoid running into a certain one of the red-headed men… Now at the front entrance, she rapped on the door and was met with a harried looking woman, Mrs. Weasley.

             ‘Hello, welcome! I’m afraid the wedding isn’t until later, but do come in for some tea,’ she invited Charlotte, her eyes roaming over her face in vague recognition. Charlotte had met Mrs. Weasley before but it was all very long ago now.

             ‘Do not worry, Molly,’ Fleur spoke while appearing from around the corner, ‘I asked ‘er to come a little early to ‘elp me.’ Mrs. Weasley looked relieved to not have to entertain Charlotte and bustled off. Fleur stretched her arms out and wrapped them around Charlotte in a warm embrace.

             ‘’Ow was ze journey?’ she asked and pulled back. ‘I ‘ope you didn’t ‘ave too much trouble.’

             ‘Oh, not much. I did have to remind Madame Laflamme several times that I was leaving though,’ Charlotte replied, ‘this is for you.’ She passed the pretty gift box over to Fleur, who’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

             ‘Ah merci! May I open it?’ she asked, eyeing the box in her hands. Charlotte smiled and nodded, to which Fleur unwrapped the box carefully and took the lid off. Inside sat a set of 12 glistening crystal goblets, a large crystal bowl, and a ladle with a long gold handle. Fleur gasped in delight and picked up a goblet to admire it.

             ‘Oh, ‘ow beautiful! I cannot wait to use zis!’ she gushed. Charlotte beamed back at her delighted friend; she had searched high and low along Champs-Elysée for the perfect wedding gift and knew that this set was the one when she saw it.

             ‘I’m glad you like it. Gives me an excuse to come visit more often.’ she joked. As Fleur stowed the goblet away, her fiancé, Bill, entered the room.

             ‘Bill, come meet my dear friend Charlotte!’ Fleur called out and Bill strode over. He held out his hand and Charlotte noted how confidently he shook it; Fleur had chosen a fine man indeed.

             ‘Hi, I’m Charlotte, I think we may have met before?’ she inquired as they shook hands. She’d only visited once before, but the man looked familiar.

             ‘Oh probably, one summer or another ago, it’s hard to keep track of who’s been here over the years,’ he smiled kindly then left to go help with the preparations. Fleur took Charlotte’s arm and led her upstairs to her makeshift bridal suite. It was Charlie Weasley’s old room and white curtains had been hung up all around to cover old posters and create a more bridal atmosphere. There were bouquets of flowers sitting in their vases on the window sills with notes of congratulations and Fleur’s wedding accessories were laid out on the vanity (‘a gift from Bill,’ Fleur had explained). Charlotte was led inside and saw Gabrielle Delacour and Mrs. Delacour sitting on the bed, now set in white bed linens, and chatting in French.

             ‘Maman, I ‘ave brought Charlotte,’ Fleur announced and Mrs. Delacour looked up. Although Charlotte had become more acquainted with Fleur’s family during her time in Paris, she still felt dreadfully inadequate trying to speak in French to them. Before she could try to string a horrible sentence together, Mrs. Delacour glided over and bestowed a kiss on both of her cheeks.

             ‘Eet is so lovely to see you again,’ Mrs. Delacour said warmly in a thick French accent, ‘please come visit us once we are back in Paris.’ Gabrielle came up and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek before going over to admire her sister’s dress. After pleasantries were exchanged, Charlotte turned to Fleur,

             ‘How can I help?’ she asked as Fleur began running a silver comb through her long hair.

             ‘It is quite alright, Maman and Gabrielle will ‘elp me dress later on,’ Fleur caught her eye in the mirror, ‘I wanted to catch up with you before I become Mrs. Weasley.’ Mrs. Delacour tactfully stood up to leave the room, with a complaining Gabrielle in tow, and shut the door behind them. Fleur paused her combing as she watched the door securely shut after her mother and sister, then rounded on Charlotte.

             ‘So? ‘ave you gone to talk to George yet?’ Fleur whipped her head around, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Charlotte felt herself blush immediately and crossed her arms. She had been strategically ambushed.

             ‘What do you mean? Why would I talk to George?’ she retorted defiantly. Fleur tossed her hair and went to stretch out on the bed.

             ‘Oh please, Bill told me everything about zis predicament. Not to mention ‘ow you couldn’t even speak to ‘im after ze Yule Ball,’ Fleur sighed and made herself more comfortable on the many throw pillows. “I think ‘e likes you too”. Charlotte shrugged and kicked off her heels to join her friend among the mountain of throw pillows. There was no use in hiding these things from Fleur, she usually had a way of finding them out.

             ‘All that’s in the past though. The Yule Ball was, what, 4 years ago? I am totally over him,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘Besides, it’s too late to bring up all that, especially at your wedding.’

             ‘Nonsense! It is never too late for someone as wonderful and kind and intelligente as you!’ Fleur said fiercely and several throw pillows rolled off the bed as she jerked up to look Charlotte hard in the eyes, ‘I will make certain zat you ‘ave a chance to reconcile!’ Charlotte felt a rush of affection as she watched Fleur get more worked up and jam the pillows back onto the pile. She knew it was hard for Fleur to make friends because of her blunt nature, but she was deeply loyal to ones she kept.

             ‘Besides, if you become my belle-soeur, it would be much easier to visit each other,’ Fleur added as an afterthought and settled back onto the pillows.

             ‘Yeah, and then we’ll get sick of each other,’ Charlotte laughed and the two of them fell into comfortable conversation; it was as if they were back at Hogwarts, relaxing by the lake after a long day of classes. At last, it was time for Fleur to get ready, and Charlotte slipped out quietly to leave the Delacours to prepare as a family. She descended the spiraling staircase and into the landing. There were people everywhere now, and the mountain of wedding gifts by the fireplace was so large, it was spilling into the kitchen. She tried to help Mrs. Weasley but was shooed out to the garden with the other guests. It was late afternoon now, with the sun still shining over the white tents making them dazzle and a few wayward gnomes were starting to crawl back into the bushes. Charlotte was going to walk right up to the entrance of the largest tent, then stopped; she was suddenly very aware that she’d come without a date. So, she stood awkwardly to the side, as couples began to file in, and debated if she should wait until she could enter unnoticed (‘I really should have brought Axel with me,’ she muttered to herself), but felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see Luna Lovegood and her father smiling at her. Both were wearing garish marigold-yellow dress robes that clashed horribly with their blond hair; though once you got over the shock, their ensemble actually looked quite festive.

             ‘Hi Charlotte, fancy seeing you here,’ Luna greeted in a dreamy voice, her huge eyes gazing up at her.

             ‘Hi Luna, Mr. Lovegood,’ she greeted back and blinked, recovering from the visual assault that was their dress robes. Luna had been her fellow Ravenclaw, and although they weren’t in the same year, it was still nice to see a familiar face.

             ‘We’re about to go in, care to join us?’ Luna asked and Charlotte nodded, grateful. They approached the entrance of the tent and a grumpy looking red-headed boy greeted them.

             ‘Hello Harry,’ Luna said and the boy seemed to be caught off-guard. Charlotte eye her incredulously, that was not Harry Potter at all.

             ‘Luna! How did y-,’ he sputtered while Luna smiled serenely at him.

             ‘You’ve got a certain aura; I can tell it’s you because of it,’ she replied calmly. Harry seemed to regain composure and mumbled something about Polyjuice potion, then lead them to their seats. This had startled Charlotte. If Harry Potter couldn’t even show his face at an extremely protected wedding in the middle of nowhere, then they must be preparing for the worst. Surely the Death Eaters wouldn’t try to come here? She made a mental note to ask him about this, in case she could offer insight from the French Ministry, not that it would be extremely helpful. The current rumor going around the office was that the French Minister was going to decline partaking in the looming war against You-Know-Who in Britain. Still deep in thought, she sat in her seat and was awakened from her reverie when the lights dimmed. She didn’t have time to chat to the other guests around her when music began playing. Everyone looked around to see Mr. Delacour proudly standing with Fleur, their arms looped together. They began to walk (Fleur more so gliding) down the aisle while Gabrielle and Ginny Weasley followed behind, looking pretty in gold colored dresses. Charlotte gazed at her friend, who was normally so beautiful, but now was exceptionally so as a bride. She didn’t notice that tears had welled in her eyes until one slid down her cheek. It was Fleur who was so caring and sharp-witted once you got to know her, who comforted Charlotte when her parents moved away from England, who made sure she was looked after upon moving to Paris… If anyone deserved to have a beautiful wedding, surrounded by wonderful family and friends, it was Fleur. Charlotte wiped her eyes hastily on her sleeve when she saw someone hold out a handkerchief to her.

             ‘Thank you-,’ she whispered but the rest of her sentence dried up in her throat as she looked at the person offering the handkerchief. It was George. The man she had avoided for so long, standing beside her in the dark, offering a damn handkerchief to her with a stupid grin on his face. Charlotte snatched her hand back as if burned, then turned to face Fleur and Bill, stiff as a board. It became very difficult to listen to the couple profess their love to each other and she thoroughly wished she could Disparate right then and there. Finally, the tiny wizard at the front finished speaking and waved his wand with a flourish, asking guest to please rise. The chairs vanished and a glossy dance floor was spreading out beneath their feet. With everyone letting out gushes of excitement and shuffling to speak to other guests, Charlotte used this commotion to slip away from George and into a crowd of middle-aged wizards.

             ‘Right, if I just go congratulate them, I can be on my way,’ she thought and made up her mind while working her way through the crowd towards the newlywed couple. It was quite difficult with everyone dancing and merry-making, that she ended up sidetracked on the way to Harry’s table. Charlotte then remembered she wanted to talk to him about the Polyjuice potion (and Death Eaters), so she took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to look like she just wanted to sit down for a drink. Settling neatly into the chair adjacent to him, she noticed he was staring intently at Ginny and cleared her throat politely.

             ‘So, why the different look tonight?’ she asked cautiously and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, ‘I suppose you’re expecting something bad to happen?’ Harry sat still, and she could tell he was debating on if he could trust her or not. As he hummed and hawed, she took a sip of champagne; it fizzed pleasantly in her mouth and went down easily as water.

             ‘Well actually, yeah,’ he finally spoke. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’ He motioned to the festivities and Charlotte bobbed her head as neutrally as she could. Harry was always up to something it seemed. She had not had a single peaceful school year since he’d shown up at Hogwarts in her third year and trouble always seemed to follow in his wake. A silence ensued as she pondered what to ask next.

             ‘I’m sorry about Dumbledore, I know you had meaningful relationship with him,’ she said carefully, she didn’t want to seem to nosy. ‘And I’m certain he’s left you something to do, like the other times.’ This much was true; Dumbledore, while kind to all of his students, seemed to take a special liking to Harry. He turned sharply to face her and leaned in forward to whisper.

             ‘That’s none of your business!’ he said through gritted teeth. Ah, so there had been something. Charlotte set her glass down and leaned forward.

             ‘I know it’s not, and I’m sorry that I pried into private business. I work at the French Ministry of Magic, and I want to warn my colleagues about anything fishy going on here,’ she apologized, trying to soften her voice. ‘I wanted to know if Death Eaters were on the move to France and if I could be of assistance to you.’ Charlotte saw Harry relax and uncross his arms.

             ‘S’all right, just private matters. I don’t think Vol-, You-Know-Who is interested in France at the moment,’ he replied gruffly but looked more at ease. ‘And so far, Death Eaters haven’t fled anywhere.’

             ‘Well, send me an owl to Paris and I’ll try to help you if I can. The French Minister is being maddeningly stubborn on this,’ she scoffed at the last part, ‘he wouldn’t be too pleased if Death Eaters started popping up like weeds in France, would he?’ This last quip earned a laugh from Harry and she drank the last of her champagne. Charlotte didn’t want to ask more questions and make him uncomfortable, so they sat and watched people dancing and laughing, surprisingly taking comfort in each other’s company. Suddenly, as if the Red Sea was being parted in front of them, Fleur glided through the crowd towards their table. She beckoned for Charlotte to take her outstretched hand and follow her, which Charlotte did and she said good bye to Harry.

             ‘Don’t worry about ‘im, Viktor will keep ‘im company,’ Fleur said breathily, the excitement of the wedding leaving her a little hoarse, ‘come and dance!’ They weaved through the crowd until they stood in the middle of the dance floor. Fleur dropped Charlotte’s hand and went off to speak to the band, leaving Charlotte quite stranded and embarrassed that everyone was watching what would happen next. The wish to Disapparate was growing stronger the longer she stood there, then when almost lost her nerve, someone touched her arm gently.

             ‘May I have this dance?’ George smiled at her and bowed gallantly for extra effect. Charlotte was going to decline when she saw Fleur glaring at her with a look that said I-set-this-up-for-you-so-don’t-blow-it. Gulping, she took his hand and felt his other hand settle lightly on her waist. The music had now changed from swift, upbeat songs to a slow, romantic waltz. George had been, apparently, practicing dance for several years now judging by the way he waltzed her around the floor as if it was the most natural thing for him. Round and round they went while other guests clapped appreciatively and began joining in. Here, under the lights of the wedding, Charlotte could finally take a good look at her dance partner. His hair, flaming red as usual, was combed back smoothly and his eyes shone with something deeper than having fun with an old friend. Her eyes flicked to the smattering of freckles on his left cheek (which looked very much like the constellation Leo) and grazed slowly up to the rather bloody mess of the missing ear at the side of his head. George caught her smile and grinned,

             ‘Like my latest injury? I think it becomes me,’ he joked, Charlotte was not laughing.

             ‘What happened? Oh, George,’ she gasped. ‘Did one of your products blow up in your face?’ Momentarily forgetting that she should be avoiding him, she almost tripped over his feet as she was too busy staring at his missing ear. George shook his head playfully, still smiling, and pulled her off the dance floor. He led her to a more secluded table, away from the crowd with his hand still tightly holding hers. He glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers, then said in a low tone,

             ‘Snape’s work. He cursed it off when we moving Harry here.’

             ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, quite puzzled. Snape was literally awful to be around, but would he really attack a student?

             ‘Sorry, can’t tell you much about it, but I’ll be fine. Top priority is to keep Harry safe until he goes back to school,’ George said casually, as if he was having a chat about the weather. ‘Anyways, what have you been up to these days? I heard you left London.’ Charlotte was slightly taken aback at this sudden change in topic, but pushed her questions about the incident to back of her mind.

             ‘I left for Paris. Who told you?’ she asked back.

             ‘Oh, I have my sources,’ he winked in such a George-like way that a rush of repressed emotions of her school-girl crush on him flooded back. How she had come to love that wink, paired with that charming smile! Her sixteen-year-old self used to turn to mush whenever he would indulge her in one of the two during classes. But then the Yule Ball happened, and things weren’t quite the same between them after that. Charlotte shook her head to clear her thoughts and saw George had an uncharacteristically somber expression on his face now. This was probably the first time she’d ever seen him be serious.

             ‘Why didn’t you write to me?’ he asked quietly. ‘Why didn’t you come visit me when we first opened the shop?’ Charlotte knew the truth of course. She had been hurt that he didn’t ask her to the Yule Ball (even as a friend) and the second blow came from when he left school suddenly without bothering to tell her. They never actually dated but she thought he had felt something for her as she did him; it had been like a breakup at the time and it had been a relief to her that he was no longer around.

             ‘I-I was busy with N.E.W.T.s you know, getting ready to leave Hogwarts and all,’ she lied pretty unconvincingly. George’s hands gripped hers even tighter so that it hurt a little and she yelped.

             ‘Don’t go back to Paris!’ he pleaded and she was shocked at the intensity of his voice. ‘Please, stay here, I’ll take care of you,’ George now looked like he was on the verge of tears. Was this all a hallucination? When had George ever pleaded with anyone for anything? Charlotte’s pulse quickened as she considered the possibility that he may like her back. After three years of resigning herself to the fact her old friend would never love her, it was quite earth-stopping to hear this confession. Her heart leapt in hope, but quickly sank. She couldn’t just abandon her career, her sister, her life that was waiting back in Paris for the chance at long-waited love. It was extremely tempting, but deep down she knew now was not the right time. Unfortunately, she never got to answer when a chorus of loud gasps erupted from the crowd on the dance floor. They watched from their seats as a shimmering lynx Patronus landed silently on the floor. It opened its mouth and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice rang throughout the tent,

‘The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegeour is dead. They are coming,’ and then it vanished as quickly as it had come. The whole tent went silent, then pandemonium broke out. People were scrambling everywhere trying to Disapparate, trampling over fallen dishes and broken glass. Charlotte leapt from her chair, wand ready, and went to find Fleur. She saw her huddled with her parents and sister, trying to soothe them in French.

             ‘Fleur! We’ve got to leave,’ Charlotte shouted above all the noise. Fleur looked up, her body relaxing with relief.

             ‘I must stay ‘ere to protect ‘Arry Potter and ze Burrow,’ she yelled back, ‘take my family with you back to Paris!’ Charlotte nodded then turned to the Delacours, panic on their faces. She grabbed Gabrielle’s and Mrs. Delacour’s hand roughly and pushed through the crowd to the garden with Mr. Delacour following closely behind. However, people seemed to be going more insane outside than in and she gripped hard on the hands she was holding.

             ‘Quickly, grab onto me and don’t let go!’ she ordered and concentrated with great difficulty on the Leaky Cauldron. They were plunged into darkness, squeezing uncomfortably through space and arrived with a loud pop! in Diagon Alley. The Delacours stumbled to the ground from the force of arriving but Charlotte landed easily on her feet.

             ‘Is everyone alright?’ she asked but the Delcaours looked rather pale and shaken. She looked around the deserted alley; no Death Eaters had shown up yet.

             ‘Oi! Who goes there? It’s past midnight!’ a voice chastised through the night. It was Tom, the innkeeper, and Charlotte rounded quickly to face him.

             ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Tom, will you please show the Delacours to my room?’ she asked while pulling out her room key. ‘Take this, please make them as comfortable as possible and I’ll pay the difference later.’ Tom seemed to understand the urgency of her request because he herded the frightened family into the inn without question. Charlotte watched them disappear inside, the turned quickly on her heel to the exit of Diagon Alley. Now she had to focus on contacting Fleur somehow and arrange for the British Ministry to take her family home. They were probably tracking every magical movement in Britain by now, so sending an envoy from France would raise alarms. As Charlotte walked along the Muggle streets, she thought with a pang of sorrow that she hadn’t said goodbye to George or Fleur or anybody for that matter. Charlotte knew a war was coming, she wasn’t stupid, and she had trained rigorously to react accordingly if this kind of situation ever happened. But this wasn’t a simple test she could pass, it was real war; the time had come to test her skills, cleverness, and most of all, if she had the bravery to face what was coming.