#also i hate being forced to take christmas and easter off. i have to use up 12 holiday days over them

[jewreallythinkthat]

Got special permission to work good Friday and Easter Monday and honestly it's been fucking lovely being able to do my job and not have to be interrupted by my colleagues. Like I love them all dearly, we're a very close group but I've been so unbelievably productive and I also get the holiday days I save by not being forced to take these days off added onto my general leave so I can take them when I want.

[indristian]

Weirdly specific König Headcanons part 5

By an austrian for an austrian character

After the Trump speech, where he claimed that our trees were explosive König wouldn't shut up about the warlike conditions he had to endure when playing in our forest cities.

In May 2019, after the Ibiza affair, there was a solid week, where he would almost exclusively listen to Ibiza-related partysongs.

He hates being carried, he's normally the one carrying people. And most of the time when he carries people it's the fireman's carry.

He celebrates Christmas on the 24. of december in the evening. This and the food blessing for easter are the only times a year he'll go to church without being forced by his family, mostly bc he gets food afterwards.

His father would often wake him to help with the farm. If he was hungover and refused he'd get told "Wer saufen kann, kann am nächsten Tag auch arbeiten" (very loosely translated "Those that have the energy to go out and drink, have the energy to go work on the next day"). He sometimes uses the phrase just to get on his teammates nerves.

Every time someone complains about their job within his earshot he'll say "Hättest halt was g'scheites g'lernt" (meaning "Should've trained for a better job then"). When pointed out that they have the same "shit" job he just sighs and says "Yeah, takes one to know one."

Prefers colder temperatures over warmer ones bc "It's easier to put on clothes to keep warm than take them off to keep cool, especially when you're down to your underwear already"

People, for some reason, just love to tell him all the gossip and he loves it. Too bad he has no idea who half of the people he has gossip on are/forgets about the names involved immediately

Inspired by my best friend: If you go on a hike with him, he'll be standing there at the top of the mountain with his hands on his hips, not a drop of sweat on his face and he'll say "Yeah, that was a tough hike" while you're on the ground next to him fighting for for your life

If he's bored he'll go on r/austria to see if there's any "drama" like the "I ripped my 1000€ jacket on somebody's fence, can I sue them?" or the "Someone vomited in the staircase in front of my flat, do I have to clean it?" posts and the posts that made fun of them

He knows how to use a scythe (for mowing grass things, maybe also slicing up people, but mostly just mowing grass). First time his team sees him with one they take a pic, add the text "bad soldiers get reaped by the big german grim reaper" and post it on the community fridge. Within a day the german is angrily scribbled out and austrian added instead.

And not really a headcanon more like something i overheard while one of my friends played warzone: when you play the game in german and König heals you he says "Put some spit on it" (if I remember correctly)

I'm surprised I came up with so many headcanons, tho I'm kinda running out of steam.

In other news I made a playlist of songs I think would get stuck in his head/he would listen to. The playlist is a weird genre mix, but I swear I can can think of a reason for each song to be in it. I may add some new songs over time.

And I'm so happy spotify doesn't record what I'm listening to rn bc I don't want Austropop to be in my top 5 genres for the next wrapped.

Part one, two, three, four and six

[writingwithcolor]

Being an Agender, 1st-Gen Indian-American

I’m a first-generation immigrant, with both my parents being Indian immigrants. My mom immigrated to Canada before she came to America (when she was in her late twenties), and is a Canadian citizen. She was born and raised in Ahmedabad, a city in Gujarat. My dad moved to India when he was in his early twenties. He moved from Ahmedabad to Mumbai in his fifth standard, and moved from a Gujarati-medium school to an English-medium one. 

My dad is more fluent in English than my mom, though they both are fluent and speak mostly without an accent. I speak Gujarati more-or-less fluently, since that’s what we spoke at home, but I can barely even write my name. I’m Hindu, as is my family, and a strict vegetarian. I’m agender, but I use she/her and they/them pronouns. 

Beauty Standards

One of the biggest issues in the Indian-American community is the issue of body hair. I’m AFAB, so I was expected to have smooth, hairless legs and arms. The reality was rather different. Since the age of ten, I had more body hair than the boys in my class. I was mocked and called by the name of a TV animal character, whose name was a mispronunciation of my own. No one ever did anything about it. I was eight. My mother, though she meant well, pushed me into waxing and threading and other forms of hair removal since the day I turned eleven. Even now, as a fully-grown adult with my own apartment and my own life, I can’t bring myself to wear shorts or capris without having spent hours making sure my legs are smooth. Body hair is a huge issue that needs to be addressed more, and not just as a few wisps of blonde hair in the armpit region.

Food

It’s complicated. Growing up, we had thaalis (with roti, rice, sweet dal, and shaak [which is a mix of vegetables and spices]) for dinner almost every night. When we didn’t, it was supplemented with foods like pasta, veggie burgers, and khichdi. We made different types of khichdi each time, based off of different familial recipes that were all named after the family member who introduced them. My mom had to make milder food for my sister, and while my sister loves spicy foods now, I’m still not a big fan. A side effect of growing up in a non-white, vegetarian family is that no one in my family has any idea of what white non-vegetarians eat. Like, at all. It’s kind of funny, to be honest. 

Holidays/Religion

My mom is a Vaishnav, and my dad is a Brahmin, so the way they both worship is very different. My dad’s family places a huge emphasis on chanting and prayer, as well as meditation. They mostly pray to capital-G G-d, as the metaphysical embodiment of Grace. My mom’s family, however, places emphasis on– I don’t want to say “idol worship" because of the negative connotations that has– but they worship to murtis, statues that represent our gods. My mom’s favored god to pray to is Krishna, and we have murtis in our home that she performs sevato every day.

We celebrate Janmashtmi, Holi, Diwali, Ganesha Puja, Lakshmi Puja– too many to count, really. We don’t always go all-out, especially on most of the smaller celebrations, but we do try and attend the temple lectures on those days, or host our own. We also celebrate Christmas and Easter secularly. I didn’t even know Christmas was a Christian holiday until I was in elementary school, and Easter until I was in high school.

Micro-Aggressions

Whooo, boy. Where do I start?

When my sister was in first grade, she had a friend. I’ll call her Mary. Mary, upon learning that my sister was not, in fact, Christian, brought an entire Bible to school and forced my sister to read it during recess, saying that otherwise, she wouldn’t be her friend anymore. Mary kept telling my sister that she would go to hell if she didn’t repent, and that our entire family was a group of “ugly sinners.” When my sister came to me for advice, I told her that Mary wasn’t her friend, that Mary wasn’t being nice, and that my sister wasn’t going to go to hell, and that we don’t even believe in hell. When my sister finally stood up to Mary and told her that she wasn’t going to listen to her anymore, Mary got angry and dumped a mini-carton of chocolate milk on her and told her that “now she looks like what she is– a dirty [the Roma slur term].” Not only was that inaccurate, it was extremely racist, and Mary was only reprimanded for the milk-spilling, not the racist remark that came with it. 

On top of that, since I have long hair, I’m always getting asked if so-and-so can touch it, or what I do to get it so long, or why I allow myself to be “shaped by such backwards ideals of women.” My name is never pronounced correctly, and I’ve been asked to give people my “American name” to be called by instead of my actual name. I’ve been called a terrorist, asked why I wasn’t wearing a hijab (by white people btw), and mocked for my food. I’ve been told that I wasn’t “really Indian” because I didn’t have a dot on my forehead. I’ve been told I wasn’t “really Hindu” because I had milk on my plate, by a white boy whose mom was a leader of a local choir.

I grew up in a town where only 4-5% of the population was South Asian, and there were a total of five South Asians in my grade level. The school administration consistently and intentionally placed us in different classes, and I never made a friend that was South Asian until 7th grade. When I came to the school, I was placed in ESOL without even being tested, while also being in the Advanced Readers class. The school didn’t even care to look at my school records before placing me into ESOL based on the color of my skin. 

Things I’d Like to See Less/More Of

I’d like to see less of the “nerd” stereotype, of the “weak, nonathletic” stereotype. I’d like to see less of the “prude” stereotype, of the “I hate my culture/feel I don’t belong” stereotype. I’d like to see less of the “rebellion” stereotype, of the “my parents are so strict and I hate them” stereotype. I never want to see the “unwanted arranged marriage” trope. Ever.

I want to see bulky, tall Indian characters. I’d like to see Indian characters confident in their sexuality, whether that’s not having sex (for LEGITIMATE reasons like risk of STDs, general awkwardness before and after The Deed, and wanting to wait, not “oh my parents said so and also I’m sheltered and innocent”), or having a new sexual partner every night.

I want Indian characters (especially children/teens!!!) proud of their culture and their heritage and their religion, whether that’s Islam, Hinduism, Sikhism, or anything else. I want to see supportive Indian parents, I want to see more than chiding Indian grandmothers and strict Indian fathers. I want to see healthy arranged marriages, or healthy mixed-marriages. I want to see mixed Indian-POC couples, I want to see queer Indian couples.

I want to see body hair on female-presenting characters, I want to see more of India that isn’t “bustling market with the scent of spices in the air” and “poor slums rampant with disease” and “Taj Mahal”. I want to see casual mentions of prayer and Hinduism and Indian culture (a short “My mom’s at the temple, she can’t come pick us up” or a “what is it? i’m in the middle of a holi fight! eep! ugh, gulaab in my mouth” over a phone call, or a “she won’t answer until 12– she’s in her Bharatnatyam class/Gurukul class/doing seva/at the temple” would suffice). I want to see more Indian languages represented than just Hindi. There’s Tamil, Gujarati, Marathi, Nepali, and Kashmiri, just off the top of my head. The language your character speaks depends on the place they come from in India, and they might not even speak Hindi! (I don’t!)

I hate that Indian culture is reduced to “oppressive, strict, and prudish” when it's so much more than that. I hate that Indians are stereotyped to the point where it is a norm, and the companies reinforcing these stereotypes don’t take responsibility for their actions and don’t change. I hate the appropriation of Indian culture (like yoga, pronounced “yogh”, not “yo-gaaa” fyi, the Om symbol, meditation, and Shri Ganapathidada) and how normalized it is in Western society. 

This ended up a lot longer than I had expected, but I hope it helps! Good luck with your writing :)

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[mithliya]

I am arab but I do not feel any connection to my language or culture. I feel this may be the cause of Arabic and arab culture being heavily intertwined with Islam. At best it is extremely difficult to disentangle these ties; it makes me dislike my own background. How could I love a language that was in turn loved by such hateful people? I don't feel like I ever want to be a part of it, but technically, I am part of it. I'm tied to this culture, language, and religion by blood, and I am certainly not proud of my ethnicity, my nationality, and the religion I was born into. Being Arabic ≠ being religious, I know, but I can't shake off the feeling that I'm not Arabian. I suppose growing up with Arabs who were all Muslims has put that idea in my head, that an arab is inherently religious.

The bottom line is, I do not feel, nor do I want to feel, associated with my culture, language, ethnicity, and even my family.

Do you feel the same?

How could I love a language that was in turn loved by such hateful people?

with this mindset idk how u can like almost any language. english? italian? spanish? french? russian? japanese? chinese? hindi? the list could go on forever. what makes arabic especially hateful to you? it has existed long before islam and is the language of many non-muslims too. arab christians have their own cultures and practices and yet they speak arabic. i just dont see arabic as somehow intrinsically related to islam, nor do i see my culture that way either. youre right that a lot of our culture has become so deeply intertwined with islam, but i honestly don't see traditions like eid to be hateful either. i dont see them as celebrating anything hateful either. many cultures of many european countries are also deeply intertwined with christianity, and yet even non-religious europeans i know i often see embracing christmas and easter, for example. so i dont see anything wrong w embracing religiously-rooted traditions like ramadan or eid either. i love that eid involves getting together w the family, giving money, generosity, often new / nice clothing n dressing up, + specific special dishes. i love that for ramadan we often will sit together and eat and watch a ramdan show + have special dishes, and that in ramadan many will go on the streets or from house to house to provide with homemade gifts or be generous in other ways. what i take issue with is when these practices are forced on others, like the fact that its illegal to eat in public in many countries before iftar in ramadan time.

overall no i dont really relate tbh. i come from a non-religious family, they dont strongly identify w arabness bc idk we're bahrani first & foremost and often they're shit talking about arabs. but i grew up with examples that made me separate my culture from islam. islam is something that was forced onto me outside my family and my friend circles nd family's friend's circles. the arabs i know drink and party and smoke and don't segregate by sex and wear non-"modest" clothing and get tattoos and piercings etc while also often times wearing abayas or thobes (my atheist grandpa used to always wear a thobe), or traditional bahraini attire, speaking arabic, etc so. idk. i just don't view it as an Islam Thing. i recognise that most arab cultures have become quite intertwined with islam, but i also see how our differences nd special traditions exist. we have girga3on in bahrain for example and this is a tradition specific to gulf countries + iraq. we have stuff like henna and we eat dishes like daal and these are all also my culture & show me our history as an island nation that was an instrumental trading area. we have pearl-diving and pearls and gold and many things that are so traditional to us but not at all related to islam but rather our specific area. all of this is still my culture. perfumes and spices and our dialect and the ancient dilmunian civilisation are my culture too and my heritage. these are the things i take pride in and wish will live on long after im gone. i dont consider praying 3-5 times a day, athaan, islamic beliefs, etc to be my culture, and i don't hate my heritage or want to disconnect myself from it bc of that. i was always simply born muslim, but i am bahrani and i always will be regardless of my beliefs.

[beauty-and-passion]

Hey! I want to ask you to make a theory on Janus! (if you can and if you want!) Because although I'm more than convinced, doubts are a pain. And it's really bothering me!

In Moving On 1/2, was Roman really Roman? Or was it Janus all along? I had felt icky when watching the videos the first time. Roman was just Off! He was acting weird and sounded strange! And his posture was a little too distinct I think. Either way I brushed it off as me being parano-vigilant (overthinking/overanalyzing) and continued with the videos. Until I saw this video: https://youtu.be/fUOXX266pVQ (Sander Sides theory: Is Janus disguised as Roman?)

A few things I, myself, noticed were that "Roman" was facing Thomas with the right side of face a lot. He was turned just a smidge and mostly kept the right side of his face towards Thomas. Also he used his Left Hand! A lot! While we've seen the real Roman use his right (in the very next episode). In addition there were a lot of Yellow and Black themes with anything he picked up! Also, I feel like after what happened, Roman would be in his room sulking or hurt. We know he gets bruised (In Negative Thinking) due to a blow to the ego. And that was only because of a little mishap on the stage! An infinitesimal mistake! But this was far more serious! Roman is romance! Imagine how much he could've been suffering after such events! Giving Janus the perfect opportunity to strike! To steer Thomas on the path he deems is crucial to Thomas' bigger future. To his wants. It just seems right that it was him!

Also Roman saying "dude" to Virgil!? He's supposed to be creativity! He has the best names for anyone and everyone!

And at 3:12 in the second part when Thomas mentions that "lying is a side of himself he prefers not to feed into"...... the picture behind him is him with yellow gloves!

And (if it's him, J starts acting more like himself! The facial expressions, posture, monologue, everything!)

That's all I'm saying- I'm really conflicted because there doesn't seem to be enough proof for whether it's Ro or Jan!!

Okay, I saw that video and, well, I don’t think Janus was impersonating Roman during those two episodes. The points made in the video, despite being interesting, were also a bit flawed.

For example: Roman criticizing Thomas when he started to dance and asking him to stop. The authors of the video said it was weird, because Roman “would never do that and, on the contrary, he would encourage Thomas to keep going, because he’s Creativity.”

But, seriously, has Roman ever done that? Has Roman ever accepted ALL kind of creativity? If that was the case, then why Roman would hate his brother’s creative suggestions this much? They’re still creativity, after all. He should accept them as well. He’s Creativity, after all.

This connects to another point, further in the video, in which the authors said it was weird Roman wasn’t able to play the flute. They said (and I quote): “As Creativity, he should have the abilty to play instruments”.

Can you see where the mistake is? The authors forgot something extremely important Thomas clarified long time ago, in the Q&A:

[Anxiety]: No, I'm not the same for everybody. I'm Thomas' anxiety. Everyone's works differently.

Thomas’ Sides are HIS Sides. They don’t encompass the universal concepts of Creativity, Morality or Anxiety. So, since Roman isn’t the representation of the general, human concept of Creativity, it makes sense he’s not able in all forms of the creative spectrum. Because Thomas isn’t, so he’s not as well.

Therefore, Roman isn’t able to accept and welcome all kinds of creativity, because he’s Thomas’ Creativity. Thomas isn’t a good dancer, so Roman would prefer him to not dwell into that. Thomas isn’t a good musician, so Roman isn’t as well. But Thomas is good at acting - and we saw Roman dragging him on stage and perform sketches. Thomas is good at singing and we saw Roman writing songs and doing musicals. And Thomas is good at writing - and we saw Roman suggesting fanfictions about Frozen.

If we think about it, the same happens to everyone in real life. If you’re good at dancing and terrible at playing, it’s very unlikely your creativity will push you to play the guitar, rather than learn some good moves. No one is expert of everything, so no one’s Creativity is as well :)

While other points in the video, are taken a bit too subjectively. The authors lacked objectivity and interpreted some details as proofs, while most of them were just jokes or due to the situation. Of course Roman didn’t want to leave, because Patton’s room was a sanctuary in which he could reminisce about all past things he likes. Of course Roman pushed for Thomas to call back his ex - because he needs love, as he said in FWSA:

[Roman]: I so... SO badly want this. I- I'm desperate for it... ...but you can't have true love... ...if the relationship isn't built on truth.

And let’s not forget that Patton’s room played a role as well. Roman was too immersed into reminiscing the past, that he descended into a too familiar train of thoughts: oh look at how beautiful everything was in the past and your relationship was so beautiful as well. Hey, why don’t we call back your ex? Isn’t that a train of thoughts a lot of people experience, while dealing with a break up?

And of course Roman was acting strange: because Patton’s room influenced him. Just like it influenced Virgil, by increasing his anxiety and how it forced Logan to leave. After all, we saw that Virgil’s room affects everyone, so why Patton’s room shouldn’t have done it as well?

Speaking of your points. They’re all interesting and they proved you’re a good observer - it takes a lot of attention to find all these details, so hats off to you! But they’re also too small or inconsistent, to be considered proofs.

For example, using the left hand has never been associated with Janus - all Sides shifts from left to right hand all the time and Roman in particular is ambidextrous (he wrote with his left during the Christmas episode and wields the sword with his right during the Valentine one).

And Roman not having a best name for Virgil isn’t exactly a novelty. One example in Am I Original:

[Princey]: Quiet, you... Jerky-McJerk Face. Argh, I'm too busy brainstorming to think of a harmful nickname.

Also, when Thomas said that "lying is a side of himself he prefers not to feed into”, I checked the scene just to see these gloves you talked about...

And I know it’s a bit small, but check the video: those are not gloves. Those are the sleeves of a shirt :P And they’re orange, not yellow, so why should they refer to Janus? XD

In conclusion: I know we all love overanalyzing stuff, I love it too, but sometimes we should listen to Thomas’ advice and not see too much into things XD

It’s true that some details are specifically put in the episodes for us to notice (like the orange 07734 message in POF. That was definitely added for the fandom to see it and freak out - as we did). But others are just details, jokes, parts of a funny gag. Being parano-vigliant is funny and good, especially with this series because of the huge amount of easter eggs and connections... but sometimes all we can do is just enjoy a funny gag :D

[selinakidreams]

year six at hogsmeade

ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! This fic is for the @haikyuucreationsadm​ secret santa event! dedicated to @ichorizaki ! sol, I hope this gives you the warm fuzzies! 

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

tags: harry potter au!, gn! reader, friends to lovers, yams is a lil over protective, fake dating (if you squint really really hard), yamaguchi’s pov !

a/n: no i do not hate the character i put as the slytherin (i’m not gonna spoil anything <3 teehee) i did it almost as an easter egg ...? like if you remember how yams reacted when he heard a certian thing come from his mouth,,,,,,, you’ll understand why- the clip was playing in my head on repeat while writing it lmao (super vauge ik but ah ha haa)

Both of your school capes sashae across the cold stoned floor as you two head to the one class you had together. The air was nippy; delicate flakes of snow danced around the sky until they landed on the ground.  Yamaguchi hugged his books closer to his chest in hopes to ease the lack of warmth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you nuzzle into your silver and green scarf that was already bundled up to your nose. 

‘Cute,’ he thought to himself- and when it comes to you, that word comes up in his head quite a lot.

 Far from being his favorite class, Yamaguchi Tadashi had to get used to the defense against the dark arts course. It was very… out there for him in the beginning. By pushing his limits, it created a wave of self-consciousness that would wash over him, resulting in the feeling of incompetence. Thankfully you were there to encourage and support him, just as you had been since the day you guys met. It was something about your strength and determination- he learned that through the years when you had an idea, a goal, or a project in mind, you would see it through. It was so inspiring to young Yamaguchi, the little boy constantly cowering away from anything that seemed too much. He would constantly be picked on and could never speak the words that clogged his throat but then you came along with a single snarky remark to end all of theirs. There was no time between the moment he words left your lips and when your hand slipped into his- pulling him away from any sense of loneliness he would ever feel again. You were there for all the big moments, from when he first got his letter to him getting sorted into Gryffindor to him trying out for their quidditch team. You two had been absolutely inseparable and neither of you would change a thing.

Yamaguchi cherished walking to class with you- the way you fit so well in the environment… he just couldn't take his eyes off of you. His favorite version of you was in the winter because you just looked so much cozier. The dark colors of your house heavily contrasted against the bright sparkling snow that reflected natural light into the corridor. The pink that tinted the tips of your ears made his heart skip a beat. If it hadn't been for you stopping by the opened door way, he would have completely missed the entrance to the classroom because of his… observations. He motioned you go in first, your eyes crinkled in thanks as you stepped inside and he swears that you caused a heart palpitation. 

It was your guy’s sixth year at Hogwarts and by far Tadashi's favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts course yet. The teacher, Remus Lupin, had such a way of teaching that it was not only fun and interactive, but also incredibly informative- the prime way for him to learn. He was so happy that Lupin’s tactics were sticking, this meant he didn't have to cling to you for help as he had previously; He was able to show you that he was capable of being strong on his own. Whenever you showed your delight at Tadashi’s progress, he only wanted to work harder.

“Hey so… after class, did you want to go to Hogsmeade and get something to drink from Honeyduke’s? It’s all snowy out and it’s the perfect weather for something warm and comforting.” You grinned as the both of you took your seats, conveniently across from each other, the only thing that separated you two was a slim isle way. Yamaguchi turned to you with a small smile curving his lips, “Yea, sounds good but just remember I have practice later so I can't be out too la-“ his last word was cut off by an obnoxious scoff from the keeper from the Slytherin quidditch team. 

“That was supposed to be our practice, you know. Daichi snatched up our usual practice time.” Koganegawa Kanji said snottily, judgmentally eyeing Tadashi up and down before turning his gaze to you. Suddenly there was a different type of look in his eyes, a bright one that showed that he believed he could secure all sorts of things… including you. “Those Gryffindors think they can take whatever they want, but I know what we're going to be taking. The win at our next game… which just so happens to be against Gryffindor. You’re going to be there, right y/n?” He practically beamed to you as he kept side-eyeing Yamaguchi. 

Before you could even answer- before he could even realize what was coming out of his mouth- your shy, kind hearted, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Tadashi rolled his eyes and said, “Yea they’re going, they’re going to be screaming out my name when I catch that snitch.” 

Your eyes widened as you turned to him with your jaw slack, the sexual innuendo in the forefront of your mind but when facing your freckled best friend, it looked like he couldn't believe he was able to even speak up. Yamaguchi is not one for confrontation or someone who initiates fights… but when things come down to you, he acts in ways he doesn’t recognize- for painfully obvious reasons.

“You better watch that mouth of yours, Yamaguchi, or else i might just have to zip it up.” The Slytherin hissed, getting ready to reach for his want but stopped in his tracks when his gaze caught sight of a scruffy man in his mid 30’s standing behind the frozen Gryffindor, hands in his pockets and a brow raised. 

“Now… I know you were not about to hex mister Yamaguchi inside of my class, right Mister Koganegawa?” Professor Lupin tempted, a small smirk danced on his lips with the unmissable glint of entertainment that twinkled in his warm eyes. 

The professor didn’t give the boy a chance to answer, instead turned around and headed to the front of the classroom while saying, “Return to your seat Koganegawa, I expect whatever hex you were going to cast was going to be a naughty one. Well ironically, today’s lesson is focused on learning to reflect those nasty curses…” The whole class settled in for the lecture as Tadashi sneaked a peak at the reaction that had been plastered on your face- boy, was it a cute one. Both of your lips curled in with saucer eyes, cheeks tinted a faint red, as if you were holding back a laugh that was forcing its way out. 

<♥︎>

After Lupin bid the class adue for the day, everyone went their separate ways; Tadashi held you close as you both headed to Hogsmeade, his arm draped over your shoulder as you leaned into him for warmth. The walk had been a comfortable silence until you spoke out your curiosity to break the ice, hitting him with the million dollar question.

“Hey, what happened back in Lupin’s class? That was.. odd.. of you to say.” You inquired. Normally when you catch Tadashi off guard or in a vulnerable state, a cute blush dusts along the apple of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You knew you were robbed of the sight, the cold had beat you to it, a violent scarlet already bared his skin. 

He let out a sigh, the breath showing itself in the cold, before he muttered, “I’m just tired of him openly ogling at you like you’re some toy. It’s not cool.” 

You responded with a slight hum, the real reply bouncing off the walls of your brain: I can't believe we’re not together by now.

“Oh yams,” you chuckle as you huddle closer into his side.

<♥︎>

Passing under the grand Hogsmeade archway, he was grateful that there were barely any students about- this meant you guys could get your drinks faster and walk around the shops easier. With the antique green and pink building in sight, the beeline to the shop’s entrance was determined.

“Okay okay, let me guess…” you started as Yamaguchi held open the door for you to walk in, already eyeing the colorful treats that decorated the room, “you want a hot chocolate.” 

“And you want a hot strawberry tea.” Tadashi retorted with a smile.

“It’s almost like… we’ve known each other for years.” You say, your tone dripping in sarcasm as he watches your finger trace over the newest candy they sold. 

Sol, a sweet that’ll brighten your day! The container said, with a picture of what looked to be an edible ball of light. Supposedly, once it hits your tongue, it melts into the flavor you're craving most.

After inspecting the shelves around the store for any new and exciting treats, you both headed to the register where Tadashi placed the drinks order and fished out two golden galeons and five silver sickles. He snuck a glance at you admiring the brightly colored walls to make sure you weren't looking as he slipped the cashier the two packets of sol he stealthily grabbed and handed them three extra sickles. A sweet surprise for later.

Leaving the store, Yamaguchi watched the way your hands slipped around the warm cup, the tips of your fingers slightly intertwined. He wanted nothing more than to take your cup out of your hands and intermingle his fingers with yours…but he couldn’t, it would be crossing a line, wouldn’t it? Nevertheless, the image of holding your- probably- freezing hand was on his mind the whole time you two were walking around the village you knew all too well.

Deciding that it was pretty late you guys began to head back to the castle. The snow crunched underneath your boots with almost empty cups in your hands, you knew it wasn't going to take long before you’d be greeted by the back entrance of the castle. “‘Dashi… do you have to go to practice? I… i need help with Lupin’s coursework.” you stutter out, causing Yamaguchi to pause and turn toward you.

This took him by surprise, normally you were really good with your coursework, so for the roles to switch… something had to be off.  

“ y/n... You know I can't. The team said they really need me there.  Daichi would have my head if I missed practice. The game against Slytherin is so close and I really need to-” he cut himself off before he could reveal too much or get too annoyed, the flash of Koganegawa smirking flashed in the back of his mind. 

“you need to… what? I saw your last game and the way you soared through the air was incredible, it didn't seem like you needed to work on anything!” you pouted with damn wide eyes.

Tadashi tried to ignore the slight increase in his heart's beating pace, “aha well..” he said as he lifted his arm to scratch the back of his head, “we’re a team and they need me as much as i need them!” you stopped walking so he turned to face you.

He watched the small sad smile creep onto your face before hearing you mutter, “Jeez, when did my Tadashi become so popular?”

For Yamaguchi to not lean in and plant a kiss on your lips, something had to be holding him back... but there was nothing- if anything, you seemed to slightly lean in. 

He figured that you'd assume that the first move was going to be on your part, as it normally was when something serious would happen between the two of you but he wanted to prove to you that he's changed. He's not scared anymore. He has no reason to be. He’s learned so much about himself  throughout the years because of you. You're the reason he was the social person he was today. And he was the one that finally connects your lips with his. 

Due to the cold and dry winter, both lips are not as smooth as wanted but it doesn't stop him from deepening the long awaited kiss. He placed his open palms on your waist and his fingers gave you a small squeeze when he heard you sigh into the kiss.

When Yamaguchi felt your arms around his neck, he swore the world stopped turning for a second. The warmth that he was feeling was unmatched- this was warmer than any other winter coat had made him. 

When he pulled away, your arms stayed around his neck and he refused to let his hands leave your waist. 

“I uh-“ at this point Yamaguchi’s face was bright pink, yours being no different, “um I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” You said, cutting him off. 

Tadashi had to blink a few times, as if he was clearing his vision because what he just heard wasn’t possible. 

“N-no way…” he mumbled, looking at the ground next to you. Tadashi almost felt overwhelmed but one thing's for certain, the weight of needing to properly confess was only getting heavier so he gulped down his anxiety- as you had taught him so many times before- and brought his eyes to meet yours. 

“Y/n… I’m so in love with you. I have been for so long-”

Something red wizzed before your guys’ eyes, cutting off his huge confession. His eyes became wide at the hovering letter facing him. 

A howler. 

Before you could even raise an eyebrow, the letter opened itself in the shape of an origami mouth. 

“Yamaguchi, YOU ARE LATE FOR PRACTICE! WHY? WHAT COULD BE SO IMPORTANT THAT IT’S CAUSING YOU TO MISS PRACTICE?” the letter with daichi’s deep voice boomed around the empty of the woods. It began to look around, as if it could see the surrounding area- which was weird because typically howlers were only used to relay a (very loud and disappointed) message. When the envelope eventually faced you, the bottom of the mouth dropped and seemed to gulp.

“Ah.. i see.. Hi y/n… um,” the letter turned to face Yamaguchi before reminding him to go to practice and ripping itself apart. 

It was silent for a second, neither of you knew what to say. 

“I dunno but it almost sounded like Daichi wanted me to go to practice.” was the first thing he said. He watched your face contort from a small smile to a full out grin joined with a hearty laugh. 

“Let's get you to class ‘Dashi.” you said as you wound down from your laughing fit. Holding out your hand, the expression you gave him was one that he never saw from you before. The corner of his eyes crinkled with how genuine he was smiling as he took your hand, finally getting to entwine your fingers together as you guys headed to the quidditch field.

Ps. yes you did scream out his name when he caught the snitch- it didn't go unnoticed...

[yououghtaknow]

15 + 24?

hi!! thank you so much <3

15. introduce us to your version of william

oh BABY!!!!

okay. so. the thing about william is i have always hated him. as someone who has been in a manipulative situation similar to noorhelm, just hated the man. so, i decided to create a new man. a good man. complex, but good.

enter JAMES ABRAHAM COHEN!!!!! he’s introduced to the song teenagers by mcr and is wearing a trenchcoat over his school uniform, not only because he’s edgy, but because he’s cold because he immigrated to the uk from the middle east. he is, at the beginning, a manwhore, yes. but he’s a party boy, a guitar boy, who rori sees and thinks Yes. My Future Husband. meanwhile he’s just having a drinking contest with his Boys and then talking about his favourite comic book character. he’s not a bad boy TM. he’s a Dumb Teenage Boy.

he's a genuinely nice guy. he apologises to rori as many times as he can, and only stops because she asks him to, and they become friends. he falls madly in love with liz as soon as she starts roasting him. he’s just an Understanding guy who’s made mistakes and is always trying to get better and be there for his friends. he literally let jake live in his flat for a good while. 

and, my favourite thing about james is that he forced his friends to audition for a production of grease with him to see the girl he Loves So Much and ends up getting the lead role???? TWICE???? this man is danny zuko and roger davis. 

also, in my personal opinion, i think james is kind of a superior arthur skamfrance. both have a disability (arthur is hard of hearing, james has autism/adhd), both have abusive family, both are in a love triangle with two beautiful girls (one of whom is a wlw chris b). and also a surprise member of the boy squad starting in season 3. 

also, in a way, my william is a william/jonas/eskild combination??? which is very fun. i just love taking all these different skam dynamic, cutting them up and throwing them in a pot and seeing what looks nice.

also, ONE LAST THING, i think my william has the most reasonable reason to go to london. as it is an hour away from brighton by train and he can come back before the day’s over. because he’s a teenage boy. and we will be seeing a lot more of james in season 5. get ready for it.

24. tell us about a ship that is endgame.

i’m going to be real with you all on tumblr dot com on this night. i honestly don’t know what romantic ships are going to be endgame, because i plan the seasons i’m writing as i’m writing them, so i only have the vague framework of what i want for the endgame of skambr as a whole. so i’m just going to talk about the 3 main romantic ships that are canon as of the end of season 4. and i’m gonna Go Off.

esther/sandy:

OKAY. taking sandy’s story as a whole. she’s kissed her best girl friend. she started dating a guy she doesn’t like. she’s desperate for something new to come along. and esther has just moved back from germany. she just wants to meet someone to talk to because she’s so lonely. and boom. they run into each other one night by chance and it’s “oh my god she’s so pretty” at first sight. and then they start talking and become friends so quickly (and esther introduces sandy to the keysmash). also, nooreva should’ve been canon. i have rectified that.

but god. the way they have their conversation in s1 e4 and almost kiss but get interrupted by sophie??? god. and when they actually kiss in s1 e6 and suddenly everything’s Good until they get caught. and sandy Runs because what else can she do? she’s terrified. and esther stays. and when they see each other again, esther doesn’t say anything because she knows sandy can’t talk about it. until sandy gets outed and attacked by the football team, and esther instantly goes to protect her and puts her own feelings aside to make sure sandy’s okay. and sandy just Needed a safe place to land like esther for so long. and when they finally kiss at the christmas fair as “girls like girls” plays????? god.

and their relationship in all of the later seasons GOD. i love them. their fight and reconciliation in season 2. them just being together casually, with sandy healing from her past and learning to truly love herself, and esther opening up and having someone there to comfort her when she needs it. and the fact that they’re still friends throughout it all, because it;s not just friends to lovers. it’s friends to friends AND lovers. also when esther sang “boy problems” by crj at sandy..... ICONIC

liz/james:

GOD. okay these two are really one of my favourite dynamics i’ve ever written. because they start as “oh you’re the annoying guy my best friend’s got a crush on”. and go to “oh you’re the ASSHOLE who broke my friend’s heart”. to “oh she may have forgiven you, but i Have Not”. and james is just like “I Am Being So Nice And She Still Hates Me”. but then we see liz seeing james’s art piece at the end of s2 e1. and she connects with it so deeply. and then they have their first real conversation in the next episode and they have a lot in common. they get each other. and he sings “perfect for you” from n2n to her. and she gets so overwhelmed by the fact that her mind might be changing that she just Runs Away.

and then we get the sleepover scene and GOD. one of my favourite scenes to write. james being a good cook??? james smoking out the window and liz making fun of his guitar. and then liz beginning to play james’s brother’s piano and james making it a duet as they sing “falling slowly” from once together. and then they share a bed and instead of saying something creepy, james just says “i think we might be becoming friends”. and she texts him immediately after the prank on the holiday episode. and their first kiss. GOD. with him always calling her elizabeth and the pride and prejudice parallels and “bad idea” from waitress...... and then them spending the next day together. also, in the first kiss clip liz says that she “hates one direction”, and in the next morning clip, one direction plays as she walks with james. it’s a metaphor baby!!!!!1

and their whole political dynamic GOD. it’s actually based a lot on how my politics have changed from when i was 14, beginning to write the series, and now. with going from the centrist-liberal ideas of “all violence is bad :) racism isn’t that bad guys :)” to liz using her privilege as a rich white girl to fully bail james out of jail for assaulting the man who’s been racially harrassing him for months. and the scene where liz has her meltdown at school and james takes her home, puts her to bed, and sings her to sleep. AND THE SCENE WHERE HE COMES OUT TO HER AS TRANS GOD. also them just being nice in the background of season 3 and 4. delightful.

bree/rori:

THIS RELATIONSHIP IS LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAVOURITES TOO GOD. their DYNAMIC in the scene where bree is introduced and rori is all starry eyed over her and bree will already do Anything for her. it’s about the “i want to be her friend so bad” kind of crushes. and bree and rori getting closer and closer as the season goes on, and they get the “i bet i can make you horny” scene because i just think it’s really fun.

and GOD. the evilde plot in skam og makes me. so Mad. but here...... it’s about the internalised homophobia. it’s about the wanting one good movie kiss. it’s about the them making out to one direction in the middle of a school event. AND THEM DOING THE PRANK TOGETHER ON THE EASTER HOLIDAY EPISODE. QUEEN SHIT! and the scene where bree is drunk and talking to liz about how it feels to be in love...... that was about rori!!!! and when they played sandy and rizzo in grease together. the homoeroticism, the best friendship.

and in season 3 when nick and rori get together and bree is just standing there, jake talking to her and she looks into the camera...... god. and SEASON FOUR RORIANNA. WHICH IS THEIR SHIP NAME IN MY HEAD. GOD. them just being best friends and bree being silently in love with her because she’s happy that rori is happy with nick (who is also her friend). the scene where they “practise kissing” because rori is scared to kiss a girl onstage (we love internalised homophobia), and how bree also ignores it because she’s scared of conflict. and they’re always so there for each other. rori being there to support bree so hard when bree’s at her lowest point. bree being there for rori and ready to fight for her. bree going from waking up next to josh, to waking up alone, to waking up next to rori. them going from slow dancing to daylight by taylor swift to laughing and dancing on a crowded stage in la vie boheme.

quite genuinely? they have it all. evilde. sana/chris b. eva/chris b. noora/chris b. noora/vilde. it’s about girls supporting girls and also them kind of being cut from the same cloth as sandy/esther. one of them having internalised homophobia and running away from the kiss, and the other silently loving them until they get a yes or a no. 

anyways every relationship i write is about having clear consent and respect for your partner at all times. and also about friends to lovers. and also the tenderness of musical theatre couples. oh shit now i want to talk about jake/al. well. this is my tumblr blog and you all have to deal with me.

jake/al: jake and al are currently Not Together as of skam brighton season 4 but god. i love writing their relationship so much. it’s about them meeting when al is in a manic episode and jake is deep in his depression and grief. about the nothing and the everything. it’s about the jason and peter secret gay lovers, the tony and maria falling in love on the balcony and having their first kiss at a pretend wedding, the romeo and juliet whirlwind romance that ends in tragedy. it’s about the bright orpheus al with his music and his bright life and sad, bitter jake, hating everything about himself and holding his own, but then falling in love and finding a way to build himself a new life, while al is falling down into a deep depressive episode. and then jake picks al up and gives him the tools he needs to help him step back from the ledge. and then al, who’s spent the entire season chasing after jake and the joy he gives him, turns around and walks away to better himself. and jake is okay with it, because he also needs time on his own to get better, and they agree to stay close friends, and they do!!! it’s about the gay experience of falling madly in love and then going back to be friends.

[greekowl87]

Fic: It’s Cold Outside

This is my fic for the X-Files Easter Fic Exchange (@xfilesfanficexchange). My prompt was for slippinmickeys over on AO3. This is cross-posted with AO3. 

The prompt was: “Mulder gets stuck at Maggie Scully's for the weekend during a Scully family holiday (any holiday). UST becomes RST and drama ensues. Seasons 1-7. No PWP, need story.” So this is set during season three and is inspired by The Blizzard of 1996 (January 6 -10) was an actual event that took place. I myself was nine and remember being miserable, sick and losing power for 3 days during the course of it while living in Virginia but took it as inspiration for this fic. 

A quick thank you for @peacenik0 and @baronessblixen talking me through some writer’s block with this fic. Mind you, it’s long. Also, there’s some smut in this: just a head’s up.  I hope you all enjoy.

P.S. @today-in-fic

Friday, January 5, 1996

“Mulder, you don’t have to do this.” Scully gathered her coat and briefcase for the weekend as Mulder donned his own trench coat and car keys. “I’m just taking the bus home and then driving to my mother’s for the weekend in the morning.”

“It would make me feel better, Scully. I don’t know if you saw the forecast for the weekend but they are calling for a big Nor’easter. Anyways, what’s so special about your mom’s this weekend?”

“A belated celebration of Christmas,” she told him with a smile. “Ever since dad and with Missy just a few months ago, mom’s had a hankering to get the family together. A belated Christmas seemed like the answer. My brothers Bill and Charlie are coming with their wives. Bill’s ship just got into Norfolk two days ago and is already up in Baltimore with Tara. Charlie is coming down from Pennsylvania.”

Mulder felt his heart drop in his chest at the mention of the recent murder of Melissa Scully. His partner had told him multiple times that she did not blame him; the dangers came with their work. But deep down, Mulder still felt guilt himself. He was only more determined to make things right for her, even if it was as simple as driving to her mother’s for a makeup Christmas holiday in early January.

“Really, Scully, it’s no big deal. I can drive you first thing tomorrow morning to Baltimore.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“You know the answer to that.”

His smile must have melted her resolve as Scully smiled. “Fine. Tomorrow morning at ten, okay?”

“Okay.” He grinned.

. . . . . . . . .

Saturday, January 6, 1996

Scully glanced at her wall clock as it read 10:08 as she heard a knock at the door. Her weekend bag sat next to the door along with her freshly dug out snow boots and winter jacket. She had been watching the local news and now The Weather Channel. Mulder’s warning the previous day about an upcoming nor’easter had sparked her interest however her attention was once again distracted by the knocking again.

“It’s open,” she called.

The brass doorknob opened and she saw her partner wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and black turtleneck. He smiled at her awkwardly. “Ready to go, Scully?”

“You know you can come in, Mulder.”

She turned off the television and cast the remote onto the wooden coffee table. She saw him sidestep the welcome mat and inch around her entryway before shutting the door. He held his gaze at the fixed point in the floor before forcing a smile. “I do. I see you got your snow boots.”

“Yep. Finally got a chance to see the forecast. Might as well be prepared.”

Scully was already pulling on her jacket and then her shoes. “You really didn’t have to do this, Mulder.”

“I want to, Scully.”

He picked up her bag, loaded her bag into his backseat, and began the journey up to Maryland. The drive was quiet between them with a little conversation with the exception of small talk about the Scully family plans. As Mulder pulled up to the familiar driveway, he threw the car into park and looked at Scully. “Here’s your stop,” he said.

Scully gave him a thankful smile and nodded towards the porch. “Why don’t you come in before you head back to Alexandria?”

“I couldn’t impose, Scully.”

The last time he had been to Mrs. Scully’s house was shortly after his partner’s abduction when he had to swallow his pride and failure and let her know that her baby daughter had disappeared into thin air. He only saw himself as an omen of ill news for the Scullys. The most recent stigma was the death of Melissa Scully and him keeping Scully away due to their crazy crusade. The prospect of visiting her again under such circumstances wasn’t very appealing to him.

“Come on, Mulder. At least take a bathroom break and get a drink of coffee?” Her teasing smile made him relax slightly.’ “Come on, Mulder. My family isn’t going to crucify you.”

“The wrong holiday,” he joked. It fell on deaf ears.  “I couldn’t impose, Scully. Really.”

“You can at least get some coffee before hitting the road,” she encouraged. “My mom wouldn’t mind.”

“You aren’t going to take no for an answer are you?”

“Sound familiar? Why don’t you just put yourself out of your misery and come in.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

They both exited the car and Mulder went to grab her weekend bag from the trunk of his car. Together, they went up to the steps to the Scully household. His partner grabbed the brass doorknob and swung the door open wide. “Mom! I’m here!”

“Is that little Dana?” A playful voice echoed from the kitchen. “Still believing in Santa Claus?”

“Charlie!”

Mulder stood awkwardly by the doorframe, unsure if he should close the door behind him and stay or if he should run away. He saw a much taller man, about his height with dark auburn hair and blue eyes like his partner wearing a Penn State sweatshirt and jeans.  Scully ran to her brother, throwing her arms around her youngest brother as he spun her in a circle. “It’s been too long, Dana! Mom, Dana’s here!”

Mulder stood straighter as he saw the matronly Mrs. Scully come from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a yellow apron. “No traffic I hope?”

“No,” Scully answered.

“Good. The weather forecast is calling for snow tonight and I hated the thought of you driving in this weather.”

“Mulder drove me,” Scully said, turning to gesture to him.

Mulder would have preferred to have fallen into a hole in the ground on the way to China than face the Scully matriarch. “Fox,” she greeted coolly.

“Mrs. Scully.”

Charlie turned to Mulder and smiled warmly. “So your Dana’s FBI partner. What kind of name is Fox anyways?”

To Mulder’s surprise, the youngest Scully offered a welcoming handshake which he returned hesitantly. “My parents probably hated me. I prefer Mulder anyways.”

“FBI thing?”

“Something like that. I’m going to go, Scully. I’ll see you back at the office on Monday.”

Scully narrowed her eyes in annoyance and nudged her mother. “I was going to invite Mulder to some coffee before he goes back. He was nice enough to drive me.”

“Of course.” Like magic, Mrs. Scully’s face materialized into the welcoming host that used to make her the talk of all the housewives of the San Diego Naval Base.  “Take off your jacket and shoes, Fox. Stay awhile. You take your coffee black right?”

“That’d be fine.”

Mulder was already taking off his shoes and jacket as Charlie said something about finding Bill and Tara from upstairs. Soon, Mulder found himself standing in the atrium alone with Scully. She gave him a smile small. “Thank you for staying for a bit.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I appreciate it regardless. Come on, let’s get you that cup of coffee.”

He was powerless to say no to her and followed her like an obedient puppy. Mrs. Scully was smiling and getting coffee, trying to make small talk with the two FBI agents. Charlie soon came back with a man and a woman which Mulder could only assume was Big Brother Bill and his wife Tara. He felt himself shrink under the steely gaze as Scully greeted the rest of her family. Mulder took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Fox Mulder.”

“Mr. Mulder,” Bill said carefully.

He had the sneaking suspicion he was being appraised. The blond hair woman, Tara, rushed forward to shake his hand as well. “It is so nice to meet you, Mr. Mulder. Dana has told us so much about you.”

“You can call me Mulder.” Mulder raised his eyebrow playfully at Scully. “Is that so?”

Charlie was by the fridge grabbing a beer out. “Don’t worry, Mulder. If you stick around long enough, you’ll hear some embarrassing stories about little Dana.”

As the afternoon progressed, the snow became heavier and showed no signs of letting up. By seven that evening, Mulder still found himself in the Scully household recovering from a wonderful dinner over embarrassing stories in front of a Christmas tree and the Scully clan. How had time escaped him was beyond Mulder’s grasp; he should open an x-file on it. By ten in the evening, he decided it was time to call it a night.

“Mrs. Scully, as much as I would love to stay, I must get going. The drive back to Alexandria is bound to belong.”

“You can’t be serious, Mulder!” Charlie cried. “All that snow!”

“It’s not safe,” Bill added as his wife yawned. She leaned against his shoulder sleepily. “You ready to hit the hay, hon?”

“Yeah. Traveling must’ve taken it out of me yesterday.”

“Why don’t you get going to bed. I’ll be right up.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Mulder,” Tara said getting up. “Good night, everyone.”

A chorus of good nights and good evenings followed her out of the room. Scully looked at Mulder and bit her lip in thought. Mulder sensed something from her but did not say anything. “Why doesn’t he crash on the couch tonight, mom? Hopefully, the main roads will be plowed by tomorrow?”

Mrs. Scully nodded in agreement. “I’ll go get some blankets and pillows for you, Fox.”

Mulder had not even had a chance to say anything as Scully brothers said goodnight quickly and retreated back upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Mulder and Scully were left together alone in the living room. “What just happened?”

“Sleepover,” Scully chuckled.

“You weren’t planning this, were you?”

“No.” She lowered her voice and brought her knees to her chest. “Unless I suddenly gained control of the weather.”

“Knock it off, Scully.”

“I’m just teasing. But my brothers are right. It’s not safe to drive. I’m not up to saving your butt again.” They shared a knowing smile. “Besides, I was happy to have you here tonight.”

“How come?”

“It made things more...bearable tonight.” Without another word, she rose from the couch. “Good night, Mulder.”

“Night, Scully.”

Like ships passing in the sea, he watched Scully glide upstairs for the night as Mrs. Scully let her motherly instinct take over and make Mulder’s temporary bed for the night. He suddenly remembered the spare bag of clothes he kept in his car and rushed outside to grab it real quick before the snow grew any worse.

. . . . . . . .

Sunday, January 7, 1996

The meteorologists, both locally and nationally, metrologists were already calling it The Great Blizzard of 1996. When Mulder and the Scully family had retired for the night, Mother Nature had other plans. There was already almost a foot of snow before it transitioned to sleet, icing in the layers and locking them away. The storm came back with colder temperatures and even heavier bands of snow. Snow, ice, and more snow. And with that, Mulder found himself trapped in Baltimore for the Scully’s makeup Christmas. Unwanted guest indeed.

Mulder found himself waking up in the early morning hours. He could hear the winds battering the side of the house, snow, and ice pelting the windows, and the colorful glow of the Christmas tree dancing around the living room. He did not know what he was doing.

Sleep just didn’t happen for Mulder anymore. After many years of isolation and peculiarness had molded him into a couch dozing insomniac that slept with the tv on. Maybe, deep in his own mind and subconscious, he was still trying to bring back Samantha by somehow recreating that night from November 1973. It seemed awfully true now as the Scully clan tried to recreate the memory of their lost kin.

“Can’t sleep?”

Mulder jumped and spun around. Scully stood in the door frame as the shadows clung to her. Her robe was wrapped tightly around her, her arms weaved into a knot as if trying to protect her against something. She gazed longingly at the multicolored Christmas tree and then to stockings on the old fireplace. “And the stockings were hung on the chimney with care with hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be here,” Scully recited softly. She cleared her throat. “I see Mom is keeping Missy’s up.”

Mulder turned to the stockings counting them quickly. “I count seven.”

“Mom still keeps dad’s up.” She gave a sad smile. “Christmas was a favorite holiday growing up for us. The last time we were all together was the December before I went to the academy.”

Mulder scooted over on the couch as Scully sat next to him. “What a turn of events, huh, Scully?”

“Hmm?”

Mulder gestured to the window as white snow blinded the outside. “Weather. Mother nature. The inconvenience of timing.”

“It depends on the way you look at it, Mulder.”

“I’m probably ruining your little family get-together. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your mother’s scalding gaze.” Self-deprecating humor at its finest. Another mechanism. “I don’t know if I should be alarmed or not.”

“Mulder,” she sighed. She pinched her nose and gave a weak smile. “She’s not mad at you.”

“I’m sure they’re just waiting and plotting. I would know.”

Scully tilted her head to the side and gave him a warm smile. She moved closer to him and rubbed her against his left shoulder smoothing the cotton beneath her palm. “I did it so I could save you. You were out of your mind,” she whispered softly. Even beneath that fabric, she could still feel the puckered scar. “I saved you, didn’t I?”

He chuckled. “Does your mother know what you did?”

“No. And neither do my brothers.”

She smiled in the light and moved closer to Mulder. He stilled as she reached for a stray blanket to pull it over her lap and rest her head against his shoulder. “What are you thinking,” he whispered.

“Those lights and decorations. I think my mom used the last time when we were all together. The last Christmas. It was right before I left for the academy.” She smiled at the memory. “It’s funny because Missy and I were sitting on this very couch, watching those colored lights. I had just been recruited into the FBI and I remember feeling uncertain.”

“You’re never uncertain about anything.”

There was a pause between them and Scully continued to stare off into the distance.  “She told me that…” She took a breath. “She told me don’t mistake a path for what it really represents: the people that we meet along the way. I didn’t know who I was going to meet, how my life was going to change, or whose life I would change along the way.”

Overwhelming guilt wrecked his heart (as if the guilt from Melissa Scully’s death, Scully’s abduction, and the disappearance from his own sister weren’t enough). The silence that ensued must have been enough for Scully to grasp his hand tightly, startling him out of dismal, gloomy thoughts. “Mulder, don’t think that.”

“It’s because of me,” he murmured, “that all this happened to you.”

“Didn’t you hear me? It is a two-way street. With the bad, there has also been good. These three years, I wouldn’t change. I wouldn’t want this journey with anyone else but you.”

Unable to find words he settled for the thing that had worked best for them: unspoken communication. He wrapped his arm around her in a hug. Scully settled her head back against his shoulder in silence. The moment seemed trapped in a bubble that was only meant for the two of them.  “I am incredibly grateful you are here with me now, Mulder, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” She took a deep breath and kissed his temple softly. “Thank you.”

Like a shadow in the night, she quickly retreated leaving a very confused Mulder alone on the couch to wonder exactly what had transpired at that moment.

As the early morning crawled on, the Christmas lights turned off from the automatic timer leaving Mulder in the dark. He did not remember when he dozed off but awoke a few hours later to the smell of coffee being brewed and laughter in the room next door. “Charles, I do not recall that Christmas.”

The voice of Mrs. Scully laughed as there as a masculine snorting of giggles. “Oh shut up, Bill.”

That must be Charlie, she surmised.

Mulder stretched his aching body against the stiff couch, wincing at some unknown muscle cramp. The air was chilled in the living room and he spied a smoldering fireplace in need of fresh wood. Mulder got up to stoke the fire before searching for his Oxford sweatshirt to ward off the chill. His foggy mind, already going through the things that he needed to do the first thing to get back to Alexandria. He’d need to get gas, make sure he had a shovel or something in his car for the snow.

“Mulder.”

He looked up to see Scully standing in the doorway wearing her white fluffy robe and her hair clipped back into a loose bun. She held up a steaming cup of coffee enticingly. “Morning,” he croaked. He gave her a weak smile and tried to comb his bedhead. Scully shook her head and hid her amused smile behind her hand and a fake yawn. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept.” She shrugged and dropped off the coffee onto a side table. “Come join us for breakfast when you’re ready.”

“I think I’ll just get going this morning back to Alexandria.”

Scully smirked and nodded to a window. “I doubt that, Mulder. The snow turned over to sleet and then back to snow overnight. The news is saying at least nine inches.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

“Scully, I really can’t impose. I have already done enough damage here.”

“Mulder,” she said calmly. She took his hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. My family isn’t planning to burn you at the stake or anything.” He was taken back by the openness of the invitation. She watched his emotions play across his face and arched her elegant eyebrow. “Is it what we do? Our work? My abduction? What, Mulder?”

“How do you openly invite me here? Expect that your brothers and mothers won’t flail me alive?”

She chuckled and shook her head. “My brothers know we solve unusual cases for the FBI, the cold cases that others won’t touch. They don’t know anything about government conspiracies or anything like that. As long as you don’t say about green little men.”

“They’re gray,” he whispered.

“Green. Gray. I still have yet to scientifically prove it.”

In the span of a few seconds, the platonic partners were decidedly close to one another. Electricity sparked between the air and the strange feeling shifted between them again. Mulder licked his lips as the stray thought of kissing Scully popped up in his mind. Scully was leaning towards him, as if in a trance, before Mrs. Scully’s voice called from the kitchen. “Dana! Fox! If you don’t get in here soon, all these pancakes will be gone.”

With the spell broken, both Mulder and Scully blinked. “Pancakes,” Mulder asked.

“Scully family Christmas tradition. I told you mom is going all out even though it is January. It’s been forever since we’ve had a proper Christmas.” She glanced at the two stockings meant for her passed father and murdered sister. “Even if some of us couldn’t be here.” Mulder opened his mouth to apologize but Scully cut him off. “But I’m very happy you are here with me, Mulder. I really mean it.”

He nodded unable to find anything else to say. Mulder followed her into the kitchen to find Mrs. Scully standing with Charlie by the electric griddle skillfully making pancakes like an assembly line. Bill and Tara sat at the kitchen table reading the copy of The Washington Post from the day before. On the corner of the counter, a small black and white tv had the local news on.

“Boy, oh, boy!” Cried the news anchor. “What was supposed to be a few snow flurries has turned into a full-blow blizzard. Chase, what can you tell us about this storm?”

The camera panned to another man wearing a suit in front of a local weather map colored in various shades of gray, black, and white. “You are right, Craig. I wouldn't dare go out this weather. Last night, we were only looking at a couple of inches of snow and now the forecast is calling for totals up to 20 inches plus. Also, overnight, the snow briefly changed to sleet and then back to snow. Don’t even think about going out in this weather! It’s best to stay hunkered down until this storm passes through tomorrow morning. The drive-in is going to be a mess well so plan accordingly.”

“That’s one thing I don’t miss is snow,” Bill grumbled flipping the paper.

“I forgot,” Charlie called. “Sunny San Diego.”

“And you choose to live in the great white north,” the brother shot back.

“Maine is not the great white north. You’re thinking of Minnesota.”

“I would argue differently. I grew up in Massachusetts and have some memories of nasty winters.”

Mulder stood in the middle of the kitchen, unsure where to go. Scully squeezed his hand discreetly and pulled him to a stool near the kitchen counter where she sat next to him.

“Where exactly did you grow up, Mr. Mulder?” Bill asked.

“The Vineyard,” he answered automatically. Charlie winked at him as he supplied Mulder and his sister coffee. He turned his attention to the small black and white television. “I can try and dig out later this morning, Mrs. Scully once the snow lets up and be out of your hair.”

“Nonsense, Fox. You are not driving back to Virginia in this weather. We’ve already gotten 13 inches and were forecasted to get 10 more. What’s one more mouth to feed.” She looked up and gave him a smile. Mulder did not know how to respond. “If you really want, you can help shovel my driveway.”

Scully smiled. “I tried to tell him that but I told you he is thick-headed.”

“He’s not the only one, Dana.”

“Hey, do you remember when we were in New Haven?” Charlie asked.

“As if you remember,” Bill snorted. “You were three.”

“How can anyone forget the Christmas tree being set on fire? It was clearly your fault. If I recall, I heard something about you trying to ‘light Christmas spirit.’”

“Even I remember it.” Scully grinned.

Mrs. Scully rolled her eyes. “Well, since we have a proper blizzard, why don’t we all just take it easy today. We can all take turns shoveling the driveway to make it more authentic.”

Mulder was about to say something else but Scully’s stern glare made him reconsider. “I think three men can manage that, mom,” Charlie chuckled. “So what does us leaving to do in the meantime?”

“Movies?” Tara suggested.

“Oh, AMC is doing a B-Rated Horror Film Marathon this weekend,” Charlie said excitedly. “That would be awesome.”

“Sounds right up your alley.” Scully elbowed Mulder.

He shifted stiffly and wondered just how much she had told her brothers about him and his far fetched theories. “You all can do that,” Bill shrugged. He remained focused on the paper. “There are some of dad’s things I would like to go through this afternoon.”

“Fun killer,” Charlie called as he skillfully flipped the next batch of pancakes. “Tara? What about you?”

“I would love to. That used to be a favorite thing to do with my sisters.”

“Honestly, Tara,” Bill scoffed. “We don’t have time for such childish things.”

“Shut up, Bill. We’re supposed to be celebrating Christmas, right? Staying in our PJs all day and watching tv was something we did in our family.”

“Ours was nothing but midnight masses,” Charlie added.

“Well, we can always improvise, “ Mrs. Scully answered, “but I doubt that would be any fun.”

“Then it’s settled.” Scully smiled but frowned when she saw Mulder focusing on some unknown spot in front of him. She frowned in frustration.

Breakfast continued without a hitch. Mulder withdrew into himself even further feeling alienated among the Scully clan. He felt trapped. He could take the chance and risk his car on the roads but Scully would save his ass and then kill him for his stupidity. A rouge hand took his own and squeezed it beneath the table top was all he needed to force the smile and endure this bizarre family holiday a bit longer.

The day seemed to be stuck in some sort of time zone because Mulder felt like he was experiencing deja vu. The last time he had experienced Christmas joy, any Christmas joy was the Christmas before Samantha’s abduction. The Mulder's had been a happy family then. But now, he somehow found himself swept along in marathons of horror films with Charlie, Bill’s polite decline to participate, and Tara, Scully, and her mother in the kitchen working on a makeshift dinner. The blizzard of 1996 continued on in spectacular fashion bringing more snow and ice.

At the end of the day, Mulder still found himself trapped with the Scullys with no means of escape.

That night, Mulder heard the grandfather clock in the hallway strike midnight, echoing throughout the silent house. He wished he was somewhere else.

In his makeshift bed on the living room couch, he still could not find a comfortable position. The blue light from the muted tv added to the eerie ambiance from the colored Christmas tree lights. It was nights like this he would call Scully just to hear her voice and his loneliness less palatable. But she was right upstairs and he did not think that he family (especially Big Brother Bill who had regarded him cautiously since his arrival) would take to it very kindly. Lost in his thoughts, he heard the silent scuffle of slippers against the wood floor.

“Still can’t sleep?”

He smiled, recognizing that voice from anywhere. “Could you?”

“I suppose not. Today wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be, was it?”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“You wore you panic face throughout most of breakfast.”

Scully emerged from the shadows. Elegant no matter what, Mulder thought. His partner wore the same robe from the morning before except her hair was down. “You being here I think is helping mom too. The distraction is nice since Missy is no longer here. The first Christmas after dad passed it was a nightmare.”

“I’m glad I’m not too much of a burden.”

“You are never a burden, Mulder.”

He smiled coyly at her. “You know, it’s funny, Scully. I know the special agent but I don’t know the story behind Dana Scully.”

She chewed on her lips playfully and held out her hand. “Want to see?”  Just in the past 48 hours, this new side of Scully that was emerging that he wanted to know more of. Playing her game, he grasped her hand and she lead him down the hall and upstair case. “Watch the second step from the top. It always makes a noise.”

Following her expert direction, they navigated the maze in the dark. Scully led him to a door furthest down the hall. She opened the door to reveal a room frozen in time that belonged to some sort of punk rock teenager. Faded posters decorated the wall above the bed. A black bookcase held numerous copies of books ranging from physics to Latin to Nancy Drew. In the corner was a small desk with a bulletin board covered in various ribbons from science fairs and a University of Maryland flag above it. There was a picture on the bulletin board that looked vaguely familiar.

“Is that you?”

Mulder squinted as he picked up the photo as she shut the door behind them. “I was a bit of a punk.”

“And science wiz,” he added, nodding to the ribbons. “Little Dana Scully was a rebel.”

“Not always,” she said slowly, trying to hide back a laugh. “I did get suspended in my sophomore year for almost blowing up the chemistry lab trying to prove a senior wrong.”

“You took chemistry as a sophomore?”

“Science wiz,” she reminded him. She sat on the bed and patted the space next to her. “I know I’ve told you numerous times but I’m really glad you are here. It’s nice having someone to…” She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re here, Mulder.”

He took the spot next to him. “I guess we should thank fate.”

She snorted in amusement. “I told you there is no such thing as fate.”

“This blizzard.”

“Convenient timing.”

He leaned closer into her personal space like he did when they were ready to verbally spare. She smiled and shook her head. Something must have shifted between them at that moment. Maybe it was the wintry atmosphere or some random static charge from the dry air, but he leaned forward, and almost teasingly, kissed her. A catalyst exploded between them. He expected her to pull away but she didn’t.

She deepened it.

Rational thought became lost and pure instinct took over. He cupped her face and held it for a moment longer. By the time they broke away to draw breath, words were pouring from his lips. “Scully, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to…”

The flood of apologies was stopped by a single order.

“Stop.”

He closed his mouth obediently. Her eyes had narrowed and she looked feral.

“There is nothing you should be sorry for. You...you are a good man, a good friend, Mulder…” Scully swallowed, already losing her courage. “And nothing would change between us.”

“Maybe I want them to change.”

Scully arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

Mulder did not know the exact moment he fell in love with her but the past two years and her abduction only made it worse for him. During her absence, he did not know how close he was to pulling that trigger and blowing out his brains. He never had such thoughts during the years after Samantha’s appearance but without Scully, life seemed worthless. But this moment...oh how he wished for this moment since he had laid eyes on her again.

“Change?”

“I wanted this,” he confessed, “for a very long time.”

“Mulder.”

“I understand if I have overstepped my bounds.”

He was panicking. This was falling apart, everything was becoming a slow-motion horrific accident. Thoughts of a ruined partnership, their work, being alone. He began to pull away. He needed to run. To escape.

“Mulder. Mulder!”

Her voice called out to him like a lifeline. He looked down as Scully took his hand and pulled him back down beside her. “I don’t want to ruin what we already have.”

“You won’t.”

Her hand rubbed his thigh enticingly and Mulder closed his eyes with flushed cheeks. It had been so long since someone had touched him like that. He heard the locking of a door and he knew then, he couldn’t escape. Her hands rested on his shoulders and trailed down his arms. Her chin rested on his shoulder as she hugged him from behind. “Despite me being a bit of a rebel in high school, most boys never made it this far. You’re the first,” she teased.

“First what?” Mulder breathed.

Once again during the past 48 hours, he was surprised at this side of Scully. Or was this Dana? “Mulder, don’t make me scientifically prove the nature of the whammy.”

He burst out laughing as Scully met his lips sensually and he was gone. Gone was his resolve any fears. Her hands had a mind all their own. Mulder sighed in between kisses and let Scully take the lead. Like a dancer, she came around to the front and kneeled in front of him.  Mulder smiled and ran his hands down Scully’s hips appreciatively. “Scully,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. However,” she licked her lips. “Charlie's is right next door. My mother, Bill, and Tara are right down the hall. We’ll have to be quiet.”

“Quiet,” he chuckled. He turned serious. “Scully, we can still avoid this if you want.”

“Mulder, let me tell you something,” she began, “there was always something between us, wasn’t there?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“I remember,” she continued, slipping off her robe, “after my abduction, visiting with my mom and Missy. You came in with that stupid video.” She chuckled at the memory. “I know you only stayed briefly but I was glad you came.”

“I called you. Sorry, but meeting your big sister kind of unnerved me.”

“Worse than Bill?” She bit back a grin.

“I don’t know. I think Charlie likes me, but Bill…”

“Firstborn are usually stubborn.” Mulder raised his eyebrow in mock horror. “You are my evidence. After you left, Missy stayed with me until the morning. We talked a lot. About life. You. Cosmic connections. Us.”

“She came to my apartment one night before I got your call that you were back. Someone told me I was going to be killed and at that point, I had nothing to live for. You were gone. Samantha…” Mulder scoffed. “You were real. You were always real and something I could save.”

“We’ll still find your sister.”

“At the loss of yours?”

She gave a weak smile and gently wrapped an arm around his neck. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here with me now, Mulder. You were there that night.”

“But you still couldn’t say goodbye.”

She sighed and drew him closer. “Is that what’s been bothering you the entire time being here? Deep down?” Mulder looked down and felt the atmosphere become suffocating. “Look at me. It’s not your fault, Mulder. What happened to Missy is not your fault. I don’t blame you.”

“What about your mother?”

“Don’t worry about her. Or Bill. Or Charlie.”

Mulder lowered his head. How did always do this to him? Make him weak in the knees and doubt everything he has ever known. She brought him closer. “She told me once that we were, and I quote, ‘Once in a lifetime.’”

“Who? Your sister?”

She nodded. “The first time I told her about you. I was complaining about how were stubborn you were and she told me that is was no different than me.”

Mulder gave a weak smile. His mind was melted at this point. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured this, Scully,” he whispered.

“Pictured what?”

“This.”

He pulled off her robe slowly and tossed it the ground. She shivered as the cold air hit her. Mulder saw the soft blue silk pajamas reflected in the soft light from the lamp. She blushed and whispered, “Lights on or off?”

“On,” he whispered reverently. “I want to see all of you.”

The first time he had a fantasy with her, Mulder had felt that he had committed the holiest of sins and paid with a bottle of tequila, a hangover, and a shiner on his eye that made Scully raise a suspicious eyebrow on the following Monday. But as much as he tried to fight it, he was powerless to do anything but give in. He was startled out of his thoughts as she ran her hand over him appreciatively and his body responded automatically. He let out a guttural moan; God, it had been too long since someone had touched him like that. “I’m just conducting a thorough investigation, Mulder,” she responded.

“I’m sure,” he swallowed, “but if you keep doing that, this won’t last long.”

“Well, we better get busy then.”

Mulder still could not believe this was happening. Blood rushed in his ears and he could hear the wind outside howled. Scully pulled Mulder’s shirt off first and gave a soft smile. He shivered himself as the cold air hit his skin. “Let’s get under the covers,” he whispered.

Her hands were distracting as they slipped beneath the small blanket of the double bed. He rolled to his side and slowly unbuttoned her top. Milky white skin slowly appeared and he touched her reverently slowly making his way up. When her first breast appeared, he knew she was a goddess fallen to earth. “Aphrodite, Venus,” he mumbled. He kissed her soundly and squeezed her breast slowly, trying to memorize everything. “A goddess come to life.”

Mulder grew bolder in his exploration moving his mouth to one breast and then the other, heaping worship upon her altar. She sighed breathily, raking her fingers through his hair, and leaned her head back. Mulder was already on fire but hearing her sigh “Mulder…” set him aflame.

Her arms wrapped around him and he felt her nails lightly scratch down his back. The cold and snow from the Blizzard of 1996 continued to rage outside. He could faintly hear little bits of snow and ice hitting the window glass but none of that mattered. For the first time in ages, he was alive and the icy loneliness that plagued his life had finally melted in her embrace. Time vanished and Mulder became a firm believer in missing time except, for this, he wanted his photographic memory to remember everything.

Mulder broke away from his adoration of Scully to look up and share a gaze with her. Her face was flushed as she smiled.  “It’s been so long,” she whispered.

“Try to be quiet then,” he chuckled. He kissed her before disappearing the beneath the covers. His mind raced a thousand miles per hour and he didn’t know if he should take it slow or like a flash flood. He kissed her exposed abdomen, panting heavily. “What do you want?”

“I want to remember everything,” she breathed.

Mulder smiled and placed a series of kisses until he reached the waistband of her pants. She lifted her waist without command as he pulled them down. Mulder was intoxicated by both the scent of her and the thrill of the moment. Scully was already lifting her hips as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband and pulled downwards. If Mulder was a religious man, he would be proclaiming a miracle. A variety of dirty thoughts came to mind but one stuck out in particular. Overcome with lust and passion, he nuzzled her lower half, almost bashfully, nuzzled her. She jerked in response. He sought and took her hand, calming her in the process. She relaxed slightly and felt something move above him: a pillow.

“Scully?”

“Fine,” came the muffled reply. Mulder strained his ears trying to discern if she was uncomfortable or not. “I’m good, Mulder.”

The tone in her voice threw him off. Was she in pain? Or was it something else. He began to hesitate but he felt her fingers run through his hair reassuringly. It was enough for him to continue. He went back to his ministrations, testing out this and that, teasing her until he felt her writhing beneath him. Scully’s hips lifted and he heard her muffled cries. That explains the pillow, he thought, smiling.

Mulder eventually broke away and slid back up to greet Mulder with a kiss. He was smiling; she was smiling. “That was amazing,” she chuckled. “Do you think anyone heard us?”

“I hope not. A pillow, Scully? Really?”

“Shut up.” A devilish grin spread across her face. “Enough with the formalities, Mulder. Let’s get down to business.”

She reached into the drawer and pulled out a condemn. He raised an eyebrow with the unasked question. “It’s good. And I know we’re good…” She caressed his cheek. “Perks of also being your doctor.”

“Remind me to have you make house calls more often.”

With expertise he suspected that was from her medical education, Scully slipped on the condemn and rubbed him possessively. She smiled and whispered, “I want all of you.”

She tore off his shirt and sweats eagerly. Mulder lifted his hips and crushed her lips. Scully lifted her neck as he trailed a row of kisses down to shoulder where he bit into her shoulder blade, marking her. She lifted her hips meeting hip and let out a loud cry. She howled into her shoulder. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured into her ear.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered. “The blizzard will only hide our...enjoyment for so long.”

“Well, I’m just getting started.

Something overcame both of them. Maybe it was desperateness, maybe it was the blizzard, maybe it was the moment. They both guided Mulder into her, working together as they did in everything.together. She sighed at the initial contact and moaned at the sudden fullness. “Oh, Mulder.”

He drew a sharp breath in. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, no.” She tried to relax. “It’s just been a while.”

“Me too.” He started moving slowly and she shifted beneath him. “Scully, if I’m hurting you…”

“You’re fine, Mulder. I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“What?”

“There’s a lot of you to go around.” She chuckled at her own joke. “Everything feels wonderful.”

Mulder focused his effort into trying to please her, no one but her. He wanted to make her forget the shadow the death of a lost sister had caused her along with her mother’s shame and the scorching glare that her big brother had been plaguing them since their arrival.

She breathed sharply and whispered, “More.”

He redoubled his efforts. He entwined their hands like vines and pushed them above her head. He attacked her with new fever, swallowing her breathy moans and sighs with his rough kisses. Gone were the thoughts of being trapped in a snowstorm but rather whatever it was they created. Mulder tried to show Scully how much he cared for her, what she meant, and that he would do anything for her. Her ankles crossed behind his back and dug into his muscles, holding him her. Then he felt it. She was coming with a quick series of contractions that pulled him over with her. Mulder howled into her shoulder as he became spent and collapsed on top of her. She ran her hands up in down his bare back as he withdrew, tied off the condemn, and threw it a small trash can.

“So classy,” she sighed.

“Well, you’re not a cheap date, Scully.” He was already shivering as he dashed back to her bed and to the warmth. She coiled around him and smiled against his chest. “You are like a little heater.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, G-man.”

Mulder rolled to the side and used his long arm to turn off the lamp. She whispered something to him and although he probably misunderstood, he slid out of the cold air to open the blinds slightly before rushing back under the covers to the warmth they had created. They watched the snowfall in the streetlights together. He rolled onto his side and pulled Scully’s bare form against him. “This is something I could get used to,” he teased gently.

As they watched memorized, the blinding winds had lessened slightly and now just gentle snow fell. They could see the pristine streets covered in an eerie glow from the orange street lights. Scully pulled his arm tighter around her. “I’m glad you are here,” she murmured loudly enough so he could just hear her. “When mom asked, I tried to think of an excuse not to come. Missy’s shadow still hanging over this house. The bad whatever left from me not being there or the fact it should have been me. It should’ve been me, Mulder.”

“I’m sorry for Missy,” he whispered, “I really am. But I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you again. I can’t lose you again.”

“I know,” Scully whispered. “But with you being here, right now. Stuck in a snowstorm. Making love in my childhood home, despite the rebelliousness of it, I am grateful you are here. I am happy to have you here with me, Mulder. You make this bearable.”

He was quiet for a moment before he answered. His emotions spun like the snow outside before it settled one conclusion. He hugged her tightly, vowing to protect her and keep her happy no matter what. “No place where I would rather be,” he replied. He kissed the crook of her neck. “Sleep.”

With a final sigh of contentment, Scully let herself drift off finally as Mulder kept vigil and watched the falling snow.

. . . . . . . . .

Sunday, January 7, 1996

Because they were creating their own Christmas holiday in January and the snowstorm prevented Mrs. Scully from attending mass with her family, she decided the next thing: celebrate a January Christmas on a Sunday. Charlie was the first to wake up that morning at four a.m, somehow beating his mother’s habitual early rising. He had always been a light sleeper as a result of his father’s early morning revelries. He slipped downstairs to start the coffee first and noticed the rumpled blankets and absent guest on the couch. He raised an eyebrow before smirking. He and Dana had always been close growing up. Unlike their old siblings, only a year separated Dana and Charlie and the two often found themselves partners-in-crime covering for each other’s adolescent antics. He smirked as he sipped his morning coffee, already guessing what had transpired judging by Mulder’s empty couch. He supposed that he could still be a reliable accomplice to his sister.

At 4:30, with his coffee in hand, he twisted the doorknob gently and found it locked; a tell-tale sign Dana was up to something. He jiggled the handout a bit more before rasping lightly against the white wood door. “Dana,” he called out quietly. He eyed Bill’s room and his mothers. “Dae.”

There was movement on the other side. Some muffled exchange and cussing about the cold. The door opened the crack and he saw his sister’s narrowed blue eyes in the twilight light from the Christmas tree downstairs. “I thought I would give you a wake-up call before mom or Bill got up. And Mulder too.” He smelled the familiar scent of a good night spent with someone wafting off her. “And you may want to clean up?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m the first one up, promise. And I won’t tell a soul. Take my coffee.”

“Not a word,” she breathed.

“See you in a bit.”

She shut the door soundly and Charlie bit back his laughter at the entire situation. Downstairs in the kitchen with only the stove light to keep him company, Dana emerged look fresh with Mulder trailing behind her like a puppy dog. Both avoided eye contact with him. Charlie stood at the kitchen counter, fighting a grin. “Coffee’s fresh. And I won’t tell a soul, promise.”

Mulder’s eyes shot up in alarm and glanced at Scully as some unspoken conversation occurred between them. She was pouring herself a cup. “Charlie already knows,” she moaned.

“How?’ Mulder asked.

“I’m not going to castrate you,” he shrugged. “Dae and I were partners in crime. We used to cover for each other when we would do more questionable things.”

“Like that library fire?” She asked.

“Once and they never caught me.”

“Don’t forget your big sister is an FBI agent.”

“Right. What are you gonna do? Arrest me, copper?”

Mulder watched the exchanged and wondered faintly if it would have been that way with Samantha. Charlie nodded towards Mulder. “He’s the best you’ve done.”

“I appreciate you have taken an interest in my taste of men,” she muttered. “Mulder, do you want anything?”

“I’m good, Scully.”

Charlie tilted his head. “Why do you call her that?”

“What?”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably.

“Why do you call her Scully?”

“Why not? She’s Scully,” Mulder answered. He shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s cute.”

“Charlie, remember I also know how to get away with murder if I wanted to,” Scully hissed. She blew on her cup of coffee. “And no one would be the wiser.”

“What else is new. If Missy could see you now.”

“You are bad enough by yourself.”

Mulder looked away at the mention of the Melissa Scully. Charlie took a cup of the cupboard and poured some coffee. He offered it to Mulder like an olive branch. “I don’t judge, Mulder. You’re good for my sister, despite what others may think.” The brother watched his eyes dart toward his sister. “I know about her abduction and everything else. You make her happy. I see it. I can hear about it every time we talk. You’re good for Dana. And that’s good enough for me. Even if you are sleeping with her.” Their silence was insinuating. “Oh, nice one, Dana. First time in mom’s house. In your childhood bed?”

“A needle between the toes with a small enough dosage to stop your heart,” she told Charlie ominously.

Her brother watched Mulder become at ease a bit and smiled. He took the cup of coffee. “I wouldn’t cross her, Charlie. She shot me once.”

“Dana’s all fire and no bite,” he replied.

Mulder glanced at Scully and pulled at his shirt to reveal a puckered bullet wound on his left shoulder. “Wanna bet?”

“No way.” Charlie bent closer to examine the wound. “Dana actually shot you?”

“To be fair, I was out of my mind. But your sister is good enough to perform surgery with a PPK and take it out with a field surgery kit in her apartment. I wouldn’t tease her.”

Charlie chuckled. “I have a scar on my arm from one our antics that never healed. Once she mars you, she owns you. Welcome to the club.”

The love-struck gaze between the two did not go unnoticed.

By six a.m., the rest of the Scully clan had awoken. Charlie watched the morning unfurl with delight. Dana was more reserved than usual. Mulder wouldn’t leave his sister's side. Bill had started mastering their father’s glare and directed towards Mulder. His sister-in-law and mother seemed ignorant. But Charlie also knew his mother.

Unlike Bill and Dana, he had followed a path similar to Melissa where he discovered his own way. After high school, he waited tables, eventually becoming a hotshot bartender in Philadelphia before finding a full-time job in marketing where he could utilize all the sale skills he had mastered throughout the year. He also learned how to read people. Mrs. Scully wanted to keep Mulder at a distance but she would not let her feelings disappointment show for Dana’s sake. By eight, there was a buffet of bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns and biscuits and gravy. Everyone helped themselves to large portions (except Mulder and Dana who shared a plate). Dana made up an excuse about bad habits in the field. Charlie knew better.

By nine, there was the unofficial six o’clock Christmas roll call to be held fashionably late three hours later. Presents were exchanged and Bill’s glare seemed to grow. Halfway through the present exchange, Charlie excused himself to refill his coffee with Bill trailing his younger brother into the kitchen. “Are you helping me with the coffee now, Bill?”

Bill stalked behind Charlie and shut the door to the kitchen behind them. “Don’t you find it a little suspicious?”

The younger brother arched an eyebrow suspiciously as he poured a fresh coffee. “What are you talking about?’

“Dana and her partner.” Bill scrunched his face like a child at yucky food. “Mulder.”

“What about him?”

“Doesn’t this sit with as a bit odd or off?”

“What?”

“Them. What they’re doing.”

“You sound worse than dad. Dana is a grown woman. Let her do what she wants.”

“Haven’t you seen how he looks at her. There has to be more to it.”

“So what if there is, Bill? That is none of our business.”

“If dad could see Dana now, his little pride and joy, now. I knew the FBI was a bad idea. A boys club. I told you.”

“What are you trying to imply? That Dana should be at home and have a nice doctor for a husband?”

“Well, at least Melissa would be alive,” he spat.

“You don’t know that.”

Both brothers turned around to see their youngest sister’s eyes narrowed dangerously at her brothers. Charlie knew that scorching glare that she seemed to develop all her own. He looked away trying to find something that would occupy his time. “Charlie, stop hiding from me.”

“I didn’t say anything, Dana. You’re the one leaving Mulder alone with mom.”

“He’s a big boy and Tara seems to have taken quite a sign of affection to him.”

Her steely blue eyes zeroed in on Bill whose own look hardened in determination. “You know full well he doesn’t belong here, Dana. He’s already ruined this family enough. First with your abduction and then with Missy. Where does it end with him?”

“He had nothing to do with my abduction. And don't think I don’t know about who convinced mom to finally give up hope and get my headstone,” she hissed. “At least Mulder never gave up hope on me.”

“What was I supposed to do, Dana? Dad is gone and then, less than a year, you are too. How could you continue to put her through that? He was only making things worse.”

Scully slammed a coffee cup hard onto the counter with such force that she broke the handle off bashing her left hand. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed. She reached for a towel in order to stem the blood flow as Charlie looked down in alarm. “I hope you’re happy now.”

“Charlie? Bill? Dana? Is everything all right?” There mother’s voice came from the other room.

Bill watched his little sister continue to stare daggers at him. “Everything’s fine, mom,” Bill said. “Charlie and Dana were just cleaning up.”

Still aware of her smoldering gaze, he left without saying a word. Charlie looked at her impressed. “I think that’s the first time I have ever seen him shut up just be someone looking at him. FBI teach you that?”

“Sometimes we just learn that we are stronger than we give ourselves credit for,” she answered evasively. “Charlie, run to the first aid kit and grab it for me? I think it’s still under the sink.”

“Don’t you need stitches or something?”

“Probably but were we going to get that in this weather? Check the kitchen drawer. I think mom has some superglue in there.”

“You’re not serious, Dae.”

“If you can’t do it, go get Mulder then,” she snapped. She pulled back the towel to reveal a small gash going down her palm. “God forbid mom sees this.”

“I’m not the enemy.” He went to the kitchen drawer and began to search for the requested item. “Is it true that you actually shot, Mulder?”

“Yes.”

Scully was clearly distracted. She turned the sink on and ran warm water over the small gash. Charlie watched in amazement as his sister did not flinch as she cleaned the wound. She skillfully dressed the wound and thankfully did not need to glue the gash shut. He leaned against the counter as she took a deep breath to steady herself. “Dana?”

“I didn’t plan on this blizzard and I knew he wanted to leave. He’s been eyeing that exit since we came here. But I’m glad he’s here, Charlie. As fucked up it is sounds, he’s made this bearable for me.”

“Missy liked him, you know. She told me about him on the rare occasion we talked. I don’t what you all have going on and I don’t care what’s got Bill’s undies in a twist, he’s good for you, Dana.”

Scully motioned for her brother’s help and he tied off the bandage around her hand. “I’m glad to hear that,” she whispered. Scully flashed a smile. “I’m glad you get along with him.”

“He’s…” Charlie leaned against the counter, crossed his arm, and tried to find an answer. “He’s not what I expected from you, Dana.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Daniel? Marcus? What was that other guy’s name? Your FBI instructor…Jack?”

“Maybe I should have told Missy instead of you.”

“Oh, she told me everything as it was when I could get a hold of her.”

Scully grew quiet. “You miss her.”

“We all do,” she answered.

“Dana, Charlie, are you going to stay in the kitchen all morning?”

Their mother’s voice pulled them from the tension that surrounded them. Charlie motioned with his arm for Scully to reenter the living room. Big Brother Bill was discussing something with Tara. Mulder was talking to Maggie that caused her to laugh and try and hide it behind her hand. Bill glared at her partner and then directed his wrath towards Charlie.

“You certainly took your time,” the oldest brother stated. He narrowed his eyes as Mulder and then Scully. “What happened to your hand, Dana?”

“I must’ve cut it,” she said dismissively. Charlie sat next to his mother and Scully next to Mulder. “I’m okay, really.”

Mulder was staring at her the same way he did when he was on the edge of forming a theory. He gingerly lifted her bandaged hand for an inspection as her and Charlie’s gaze met. “Are you sure?” Mulder asked. Charlie could hear the pain in his voice. “Scully?”

“Fine, Mulder. I promise.”

“You need to be more careful, Dana,” their mother admonished. “Now, let’s continue where we left off.”

Charlie watched Dana smile and lean against Mulder’s shoulder. Bill cast a withering glare before picking up a wrapped present for Tara. If their mother suspected of something, she wisely kept silent and the peace.

At January 7th continued, so did the snow. Mrs. Scully continued to play hostess entertaining her children. They all tried to pass the time by watching endless movies on the television. There was a feeling of relative peace in the household. After dinner, Bill and Tara retired to bed early as did Charlie and Mrs. Scully. Something about the notion of endless snow made the household sleepy and go to bed early. Mulder and Scully were left downstairs on his makeshift living room bed watching the weather channel on television

Now that they were alone, Mulder was afraid of doing anything else that resembled what they had the night before in her bedroom. Now that they were alone, downstairs, he wondered what he was again doing here. Stuck in Baltimore. In the middle of a snowstorm. In her mother’s house. “So today was nice,” he started.

“Bill was such an ass,” she answered in a quiet voice. She lifted her bandaged hand to inspect it. “But Charlie seems to like you.”

“Does he know?” He took her bandaged hand and held in, resting it on his thigh. She arched an eyebrow as he suddenly pulled back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mulder.” She played with his long fingers. “Last night wasn’t a mistake. I wanted it just as much as you.”

“But do you view it as a mistake. We can’t go back,” he said cautiously. “What happens when the snow is done and I go back to Alexandria, you go back to Georgetown, and we walk into the Hoover the next morning? What about the work?”

“The work,” she muttered. She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Mulder, there’s more to it than the work. It’s our journey now, together.” He was quiet. “Or was I wrong in assuming so?”

He shook his head. “It became about you,” he whispered. “It’s all about you. When we were on the bridge and you were being held hostage by that alien bounty hunter and I had to choose you or my sister...the only thing I saw was you. The only thing I could think of was you. I mean, here was my sister but you were the only constant thing I had in a very long time.” He gave Scully a wistful smile. “You were one heck of a little spy.”

“Still trying to debunk your work,” she teased.

“What are we doing, Scully?” he asked. His eyes stared down the hallways that led upstairs to her sleeping family. “Last night…”

“What about last night?”

“Was it a mistake,” Mulder asked. He let his insecurity show. “What we did? I’m half surprised that you haven’t thrown me out into the blizzard.”

“Why would I do that?” She played with his hair. “What?”

“This is something else I can get past. This Scully…” He played with her fingers and the gauze bandage. “You are so…”

“What?”

“Relaxed,” he replied, unable to say anything else.

“Mulder, I told you the truth. I am glad you are here. You make all this bearable. The past few months since Missy’s death, I sensed some sort of...tension between my mother and me. I feel like a part of her wishes it should have been me instead of her. I told you that she and Missy were close like me and dad right?” She shook her head. “I am glad you are here with me, Mulder. I don’t know where we are going down this journey or what the next step will be,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this,” she motioned back and forth between   “to stop.”

Mulder relaxed slightly and gave her a wistful smile. “You are full of surprises, Scully.”

“You said it yourself,” she replied with a smirk, “I’m an x-file.”

Only Scully could turn something he said into something so wonderful. “I want to believe…” he teased.

She leaned closer and kissed him with a sigh. Mulder lounged back into the couch taking her with him. Unlike the night before, they were not rushed this time. He felt like a teenager and was about to get in trouble. He shifted Scully so they both were on their side facing each other. “We can’t be too loud.”

“We could go back upstairs,” he breathed.

His hands were remapping her body, cataloging each sigh and twist of her body. When he found that magic little space between her legs, she gasped. Sensing there was more coming, he increased his ministrations. There was suddenly a different sound coming from upstairs: the creaking of old stairs.

“Wait, wait. Scully!” He hissed.

She bit into his shoulder as another wave of pleasure overtook her. The footsteps were growing closer and despite Mulder’s handy work briefly pausing, the sensations Scully was causing was making him extremely uncomfortable suddenly. “Scully,” he whispered. “Someone’s coming.”

“I’m trying,” came the rushed pant in her ear, “but you’re making this very hard by being so good.”

Mulder awkwardly pulled a blanket over her and closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was asleep. Scully tried to smother a giggle that was threatening to erupt. Her hands played with him teasingly and he clinched his eyes in response. They both heard the footsteps drawing closer and Bill’s familiar voice mutter, “God damn them,” before stalking away.

Scully’s head emerged from underneath the blanket and looked at Mulder with hooded eyes. “What else do you do, Mulder?”

. . . . . . . . . .

January 8, 1996

The snow had finally stopped the next morning and it looked like an alien land as the snow reflected like crystals in the rising sun. Mulder stood by the front door, admiring the snow the stopped just below his knee through the glass storm door. He could walk through that, couldn’t he? The idea of facing Bill with the possible knowledge that he slept with his baby sister made him sick inside. Charlie was enough and did not seem keen on maiming him but Bill…

Mulder shivered.

Would he have been the same if Sam was alive? Sam...Melissa Scully. The crushing guilt came back suddenly as he was suddenly brought out of his reverie when Scully came up beside him with a cup of coffee. “He doesn’t know,” she murmured. “And even if he did, he wouldn’t say anything.” Scully eyed the snowfall. “And you wouldn’t make it down the block.”

“What makes you think I would be going alone?”

Her laughter was soft and she pulled at his hand, bringing him back into the kitchen. Mrs. Scully was making another breakfast fit for an army. Charlie was reading yesterday’s paper. Tara was watching the news while she helped her mother-in-law with the food preparation. Bill was conspicuously absent. “At least the weather has cleared up, Fox. They usually plow the roads within a day so you and Dana can get back to work. I must admit, I enjoyed your company as an added guest.”

“Thank you for not letting me freeze to death.”

Maggie chuckled. “I’m not cold-hearted, Fox.”

“Besides, the entire Scully family is not out to kill you,” Charlie added from behind the news section. Dana sat next to her brother and tossed a balled napkin at him. “I’m just stating a fact, Dana.”

Tara tore her eyes away from the television. “They are talking about shutting down the federal government for a few days because of the weather. Even if you could go back to work, you wouldn’t need to.”

“We’re classified as essential personnel,” Scully replied, “but it wouldn’t make a damn difference because of the government shutdown. We aren’t getting paid right now  .”

“Think Newt Gingrich orchestrated this blizzard, Scully?”

“It’d be a convenient excuse anyways,” she laughed.

“You wouldn’t have this problem if you were still a doctor.”

All eyes spun to Bill who looked less than pleased that morning. “Bill, I told you to stay in bed. Throwing up all night.”

“Throwing up?” Maggie Scully raised an eyebrow, going into mother mode. “Are you okay, Bill?”

“Fine,” he groaned. “I saw something very unpleasant.”

He directed his scorching gaze towards Mulder as Tara and Mrs. Scully abandoned breakfast to baby Big Brother Bill back up to bed. Scully remained silent as Charlie folder the paper causally. “Well, Dana,” he murmured, “at least you still have one Scully on your side and that knows.”

“Shut up, Charlie.”

“Don’t worry, Mulder. Bill hates everyone that Dana saw. You’re nothing special.”

Underneath the table, Mulder felt Scully squeeze his hand and give him a soft smile. Charlie set the paper aside and looked at his sister. “You were rather loud last night, Dana.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as Mulder wisely decided to take a sip of coffee and keep his mouth shut.

“For what it’s worth, Mulder. I’m glad you are here with Dana. Certainly spices things up in more ways than one,” he laughed.

Scully blushed and squeezed her partner’s hand as Mulder chuckled, unable to come up with a reply.

. . . . . . . . .

January 10, 1996

By Tuesday, the city and state authorities had worked through the past 48 hours to clear the roads enough for Charlie, Mulder, and Scully decide it was time to depart Maggie Scully’s house and get back to their own lives. Mrs. Scully said goodbye with Tara in front of the house. Mulder caught Bill’s scorching glare from upstairs. Goodbyes were said by Mulder, Scully, Charlie as they departed to go their separate way. As the FBI partners got into the recently unearthed car to head by to Georgetown.

“Not how you thought it would turn out, huh?”

“Not bad at all, Scully.”

“Bill certain hates you.”

“Well, your mother doesn’t. Yet.”

“Give it time,” he answered.

She laughed as they began the treacherous drive back to spend an extra day off together before the snows safely melted.

[eldritchsurveys]

601.

How long has loneliness been your friend? >> So, before I take this survey, let me just say that someone should check on joybucket @ bzoink dot com because... oof. That being said, she makes some of the more interesting surveys so I’ma try taking this one anyway... Loneliness is something I’m learning to live with, and not try to solve all the time. I feel more stressed out when I try to fix it or bury it than if I just... sit with it, and let it exist. After all, I’ve felt lonely on-and-off for most of my life, I know the feeling isn’t going to destroy me. No point in being afraid of it.

When was the last time you remember not being lonely? >> I mean, I don’t feel lonely right now. It’s not a constant feeling, it comes and goes as it pleases.

How many guys have attempted to rape you? >> I think I’ll skip that.

When was the last time a cop committed a crime against you? >> Never. Thankfully. Trying to get justice against a police officer is like, literally fucking impossible in this country.

Who was the last person you missed? >> ---

Who is the last person you heard about who died in a car accident? >> I... uh, I don’t know? Probably someone on the news.

Have you ever lost a best friend in a car accident? >> No.

Have you ever had a woman try to seduce you sexually? >> Sure.

Do you ever pretend to not be so alone, or are you honest about it? >> I’m honest about it to myself, but I don’t go telling other people about it. That would make me uncomfortable and probably just intensify the feeling.

Are you wearing leggings right now? >> Nope. (Also, lmao, the mood switch...)

Do you wish you had a new pair of fuzzy pajamas?  >> Nah. I mean, I love fuzzy pajamas, but I can’t wear them. I get too hot. :(

When was the last time you went to church? >> Easter.

Do you wish there were a good church in your town? >> There are multiple progressive, service-oriented, open-and-affirming churches in this city.

Do you wish you lived in a Christian bubble? >> I sure don’t.

What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? >> I don’t have one.

Who are five of your favorite down-to-earth singers? >> I don’t know what a down-to-earth singer is.

Is your hair messed up? >> Nah.

Do you wish you could let your anger show, and not hold it in? >> I have no reason to want to vent my anger to other people. It’s really not productive.

Why do you hold in your anger? >> I don’t hold it in so much as I just... keep it to myself. I process it internally, not externally. Any time I try processing it externally, people (me or others) and/or objects get hurt/broken.

Name someone who sexually harassed or abused you. Have you ever told anyone about this? If not, do you want to? Do you fear that no one would believe you? >> I’m not going to name him. I’ve told multiple people about it. At least two of them did not believe me, and treated me either like a liar or like someone making a big deal out of nothing.

What's one thing you hate about being a woman? >> I’m not a woman. One thing I hate about society is that I have to be called one.

Do you wish you could be yourself without restraint? >> I am myself. Any restraint I employ is for good reason (like, you know, not being hurtful or needlessly disruptive), not because I feel pressured to stifle myself.

Name one good person you know. >> Meh.

Who would you like to talk to ? >> A good listener.

Was your last crush a good person, or a heartbreaker? >> ---

Have you ever had a crush like you back and be with you? >> Hm.

Have you ever told someone you had a crush on them? >> Sure.

Has anyone ever tried to force you to pretend you were suicidal, so they could get money? >> No??? This is... a really unfathomable situation for me. I need some more context.

Who do you wish you could trust? Name one person. >> ---

Has anyone ever accused you of being gay, then tried to seduce you? >> No.

Would you be more open about your faith if it weren't for persecution? >> ---

Do you dream about being loved? >> No.

Who do you love? Name one person . >> Can Calah.

Do you wish your parents loved you? >> Yeah, I really do, actually.

Would you be ok if your parents loved you? >> I mean, I don’t know how much of my life that would change, but it sure would be nice.

Why does everyone hate you? >> I don’t know anyone that hates me. If they do, it’s not my problem.

Do you stand up to bullies, or give in to them? >> The last time I was bullied was so long ago that I can’t even fathom what bullying would look like in my present life.

Do you think it's ok to last out at someone when you're angry? >> No, I don’t.

Why are you so nice? >> I’m not, though.

Do you realize that most people taking this survey are probably living in a bubble? >> I don’t believe that at all and I’m not sure why you do.

Do you know anyone who's not selfish? >> Most people I know are a pretty logical mix of self-serving and other-serving. Then some other people are more other-serving than self-serving, to a harmful degree.

Do you know any true Christian women? Women who aren't selfish or rude? >> Sigh...

When was the last time you had a hug? Can you remember how many years it's been? >> I don’t mean to be glib, but like... I’m almost amused at the sheer pathos in this survey. Anyway, uh. I get hugs a lot inworld and it’s nice.

When was the lsat time you switched doctors? and do you like your new one? >> ---

Have you ever overdosed? >> I’ve tried.

Do you wish all the people who have tried to kill you would get caught? >> I don’t think anyone’s tried to kill me, although one person did threaten it. I wish he’d gotten caught for multiple things he’s done to me, but that’s water under the bridge now.

Who was the last couple that you'd expect to get divorced (that did)? >> ---

Who was the last person that you'd expect to turn on you (that did)? >> ---

Name a church that just wants your money. >> I mean, I’m sure I don’t know.

What's the last church you left because of the way you were treated? >> ---

How bad do you want a mother? >> Sometimes I want one really badly, but most of the time I’m accustomed to the fact that I’ve never had one and I never will.

Do you pretend that you don't want a mother? >> I’m sure I did when I was younger, but I’m past pretending at this point. It’s just not as relevant anymore.

Do you wish you could afford make-up that wouldn't get ruined when you cry? >> This just makes me think of Jenna Marbles, I’m sorry.

What was the last church you loved that closed down? >> None, but the church down the road from us, where we go to Christmas and Easter services (and where I used to go when I was trying out Christianity again for the last time) got a new pastor and I’m mad lmao. I liked the old one!!!

Who was the last friend that betrayed you? >> ---

Name 6 people who have tried to kill you. >> Six??????

Do you think calling gossip "tea" is stupid? >> I really do not, and I don’t want to talk to anyone who thinks like this.

Who told you that reaching out to friends for support when you're grieving a loss is a sin? and is this person a leader at a church? >> You know, out of all the surprising-sounding things in this survey, this is the least-surprising. Christianity is full of horror stories and this just fits right in. (But no, I’ve never been told this.)

Do Avril Lavigne songs speak to you? >> I mean, I just don’t listen to Avril Lavigne, so I haven’t had the opportunity to find out if any of her songs speak to me.

Do you hate being poor? >> Sometimes I do, most of the time I deal with it with as much dignity as I can manage.

Were you bullied at youth group? >> Not to my recollection.

Which church has the biggest bullies? >> ---

Who lied to the police about you because they were mad at you? >> (The way these are worded, it’s like these are common occurrences? ... Are they? I need more people to take this survey.)

Do you trust any of your firends on facebook? >> Most of the people I have added on facebook (you know, all 20 or whatever) are people I trust in at least some capacity. Not necessarily the full capacity, but like... enough, I guess.

Are you a healer? >> No.

Do you have supernatural gifts? >> I have whatever I have.

Does anyone appreciate you? >> Sure.

What would you like to tell someone? >> Meh.

Do you look your age? >> According to popular opinion, I look younger.

Are you sleepy? >> No.

Do you hallucinate? >> Not unless I’ve taken something that makes me hallucinate.

Have you ever seen a spirit? >> Maybe.

Can you see spirits? >> Doubtful.

What do you want for Christmas? >> Money.

What's something the Lord healed you of? >> He hasn’t healed me of anything. We don’t have that kind of relationship.

Do you wish you didn't have to keep your faith a secret? and that you weren't persecuted? >> ---

Do you wish you were loved? >> Hmm.

Do you pretend you don't want to be loved? >> I used to, when I thought that was the way to protect myself.

Can remember how many years it's been since someone loved you? >> It hasn’t been that long.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

On a photo of a not exactly human face I sculpted....

labratbren said:                                                                                                                            What do you do with them when they are done? Do you ever post pictures of the finished product? 

Ah, well, um....short answer? Nothing.

Here’s the longer answer (VERY long)....

While I was always drawn to sculpting, I really didn’t sculpt growing up. 

I mean, I tried to use clay I dug out of the ground, drying it in the sun, when I was tiny. Naturally it crumbled except for this lump of a head I still have. In Kindergarden the art teacher had his own kiln and let us use the scraps left over from the pots he had us make. I still have a loop armed alien and creature head I made, but he left with his kiln the next year. The dough art they had us make in second grade was gone by the next year, ‘cause this buggy and humid climate doesn’t agree with it. My parents gave me modling clay, but I hated it. I wanted something that would “stay”. 

But everyone acted like sculpting was hard, so maybe I wasn’t missing out. 

Then one day, when I was 19 or so, my hands got bored. Anyone would have laughed if I’d said I was bored right then. I had a book open to one side of me, a magazine on the other, as I went back and forth reading both. I was also  listening to music AND watching the movie The Brothers Karamazov at the same time. I have this problem where I always feel like I should be doing more, and when I am doing something I get itchy to be doing something else. Like my brain isn’t fully occupied even if I’m really enjoying whatever. That day my hands needed something to do, and there was this block of clay left over from a project one of Pop’s projects (a river system display, I think) It was just sittin’ there on the porch so....

And it turned out sculpting was easy! I mean, maybe not art bit doodling around having fun making faces. Do NOT be intimidated by sculpting! It comes so much more easiy than trying to convert our 3D world into some 2D drawing. Seriously, try drawing a nose head on! But toss on any wedge on a sculpted face and you have a nose...

Ok, maybe I just am bad at drawing! But I really do wish more people would try sculpting.

Anyway, the clay was another dead end, but it did inspire me to hunt for something I could “make stay”. And that something was sculpey. 

Whenever I was certain I would have the place completely to myself for a full hour I’d go stand out on the ramp behind the house and sculpt. It wasn’t too often, what with the house also being the office of the family business and my family being the sort of close one that did everything together. I couldn’t sculpt and be watched. All I needed was an our because I sculpted quickly. In an hour I’d have a little bust, rough as heck but with some detail I liked.

But then I ran out of places to put my busts in my already overstuffed bedroom. I solved this by just slicing the faces off and just baking them. I could glue magnets to them and line all the edges of my metal bookcases.

I did dabble in other things. I tried a full figure and made a few little stick figures. I sculpted something from Babylon 5 for my brother, mixed my box painting (I used to paint boxes when I had a table) with sculpting for a Discworld box for Mom, Easter bunnies for my parents, magnets for everyone, Christmas ornaments...

When she saw the Christmas tree ornaments my cousin Katharine, dollhouse collector, roped my into making her a doll. She had specific requirements for a 6″ tall Beast in what I gathered were Regency era clothes from her decription. In my ignorance I assumed the doll would have to have a jointed body, fabric clothes and furry fur, which kinda drove me nuts! But somehow I pulled it off! I sculpted a few more of those little dolls (no sewing on these!) as gifts for my parents and brother, as well as a bit of goofing around for myself (I liked my little  Sleestack a couple decades late for little me). But that was that.

Then the weirdest darn thing happened: I was suddenly stricken with a full imaginative block!

I stopped sculpting. I stopped painting boxes. I stopped writing stories. Worst of all I stopped dreaming! I still remember how upsetting that was, this sense of loss. It was like having a part of me paralyzed.  

It lasted years. Terrible years.

When my father became sick right after my irreparable rift with my brother, as I was facing the most terrible external loss of my life, something woke back up in me. Constant, vivid dreams, elaborate epics spiraling through night after night, images and stories that writing didn’t full  satisfy the need to express. I started painting miniature boxes again. Box after box after box....

But no sculpting.

I dunno why I still didn’t sculpt. I just didn’t.

Then my father died.

Pop’s death was a devistating moment. My father. My best friend. When Pop was sick I told him he couldn’t die because I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. There is a lot of truth in that.  I love Mom dearly, but our brains work very differently. Pop might have been smarter, and his depth of knowledge was certainly mind blowing, but our mental wiring followed a similar eccentric pattern. That said, somewhere along the line my parents and I had become a sort of unit, functioning as one. Think one of those anime giant robots made of smaller ships, Voltron or something. Then imagine it functioning with the head section missing. Five years later we still feel that void.

So anyway, Pop was dead, the family business gone with him, and I was unemployed with no qualifications in a rural area with few job opportunities anyway. This was, and frankly still is, not a good situation. And my cousin Katharine thought she had a solution.

Katharine sent me a letter suggesting I make dolls. She’d shown the doll I’d made her to a dealer who said I had talent, and she sent me a copy of Art Doll Quarterly to show me that my “weird” stuff might have a market...

Honestly I felt inspired by this. I immediately seriously considered it. I’d work a bit bigger than 6″ scale, sculpt the clothes instead of the stress and tedium of sewing, and figure out a way to do ball joints. Because each thing would be unique (until I could teach myself mold making) and letting go of something I make is soooo hard for me, I decided to use the story of one of my painted boxes as inspiration. I’d make wolf people, which I figured would create enough sameness to help me let go, but enough variety to keep me from being bored. I quickly sketched out a reasonable design and got to work.

Obviously things didn’t turn out to be so simple. Sculpting ball joints by hand is fiddly to manage. It would need a bit of experimenting. I could do a head on day, casually. I could do the upper body, arms and waist joint  with a lot of effort another day. A third day would be waist and legs. Fourth day was the hellish threading. I wasn’t set up for safely storing unbaked work in progress, so I had to do these marathon one sitting sculptings on the bodies. Then I’d rest up a few days and just sculpt a few heads.

The ball jointing drove me nuts. So I gave myself permission to not worry about wolfheads, but just sculpt whatever head happened. From the backlog of heads I’d just pick one to experiment with body making. In just a couple months I was making progress.

The first discouragement came with an art show. The county has a sort of art society and they were having a sculpture show. I was scared silly to show my work to anyone, since at that point it was 2014 and I wasn’t even on Tumblr. No one had seen them. Still, when I went to see about entering the lady there was encouraging. I was soooo nervous and tentatively hopeful when I went to the grand opening with Mom amd my cousin Shirley. I was soon deflated. No one seemed to notice my figures. My work was the odd one out anyway in a sea of found object sculptures, colored paper masks and ceramics abstractly suggesting the figural. Also, everyone there knew each other and so no one was talking to me. At one point I did this really sad thing of hovering near my figures in case anyone came near so I could sorta maybe get them to notice them....

When the show ended a few weeks later the lady very nicely said at least a couple school children had liked weird figures, ‘cause, you know, kids like that fantasy stuff.  I definitely should sculpt a lot bigger and maybe use terra cotta instead....

Yeah. I felt my stuff was crap. I was crap. Why had I ever thought anyone would like my crap? Heck, I’d thought I’d at least find a club I could join, belonging, friends....

But, I kept at the doll making experimenting, crap or not. That winter it was too cold for much sculpting in my unheated house, but I could work on trying to figure out how to paint them....

Then life happened don’t ya know. At first I thought it was a temporary break while I dealt with crisis after another. I kept sculpting heads, strictly sculpting a head a day (still just an hour each)....until the spreading collapsed floor situation forced me to move the box I’d made for storing the bodiless heads out. And that was that for doll making.

Still, I kept sculpting. I went back to just the faces....

And that’s where I am now. I gave up sculpting every day, because I no longer have time. I watch a movie and sculpt. I bake the face and take pics I post on here. I wrap ‘em in tissue and put them in a storage container....

And that’s it.

I don’t do anything with them. I’m not entirely convinced there is any point anymore. My life isn’t going to include free time. Or tables to work on. It has been years after all, and it gets less and less likely I’ll make anything more than a few boxes full of chipped up sculpey faces for the nephews to find when I die. Well, unless they follow my brother’s advice and throw them out unopened! LOL

I sculpt just ‘cause I sculpt. I post pics of them on Tumblr, ‘cause Mom isn’t really all that interested in looking at them. They aren’t ever going to be anything, but I guess if I enjoy making them and someone out there likes looking at them that’s okay. They may be nothing, but that’s something.

[honkhonkrichard]

what're your tozier family hcs!!!

WHY I’M GLAD YOU ASKED, DANIEL.

- The Tozier’s are, first and foremost, very loving and fun and kind to their son.

- They’re Christian, but stopped making Richie go to church when he was around 11 or 12, where he would, instead choose if he wanted to (most often he did not, Went and Maggie didn’t mind.) 

- They’re surprisingly wealthy, and own a large blue house. Richie lived in the top bedroom with a slanted ceiling with 20 something posters until he moved to the basement, where he occupied until he moved out. There were big sliding doors, one of which had a chalkboard with the family chores. (Not unlike Teddy’s room from Good Luck Charlie)

- Went and Richie are closer than Richie and Maggie, mostly because they have similar interests. Went bought Richie his first guitar when he was 8, the guitar he used from highschool all the way to LA (Named Calpurnia ;)) when he 15. 

- Went and Richie also have a distinct passion/interest for storytelling and entertaining. Went’s that dad who, at the end of a barbecue who has a large crowd listening to his stories (often of his times growing up in Italy). He loves that Richie picked comedy and goes to every show he makes, and when Richie grows up and does a tour, Went will burn the state of Maine to the ground before he misses seeing at least one show.

- Richie and Maggie’s is considerably more awkward, espically when Richie learns Maggie isn’t his real mother (from here) but Maggie loves Richie dearly and Richie loves Maggie. They bond over candy, their love for wine/wine tasting (Richie isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he sure as shit loves trying them all out) and the fact that their both kind of hoarders.

- Richie collects both practical things like notebooks, pens, books, and posters but also things that you could say “But I might need it later!!” to like popsicle sticks, bobby pins, safety pins, pop cans, pill bottles, headphones and small gears. Maggie collects wine glasses, mugs, any number of fancy/antique objects.��

-Maggie and Richie can’t go shopping anywhere alone because they will buy carrots, chips, wine, some nail polish, a new poster, pop, cereal, 7 new books, a movie, some yarn, a shit ton of candy and come home with bags and bags and a long bill to Went, rubbing his temples and saying: “We only needed MILK.” 

- “oops” “I’m sorry Darling”

- Maggie and Went both look very young, and dress like they’re still in their twenties. They are both very kind and compassionate people (and Went has said on multiple occasions that “So help me God if that Bill Boy is ignored by his old man again tell him I’m gonna tape him to the couch and force him to watch Footloose with me”

- Sonia Kaspbrak hates the two of them. She thinks Maggie is a whore and Wentworth is a know-it-all. All of the Tozier’s take great pride in being hated by her, considering that Maggie and Went are famous for being kind, loved souls around Derry.

- Went calls Richie sport, kid, kiddo, Chee and Little Man and Maggie calls him Chee, sweetie and Love. Richie calls his parent’s Dad/Ma

- Maggie calls Went DW sometimes, as in Darling/Dear Went, Went calls her Angel/Angel-Love, My Sweet, or Baby. Occasionally, if she’s tipsy and perhaps a bit riled up, she’ll him “My Italian Stallion” and that point, Richie knows he should probably go out.

- Went is not above letting Richie drink a beer. Maggie says that he can drink in the house but he isn’t to go anywhere he can’t be seen and no more than 4. 

- Richie and his parents often hold barbecues where Went cooks, Maggie does the bar and Richie (and often times Stan, as well) provide entertainment.

- they have a weekly family night, it’s usually going to the movies or eating at a nice restaurant. Richie is never free on Wednesdays past 5pm. 

- Stanley is an honourary Tozier, and has been called My Boy, My Son and Mr. Man by Went as well as Darling, Sweetie and Lee by Maggie. Richie doesn’t have to ask to have Stan over anymore and Stan is (and Does) allowed to just show up and enter at the house at will. He even has his own key. 

- Went loves the Loser’s club. He thinks it’s terrific. He calls all the boys Son and calls Bev Girl. 

- When the loser’s hang out to drink, it’s in Richie’s basement and all the drinks are supplied by Went. 

-When Richie came out to his parents, it was through a mental breakdown of freaking the fuck out of possibly being gay. Maggie managed to calm him down and tell that’s okay and it ended with him crying into her shoulder with relief. 

- Richie doesn’t swear at or around Maggie. He never has, and he never will. 

- Richie and Went swear around each other a lot. on the occasion Richie will call his father a cocksucker or a dick, but not often. 

- Halloween is the best night in the Tozier house hold because it’s all candy and horror flicks. 

- Sometimes Maggie and Richie will do each others nails. 

- a 10 year old Richie scurried down the stairs at 3am on Christmas morning to see his father and mother putting things under the tree. He was very confused, holding a stuffed animal and wearing PJ’s covered in dinosaurs, why Ma and Dad were doing Santa’s job. 

- He was, however, thrilled to know that “Santa” was just his parents because then that means that Santa could come every day, and he didn’t have to write letters anymore, he could just ask. 

- Richie also saw straight through the Tooth fairy right off the bat. he thought it was BS from like, 6. Rumour has it Stan, who never believed in any of it, had some say. 

- Richie actually believed in the tooth fairy until he was like, 12. He was talking about it at the table with Bill over and Bill said “You know the Easter bunny isn’t real, right? Like it’s just our parents?” and Richie dropped his fork. 

- “WHAT” he pointed at Went, who was bright red and mumbled something about remembering what he was supposed to do last Tuesday. 

[kurolizzie]

Does Our!Ciel love Lizzie romantically?

Recently it has caused problems and made me want to mention it. By the way, you all should know that’s my opinions bases on own views. You don’t have to agree with it all. Also, I am not a native English speaker then It isn’t completely fluent but I will try my best! ENJOY!

As a Cielizzy shipper, I’m going to talk about them more exclusively. 

I think it is pretty clear that Ciel has a feeling for Elizabeth. Since the starting point that She appears (Chapter 2) Ciel said by himself he was forced to be her fiancé. (because he takes his brother identity, anyway it’s not a thing thought. Lizzie is the watchdog’s wife. Even he takes that identity or not. When RCiel died, no matter what his name is. She suddenly becomes his fiancée = no matter Ciel or not, She’s watchdog’s wife. = watchdog = both sons) 

Chapter 2 told us that Ciel’s somehow annoyed her. However she’s his fiancé and cousin so he basically practice likes she’s one of his duty and relative. At least does whatever she wants. A shocked face he makes shows us, before this time, they don’t often meet each other. (or Lizzie rarely attends Phantomhive Manor, confirmed by the servant’s reactions) and it may be the first time they spend time together without Frances or the Midfords at Manor.

Ahaha, look how his reactions are. He knows what’s going on next if she’s there, right? It was confirmed in Chapter 58 that They sometimes had appointments another place.

(Maybe she was blamed because she’s late lol) 

Chapter two also gives us that they never went to dance before. Ciel’s annoyed because when she’s there. Lizzie bothers his free time and his time table. He even muddled through what she asked. And the situation got worst when he rejected to take a ring off. 

He tried to be nice with her by calling a name she asked him to and explained why. But Lizzie didn’t listen to and it made him angrier. He had run out of patience. Ciel yelled her by his true self. He almost hits her after she threw the ring away. Sebastian stopped him. Ciel made me surprise that he threw that ring out of window and stated that no matter he had the ring or not, he’s a true Ciel Phantomhive. It’s hard to say what he was thinking. But he forgiven that and continues to take a dance with her. - the ring is symbol of his brother, she breaks that but he tried to forgive and forgot. I don’t know how it was but... he was no longer angry about it. That was a thing showed how their relationship is to us.

Later Ciel ran into her at Viscount Druiit’s party. I’m pretty curious why he seems don’t care how she was safe or not? But Chapter 14 gives us a different answer... he ricks his life for her without any thinking. 

Who says Ciel’s always annoyed her? not that all time. Picture above is how normally their relationship is.

Until here we can’t say he loves her romantically right? they’re close to each other more than manga panels shows. At least she’s the most important person to him right now. I would say they seem like friend and sister-brother.

And It’s confirmed in the circus arc what Jocker said. 

Chapter 37, I would say nothing special, their relationship still be the same as before. I like how Ciel wears the couple outfits with her. Don’t you think it’s lovely? I mean I know that he has not give an attempt to his clothes as much and let’s it be Sebastian’s duty but couple outfits is somehow... just for lovers? he doesn’t reject to wear it as well and let’s Lizzie decides what she wants. He doesn’t care people’s views on that clothes. 

Later chapter 51, 

Umm, It’s somehow further than I think? Ciel asks her for another vacation that only them enjoys together. I know I know it maybe a trip with friend or family. Please reread Chapter 2 and see how far it’s going. I think it’s the first time we see Ciel’s blushing by her. Okay, It may be a same situation when Runmao hugs him but....

You don’t have to blush when your butler testing if you’re planning a trip with your friends or cousin right? XD hahaha Ciel you are tsundere! It shows us that Ciel likely thinks about Lizzie is a girl, not just a normal friend.

She’s also one part of his life, isn’t it?

But if you notice, Ciel’s only more comfortable with her when just them were together.

Anddddd, we can’t surely not forget this right? “as long as she’s happy, I’m okay” This’s the first time it appears clearly to us! 

Doesn’t a lot change between them??

Chapter 57 cover, I just want to know who said “I will never let this person go” hmmmmM XD

I’m not going to say how Ciel ricks his life for saving her because we all clearly know that right.

I could never hate you, basic shojo confession scene!

I would say the feeling that he has for Lizzie is between romantic and friend-liked. I don’t know but if you’re going to tell someone that she’s your best friend but you’re blushing in fornt of you servant? in my opinion if you told someone that you think she’s your best friend. You don’t have to embarrassed right? thought?

Aw! Nothing more than this is canon! Ciel confirms Edward by himself that he will surely take Lizzie as his his bride! Doesn’t that clear!? You will not take your best friend to be your bride right!? XD

Chapter 66, Let’s see his reaction when Gray also joins a game

Because the winner will get Lizzie’s handmade Easter egg. Ciel seems don’t really care at first when only Soma enjoys the game. But we all know Gray is somehow his indirect competitor. It makes Ciel more nervous!

lol, he’s suddenly enjoy a game.

Anddd Sebastian mentions the purpose of this hunting game right? He clearly know what Ciel’s thinking (Being the first who get that egg)

But his face there.... (we’re going to talk about it later)

Chapter 72, cute reaction when Redmond asks him about their kiss! lol Can you see Ciel’s face? it’s really red! No matter I see I can surely confirm he’s starting love her romantically (not falling in love, just start)

Lovely dress that Ciel gave her in Christmas.

And later they dance together, Here Ciel’s truely smile from his heart and enjoy a dancing. 

He’s also don’t want her to get him wrong with another girl.

Chapter 107 show us that Lizzie has influents for some Ciel activities’.

Or reactions when Sebastian insults him that he’s not the one who can capture her heart.

Or by Bravat....

 Part 02 : coming soon

[woodworkingpastor]

Things that make for peace Luke 19:29-44 Sunday, March 28, 2021 Palm Sunday

Please pray with me:

Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility. Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

When our children were little, Lynette and I read to them nearly ever day. We started out with age-appropriate books for babies and toddlers, before moving up into chapter books: The Chronicles of Narnia, Nancy Drew, The Phantom Toolbooth, and the entire Harry Potterseries. If you’ve ever read regularly to young children, you know that they don’t mind having the same story read to them over and over again. You also know that, as a parent, that gets kind of old. So I would try to do things to “liven it up” a bit. Sometimes I’d give the characters voices, other times I’d mis-read the story to see if they were paying attention.

I don’t know about your kids, but my kids hated that. When I’d add voices, they’d say, “Dad, read it right.” And one night, Rose took the story book to Lynette and asked her to read; I’d been mis-reading it too much for her liking and she told Lynette, “Daddy doesn’t know how to read it.”

This is not unrelated to how preachers feel at Christmas and Easter. We’ve preached these texts so many times that we look at these events that are crucial to our faith and kind of scratch our heads and say, “How do we tell the story this year.” I finally decided that I wasn’t going to worry about it; one lesson we can learn from our children is that there is value in telling the story over and over again. I didn’t just pull an old sermon out of the file, but I decided to be less concerned with possibly repeating myself.

Staying with this theme of things that are important to children, I’m curious to know how many of you have been to the Grandin Holiday Parade recently? If you’ve been to it, you know that parade is the coolest, quirkiest, family-focused parade ever. Right in the heart of Roanoke we have what is essentially a small-town parade, complete with Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops, someone from 7-Eleven dressed up in a Slurpee costume, Brandon from Pops Ice Cream playing the bagpipes, preschool groups, greyhound rescue groups—it’s a fantastic event. The most fun I’ve ever had at a parade was the year Zach and I marched with the Cub Scouts, and Zach and I rode our unicycles.

If you’ve seen the parade, then you know that the Kazim clowns are always in it with their cars and their various hijinks and comedy acts. Get a picture of the Kazim clowns in your head for a moment. Now ask yourself, what would the Kazim clowns look like if they had airplanes instead of cars?

Hang on to that picture and follow me in your mind to the opening of Super Bowl 55. Eric Church and Jazmine Sullivan sang the National Anthem, and then there was a military fly-over. This year—because it was Super Bowl 55—the fly-over included a B-1, a B-2, and a B-52, because the numbers add up to 55. But imagine how the crowd would have reacted if, as the last notes of the National Anthem were being sung, the military fly-over would have been handled by the Kazim clowns.

If you can see that—and how people might react to it—then you have a better picture of what actually happened at Jesus’ “Triumphal entry” into Jerusalem. This is another of those cases where what we think is happening in the story is different from what is actually happening. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem tells a story about what God is doing in the world, and it is a different story that the one the world tells. You see, Jesus wasn’t the only person of power showing up in Jerusalem that week. King Herod was coming to town, too, and Herod would have had his own parade. When earthly rulers enter a town, it is intended to show off their power. For Herod, this would have meant riding in on a powerful war horse, surrounded by elite troops. Their entry is designed to demonstrate who is in control, and it is designed to intimidate any troublemakers along the way with a not-so-subtle message of “if you want to take us on, go ahead and try.”

If you remember the victory parade at the end of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, celebrating the liberation of Naboo, you see what military parades are about. It’s the same with the military fly-overs at the Super Bowl—they are about establishing how evil will be conquered.

But Jesus doesn’t enter Jerusalem that way. Jesus is telling God’s story, and in God’s story the Savior comes in weakness, riding into town on a young donkey. It’s a story that was first told by the Old Testament prophet Zechariah; Jesus is just filling a role here, and it’s a role designed to be attention-getting; it’s the Kazim clowns showing up to declare the victory of God. And if you’re having trouble wrapping your minds around that—if you’re like Rose that one night at our house and want someone else to tell you the story because you don’t think I’m telling it right—think back to what Luke has been telling us since the Sunday before Christmas. It’s Mary’s song all over again:

He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty (Luke 1:51-53).

Have we not heard Luke tell us this story over and over again?

It’s the Rich man and Lazarus—whose life is vindicated? Lazarus, the poor beggar at the gate who probably starved to death just a few yards away from a sumptuous feast.

It’s Zacchaeus, the despised local villain, who demonstrates his salvation by giving back what he’s stolen because he loves God more than his earthly position.

It’s the Prodigal Son dragging himself back home on the outside chance that he can be hired on a seasonal help only to find that his father has been waiting for him the entire time.

Jesus is proclaiming a kingdom where the last shall be first and the least shall be the greatest, where the worst of sinners are welcomed guests at the banquet of God. This is what Jesus will be about.

The people that go to the Grandin Holiday parade understand what is happening and they enjoy it; it’s fun to stand alongside Grandin Road on the Saturday before Thanksgiving and see all children and civic groups march by. And in one sense, the parade probably doesn’t accomplish all that much—except to help us celebrate things we find important. Just that! Amidst all the children’s groups and middle and high school marching bands and clowns and characters, the parade affirms what we love about the place we live.

The crowd that is on the side of the road at Jesus’ parade understands this, so they throw their cloaks down on the road in front of him. They lift Jesus up and declare him to be their Lord with the chorus of Psalm 118,

Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven!

Psalm 118 is a somewhat complicated Psalm that acknowledges a time when God’s people had been in trouble and God rescued them. So, of course, the people celebrate. The thing is, not everyone got it. Some people missed the meaning of what God was doing; as the Psalmist says,

The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. (Psalm 118:22)

Not everyone gets it in our day, either.

Palm Sunday is one of those tradition-rich holidays that brings back memories—possibly of robed children’s choir processing into the sanctuary, then taking their place at the front of the church to sing. But this isn’t where Jesus’ parade ends up. Jesus’ parade route brings him to an overlook where he can see all of the city of Jerusalem; seeing this, he begins to weep because the people’s inability to know the things that make for peace is killing them. This is where we begin to realize that the story Jesus is telling is different from the story we think we want to hear; the events of Holy Week are God retelling the foundational story of our existence as human beings.

To understand the story, we have to go all the way back to creation and see where things went wrong. We need to go back to the Cain and Abel story and see Cain take his anger and disappointment that God did not accept his offering and vent that frustration on his brother, Abel, killing him. We need to hear Cain say to God, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Yes, Cain, you are. But Cain missed that because wired deep within us is this belief that violence is the only tried and true method to get what we want in life. It’s the basic story of humanity, and it’s a story that works its way into the stories we tell:

J.R.R. Tolkein told a story about two friends: Deagol and Smeagol. Deagol has a ring, and Smeagol covets it and asks Deagol if he can have it because it’s his birthday. Deagol refuses, and Smeagol kills him. That deed haunts Smeagol for the remainder of his life and transforms him into the pathetic creature known as Gollum.

Anakin Skywalker is consumed with the fear that he will lose his beloved Padme in the same way that he could not protect his mother Shmi. That fear twists him into giving into the dark side of the force, where he becomes the evil Darth Vader.

This story finds it’s way into our own believing the “good guy with a gun” mythology, where we believe that by carrying a gun with us we’ll be ready to overcome the despicable violence of our enemies with our own redemptive violence.

But Jesus knows this way of thinking is killing us. He sees what will happen if his people continue to believe that they can throw off the Roman government through force—an idea that will become incredibly important on Good Friday, when the people choose Barabbas over Jesus.

Jesus knows that the only way to peace is to eliminate our enemies. The issue becomes how. How do we eliminate our enemies?

Love them and pray for them: “But I say to you, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you’” (Matthew 5:44).

Bless them. “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:19-21).

This is the story Jesus is retelling on Holy Week. And one of the reasons he can retell the story this way is because this is how God has responded to us:

For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! (Romans 5:10).

The story that Jesus is retelling is how God eliminated us as enemies through Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross. It can be a difficult story to hear because what we prefer is for God to come along and bless our thoughts, our dreams, our plans for how we will get along in the world. But do not be confused: just because Jesus is leading a parade does not mean that Jesus will be our mascot, something to prop up and celebrate our plans and schemes. The crowd gets it right when they sing “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.” Jesus will not be our mascot; he will be our Lord or nothing at all.

[it-was-so-human]

Everybody's waiting for the next surprise

Her family was falling apart and Sansa can’t fix it and she can’t force pumpkins down their throats no matter how hard she tries. Jon and Sansa. ~2,200 words

Also on AO3

@jonxsansafanfiction Day 3 - Pumpkins! 

Autumn was undeniably Sansa Stark’s season. There was just something about the crisp clean air and excitement that came with Halloween and the changing leaves. 

(Leaves that were a perfect match for her auburn hair.)

((And autumn trees paired with a cute sweaters and killer boots? It made for a stellar Instagram post.))

But even though she was home now, it just didn’t feel right. October was supposed to be cold and instead it was currently a balmy 67 degrees which made little to no sense (expect for you know, climate change.)

At this rate, they would never have a chilly autumn. And who knows what winter would be like? 

Sansa needed the kind of cold that you feel in your very bones to make everything feel real.  Right.

She sighed deeply. The cold would make things feel right, even though nothing has been right in quite some time.

Sansa just wanted to be a little girl again, sniffing that her dad made wear her North Face parka over her sparkly princess costume while trick or treating. Tiara on her head, waddling down the sidewalk on a chilly autumn (early) evening.  

She had transferred back north this year for her sophomore year. Going to college in the south was a bad idea. As cute as dressing up for tailgates sounded in theory, she was a northern girl and belonged up north. Besides, Michigan was in her blood, and she had basically broken faith with the Starks when she went elsewhere. That spot was where her parents went on their first date, around the corner was Robb’s fraternity, and that’s where Bran twisted his ankle after a football game.

She just belonged here. (Go Wolverines!)

And Jon was here too, a senior now and had been so very good about taking her under his wing. From well-timed coffee breaks to walking her home from the library at night to taking her to parties without acting ridiculously protective. 

(Jon was… who Jon was… is complicated. His mother was her father’s childhood family friend. He had adored her. Lyanna had Jon very young and she died when Jon was still a toddler. Raised by his Uncle Mormont, a stern former army commander, it was natural Jon was drawn to the chaos and warmth of the Stark home. He was also conveniently her brother Robb’s best friend.

She remembered ugly whispers when she was young that Ned was Jon’s father. Ned had always treated Jon like a son and they did have similar coloring. And despite there being no truth to the gossip, Jon was always a point of contention between her parents. Maybe that’s why Sansa never really warmed to Jon, she was always Catelyn’s little shadow. 

Besides, he would rather run around with Robb and Arya. He never had time for playing dress up with her. But now that they’re older, she can appreciate his brand of thoughtful seriousness.)

((And this lovely smile he would send her way every now and then that made her just feel.))  

There was another reason it felt right coming back north. Since her father passed away last spring, she wanted to be closer to home. Closer to her family.

Her mother dealt with the grief over losing the love of her life by throwing herself into helping Robb succeed at the family business.

Robb who was overworked and looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders at 24. Stressed and exhausted after taking over his father’s role. 

But there was still Arya, Bran, and Rickon and they needed her and she wanted to be there for them. Her heart was aching to be there.

Halloween was their dad’s warm up for the holiday season. They were one of those families. Respected in the boardroom, Eddard Stark however was a family man first and foremost. What’s the point of so many kids if you don’t have matching holiday sweaters, her father would simply shrug. 

Her parents went all out for the holidays. The Thanksgiving turkey was comically huge, the Christmas tree towering, the lights outside the house absolutely blinding, the Easter eggs intricately decorated.

She had planned to get the family to their favorite farm last weekend, they could pretend to get lost in the hay maze and mildly spooked by the middling haunted barn. Go to the orchard and pick apples and drink warm apple cider with a sprinkle of cinnamon and buy the boys apple cinnamon donuts and watch them get the powdered sugar all over their faces.

But the farm was closed because the world was against Sansa Stark, and when she finally found a suitable replacement pumpkin patch everyone was busy.

But now it was the weekend before Halloween and she just knew her plan was going to be great. This weekend, they were all hers. Her mom and Robb were going to be holed up in the offices of Stark Enterprises but they boys would be home and she was so sure she could convince Arya to hang out as well.

She readied herself for the hour-long drive home, a trunk packed with pumpkins and carving supplies and freshly baked Halloween-themed treats to eat while watching a silly scary movie (and she even used real milk and eggs and butter despite being a vegan herself because she loved her family and was a terrible phony but whatever).

The weather was barely nippy when she left her dorm, but she pulled on a soft rust-colored seater and grabbed a scarf anyways. She smiled in the mirror, feeling seasonally appropriate and ready. Her family would be together and she could already feel a warm glow go through her.  

A warm glow that turned to bitter ash when she arrived at the Stark family home.

Arya was running around getting ready for a costume party and Bran shrugged her off claiming that he had to go to an academic decathlon practice.

When she finally smiled down at Rickon, he argued that he was too old for Halloween and was going to his friend’s house.

Keeping a smile on her face though it felt so very empty, Sansa tried to persuade her youngest brother that he and his friends could come over instead and they could all carve pumpkins together.

Arya made her way down the staircase, rolling her eyes at the scene, “Just let it go, Sansa. No one cares about your pumpkins.”

Sansa feels as if she’s been given a physical blow, but mages to nod, trying to hold back tears.

She knows that’s just how Arya is—once just your average sisterly rivalry, there relationship had only grown more tense and biting. (She wasn’t the best big sister growing up, but god she’s trying so hard now.) 

Their Nanny, Old Nan, just gives Sansa a sad smile and pats her cheek, offering to make her a mug of hot chocolate (because no one ever remembers she gave up dairy two years ago.) 

So Sansa leaves the house, her heart breaking a little bit more. Her family was falling apart and no matter how hard she tries she can’t put together the pieces and it was all her fault.

Because her father was dead because of her.

He died on his way from the airport. If I didn’t call asking for help… or if I didn’t date that asshole Baratheon boy… wasn’t seduced by his stupid fucking fake charm…. wasn’t such a child when Joffrey scared me that night... so much that dad needed to come pick me up.

She remembered how on that last phone call her father had promised her one day she would find someone brave and gentle and strong. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

Because ever since now mother is on the verge of a mental breakdown, and her older brother’s a workaholic, and Arya is cruel, and her sweet brother Bran has become unrecognizably cold, and Rickon who would always give her tight body crushing hugs only runs away from her.

And Sansa can’t fix it and she can’t force pumpkins down their throats no matter how hard she tries.

She didn’t want to go back to her dorm with all her supplies defeated, to be judged by her roommates who were annoyed the transfer girl would rather go home than take up their invite to go out. 

So instead she pulls up to Jon’s apartment. He gave her a key, and he and his roommate Sam should be at some party or something so she can just hack a pumpkin in his living room.

She walks in, first dropping off the fresh vegetables she picked up for him in the fridge. (God that boy would go weeks without lettuce or a piece of broccoli if he could.) 

Then she spreads newspapers on their table for her carving station. While Jon’s apartment is untidy because you know, boys, it’s definitely not unclean. It’s actually pretty cozy. 

She knows she’s taking advantage of the kindness of a boy she barely acknowledged growing up, but she doesn’t know where to go. 

And she just wants to stab her pumpkins.

It’s actually pretty cathartic, stabbing a pumpkin.

An hour later, she hears the door open—looking up to see Jon Snow walk in. His thick dark curls are mussed from the day, a heavy book bag hanging off a shoulder.

He doesn't seem surprised that she's in his apartment committing sever pumpkin-cide.

"Arya called and said you might be here." His voice is gentle and she hates that he probably feels sorry for her. She hates feeling like this. 

She shrugs, continuing to whack at her pumpkin

Sansa's quite artistic, very handy at painting and knitting and most Pinterest-y crafts.  

She really should be better at carving a fucking pumpkin. But she really isn’t.

“I brought you something,” he says coming to sit next to her, crossed legged on the floor. “A treat. You know, for Halloween.”

He hands her the Best Dessert in The World, a slice of vegan lemon cake. (Because Jon always remembers she gave up dairy two years ago.)

She tells him thanks, but continues to whack away at her sad pumpkin.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No, no she doesn’t. But it’s so very hard to keep inside right this moment. 

“They blame me.” She feels her face crumple as a sob escapes her followed by another.

“Sansa, no one blames you. They love you and your father loved you. It was an accident. You know this.”

He wraps his arm around her, and places a firm kiss to her forehead.

“No, they do. They do and they should.”  She talks to a therapist but that reality was always there and she’s afraid it always will be because it’s true. 

“No one blames you. I was there the night you called. Robb and Arya both threw fits because they wanted to come too. Were ready to kill your boyfriend themselves. How could they blame you?”

“Jon…” she whispers. “They’re mad and I can’t do anything right. I can’t fix it.”

“No, just the other day Robb was telling me how thoughtful you were to send him freshly baked cookies at work. That you cared enough to, even during your midterms. How happy it made him.”

She gives a small nod in response and he continues.

“And Arya wouldn’t have gone to Homecoming if you hadn’t found her that perfect dress.”

“I bet Gendry thought she looked beautiful,” she sighs.

“I bet he did. And I wouldn’t take Bran personally. He’s fourteen and there’s this cute girl named Meera on the decathlon team.”

She should be miffed that Jon Snow knows more about her siblings lives than she does, but she can’t find it in herself to be.

She only burrows closer to him and feels his cozy sweater against her cheek, relishing the warmth of his body.

He lost his mother when he was so very young, and she feels guilty at taking so much comfort from him when she still has so much. But he doesn’t seem to mind, and she’s very grateful.

“You’re the sweetest girl I know. No one else has ever made sure I eat my vegetables,” he teases before continuing. “And you’re adored, Sansa Stark. You don’t need to fix this. It’s just going to take time.”

There’s a comfort in his words, but she still feels like whining. Just a bit more. It feels too good, being held by him.  

“It’s not even cold,” she grumbles.

“You’re going to be so mad when winter comes and you have to trudge to class in knee-deep snow,” he says, his hand drawing little comforting circles on her shoulder.

“But I look cuter when it’s cold,” she managed to sniff. 

“Sansa Stark, you always look cute and you know it.”  

Who Jon was… was complicated. He was boy who used to jump out dressed as a ghost to scare her, the sullen teen who grudgingly let her paint his nails, the boy who held her as she sobbed after her father funeral.

Jon was… he was... he was Jon and he was hers. He had always been there and she never wanted him not to be. He was brave and gentle and strong. It was complicated, but also so very simple.

“You think I’m cute?” She shouldn’t ask, it was indulgent and silly and he probably just thinks of her as some stupid kid sister or something and she’s making a fool out of herself but she really can’t help it.

He breathes deeply, shakes his head slightly before letting out a choked laugh.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

It’s so earnest and god she’s turning red and in her periphery she sees that his cheeks are also sporting a nice healthy blush as well.

And she can’t help but feel like she’s glowing a bit inside. But he seems so uncomfortable now so she decides to take him out of his misery.

She is sweet after all.

“And what about my pumpkin?” she asks, lifting it up and turning side to side, modeling it for him

He smiles, one of those Jon smiles, rolling up his sleeves.

“Your pumpkin, on the other hand, looks a bit sad. Hand me a cutter.”

[congregamus]

October Self-Report

Forgive me, Tonguelr, for I have sinned most grievously. It has been a hot minute since my last confession. 

The situation external is pretty traditional for early October chez L’abbey-asile. Astrologically solar--no matter how my actions beg the contrary--I have begun the preparation for the great Solstice battle and subsequent Feast of the Incarnation. 

Looking back, last year’s Christmas Solemn Eucharist in the Presence of a Bishop, the same Christmas whose orchestra was fired immediately after the Kyrie/Gloria (one hates to pun) abortion--forcing us to sub in an organ setting last-minute, may have been a synchronicity I failed to recognize when it happened. Perhaps the miracle did not take. Easter found us abandoned by our priest immediately before Holy Week. These are dark times.

But first, Samhain, that thinnest of evenings. I have spent the last few E’ens of All Hallows safely tucked in my monk’s cell away from the snares of the devil and the others who slip through on that night. While I don’t take any of that literally, I must admit that I do so paradoxically in the sense that I take it metaphorically, which can be much worse, you know.

My congratulations to myself are due because I’ve been working very hard and succeeding, but also doing that work-life balance thing people are always going on so about on morning programs and effusing about in self-help books. I’m not sure that there’s much to report there except that I have finally identified as something. A helper. I went into a deep meditation the other day trying to discover if there was something of me that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I tried mentally to scrub it off. 

I came to a deep understanding that I am here to help. I’m also selfish, which is perfectly understandable, as it’s an essential part of my make-up that is survival-oriented. Transcending that is a choice. Every time. If I chose to preserve my sense of self, creating boundaries that are ‘for me’, neither is any great harm is done. Reinforcing that choice can create isolation. Sometimes I like to be isolated. 

One of my clients is still trying to find a place that can take care of her for the foreseeable future, and--excluding being able to return to her life as before--I’ll be looking for a new home and managing the packing up of her old place. Prayers that she be able to return to her home of many years would be appreciated. Barring that, I need prayers to help guide her to the right place where she can thrive in her current quality of life. Thanks in advance.

Last week someone asked me to run a choir sectional. Theirs is a volunteer ensemble of legal professionals. They’re preparing Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast. It’s very old-fashioned; which is to say that modern listeners, especially native folk, would probably rightly be offended. Still, it is the work of a composer of color in the 19th century. If people were doing it right, they’d have a talk before the concert with representatives from the Indigenous and Creole communities, and an opportunity for the audience to discuss their experience afterwards. But anyway, I digress.

I’m doing better with diet and lifestyle choices. I got my blood pressure down to a manageable number, and I have a follow-up visit scheduled for Friday. Here’s to hoping I’ll keep making choices for myself that put my bodily health at high priority. What’s the point of being an incarnation if you, of your own neglect, bust your own carnal vehicle? The goal is that self-love be louder than pain. Most days lately, that’s the truth, and I’m very thankful for it.

[writingtopasstime]

Saint & Sinner (Chapter 1)

Request: reblogfics Jax and Reader Fic inspired by the song Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars

Song Inspiration (This Chapter): Enchanted by Taylor Swift

Trigger Warning: Awkwardness, Fluff, First Meeting, Cancer (Mentioned)

Word Count:  1,662ish

Note: Sorry this is so late my vacation didn’t turn out how I wanted it…. I got terribly sick.  Also my first ever Jax Teller Fic so bare with me.

Y/n grew up in a very strict household. Her parents were very religious spending every Sunday morning inside the Lord’s house. Now grown up Y/n has strayed from her parent’s path. While she still had her faith she wasn’t someone who went to Church often. She would go for major events (Easter and Christmas) but she also went every New Years Day. She would pray for her family’s health and happiness for the new year. She would also make her goals for herself. Each year the big goal is to renew her faith but each year she grew more apart from her religion. This year was the beginning of the end. The world was about to shift dramatically.

Y/n walked into the small bakery she used to work at. She started working there when she was 16. The owners were family friends and church goers. She left for years to get a PhD in Business. Her goal was to travel around and help businesses revamp themselves. And that’s exactly what she did until her dad got sick. Stage 4 Lung Cancer. There was no way for her parents to pay for the treatment and chemo by themselves and even though they didn’t ask for her help she decided to drop everything and move back. At least for the meantime. She had saved a lot of money since being out of school but that wasn’t enough she needed another job.

“Y/N!” Mary called. The older woman ran out from behind the counter. Her black hair had been almost completely replaced by gray now. Y/n embraced her. She felt a little awkward considering the height difference. Mary had always been small in stature but with heels, Y/n almost towered over her. “We heard you were back in town. So sorry to hear about the circumstances though.” She pulled back. Y/n strained a smile. It was hard holding back her feelings lately.

“Thank you. Is James here?” Mary smiled revealing the many crinkles that grew by her eyes.

“He’s in the back come on.” Y/n took in the bakery as they walked towards the kitchen. Surprisingly not much had changed in the eight years she was gone. There were more chips in the sky blue paint and the chairs looked more worn down but it was exactly how she remembered it. Y/n’s mind started spinning with ideas of all the things she could fix. She shook her head. That’s not why you’re here, the thought to herself. She looked up to see James. He had changed too. His hair was white making his blue eyes stand out even more.

“Honey look who I ran into!” He didn’t look up from the cupcakes he was frosting. Mary shook her head her smile fading away. Y/n giggled. Typical James. He was always lost in his work.

“Aren’t you going to greet your favorite former employee?” She asked. At the sound of her voice, he dropped the piping bag his eyes wide.

“Well look at you!” He came around pulling Y/n into a giant hug. The front of his apron transferring some blue frosting onto the front of her dress but she didn’t care. She squeezed back as hard as she could. She truly missed seeing both Mary and James. They were like her second set of parents. “I can’t believe how old you are now!”

“I can say the same thing about you,” she joked back.

“Watch it now. You just got back.” Y/n laughed. After a minute of silence, she took a deep breath.

“There’s actually something I wanted to ask you two about.” She already knew their answer but that didn’t make it any easier. She hated asking for favors.

“Of course sweetie what is it?” Mary placed a hand on her arm.

“I need my old job back.” Mary and James were silent. They glanced at each other with worried glances. James scratched the back on his neck. A habit he did when he was about to deliver bad news.

“Um well- We’d absolutely love for you to come back but we actually-” Mary froze her voice caught in her throat.

“We’re thinking about selling the bakery.” Y/n’s eyes widened.

“What? Why? This has always been your dream!”

“We just can’t afford it anymore. Customers just aren’t coming in like they used to.” Y/n’s heart dropped. This place was her life. Her parents brought her here when she was little and then she worked here throughout high school she couldn’t see it closing or changing ownership. Y/n bit her lip. She had to do something even if it meant picking up more jobs.

“Okay, I have another request then. Let me help you save this business.”

“Oh no Y/n you are already taking care of your dad we couldn’t ask you to help us too. We’ll be alright.” Mary insisted.

“No, I can’t watch this place go. I went to school to do this exact thing, please. It would help my mind escape everything going on at home. Please.” Y/n looked at the pair in front of her. She put on her best puppy dog look that she knew everyone had a hard time resisting.

“Okay fine but we’re gonna pay you and you can’t refuse because we won’t hire you otherwise,” James said sternly. Y/n crossed her arms. “You drive one hard bargain but I’ll take it. Now let’s take a look at your books.”

It was well past midnight when Y/n was finally leaving. James and Mary had long since left. She insisted on staying to go through the records of the past few years. The truth was the business was barely keeping afloat. If she didn’t find a way to bring in costumers and soon the business was going to have to shut down. She decided to quit when she could no longer keep her eyes open. Mary and James had left her a spare key so she could lock up. She was doing just that but when she turned to leave she ran into a solid mass. “Shit! Sorry,” she exclaimed. She didn’t look up as she bent down to gather the paperwork.

“Don’t worry about it darling I wasn’t paying attention.” Hands helped her gather her work and when she followed the hands up the arm she was speechless. Blond hair and blue eyes. Man, he’s beautiful, she thought. A blush rose up her cheeks. She could only hope he didn’t notice.

“No really I didn’t look up and I should have. It’s- it’s really my fault.” The man smiled and god did it make him look even better.

“Are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around town.” He stood and Y/n followed. Even in her heels, she was at least five inches shorter.

“I actually just moved back here. It’s been like eight years but since my dad got sick I decided to move back and get my old job back to help out.” She was nervous and when that happened she would word vomit. It was embarrassing, to say the least. The heat on her cheeks intensified.

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad. I hope it’s not serious.” He pulled a cigarette and offered her one. She shook her head pulling her papers closer to her chest.

“Stage Four lung cancer.” Y/n replied eying the smoke he was about to light.

“Shit. Sorry.” He was about to put it away but Y/n stopped him.

“It’s fine. It was a bad mixture of lots of things. Just be careful.” For some reason that made the man laugh. And Y/n didn’t want to hear anything else besides that sound ever again. “What’s funny?”

“I’ve never been told to be careful about smoking. Lots of other reasons but never that.” He lit up and Y/n took the opportunity to let her eyes wander. She had to force her mouth not to drop when her eyes landed on the patches he wore. He was part of a motorcycle club. Of course living in Charming ensured that she knew a bit about the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club but her parents made sure she stayed as far away from them as they could in a small town. Suddenly she realized how alone she was and with a biker no less.

“Well- I um I have to go but you should check out the bakery sometime. It’s the best I’ve ever had.” She started to inch away almost tripping in the process. She was just about to make a break for it when he stopped her.

“I didn’t get your name though.”

“Y/n”

“Jax. I’ll definitely come by sometime. What time do you work?”

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t really set it in stone yet.”

“Well, I guess that means I’ll have to keep coming back,” Jax smirked. Y/n knew she was playing with fire asking him to come back to see her but at least it will be in daylight with many witnesses around if he tried anything. And maybe she could convince to buy something. Even if it was just one customer, a cute one at that, it was a start.

“That’ll be great see you then,” Y/n turned on her heels and hurried off down the street. She walked around the block even though her car was parked just two stores down from the bakery but she didn’t want Jax to know her car. Or follow her. She didn’t know him or what he was capable of. When she circled back around Jax was gone but her heart was still pounding from the encounter. From her parent’s descriptions of the Sons she never expected one to look so handsome. And she definitely never expected one to make butterflies dance in her stomach. It hadn’t been a week since she was back and she was already taking on a business project and talking to bikers. Well, there goes my hope for settling back to normalcy.