#and uh. we decided to informally give things a try once but it fizzled out because neither of us could handle being long distance

[ryebunny]

Hey chat, what do you do when the person you're pretty sure is your soulmate confesses their feelings to you while drunk and then doesn't acknowledge it again once sober? Also the situation is complicated-

[obxhoe]

I was wondering if you could maybe do a JJ x kook reader, where the reader is kinda stuck being with rafe because of family ties and this is the time JJ takes the blame for what pope did to toppers boat, and the reader pays it off anonymously because they have a crush on him?

a/n: HI!!!! This is like a month late I’m so sorry y’all but I have more stuff in the works now that I have more free time. I spun it a little like John B and Sarah have been together for a lil bit, so the timeline is a tad off from the show. It’s kinda all over the place so I’m sorry about that.

Word count: ~1.8k

Warnings: mention of drugs, some swearing, probably typos, nothing else really

Ever since Sarah started dating John B, you’ve been hanging out with the Pogues. Your skepticism, due to being a kook yourself, about hanging with the group quickly fizzled after just one day on the HMS Pogue. And almost everyday you’re with them, that is whenever you can get away from Rafe.

Ah. Rafe Cameron. King of the kooks. And your “boyfriend”, not necessarily by choice. You two had grown up together on Figure Eight and of course as soon as you two had entered the age where it was acceptable to date, both sets of parents threw you together. It was nice, at first. It was new, exciting and you got to spend time with one of your best friends. But as time went on, and as you matured, Rafe seemed to stay in his high school days. Drugs controlled his mood, he was never on time or forgot you had plans and had completely changed from who he used to be.

You tried to break things off but your parents begged you to give it one more chance, they just couldn’t lose their friendship with the Cameron family or tarnish their precious image. So you gave it one more chance, about ten or more times. Your relationship at this point consists of hooking up with no strings attached, going to family dinners and putting on an act.

Your time is mainly spent with the Pogues. Rafe absolutely hated it at first, but he realized he couldn’t stop you and his sister, so he gave up eventually. Your summer days consist of surfing, relaxing on the boat or causing trouble around town. The trouble coming mostly from the shaggy blonde, with the ocean blue eyes that you were absolutely, undeniably, in love with. Rafe gets with his fair share of girls now. It never really bothered you at all since you both had come to a mutual agreement that this so-called relationship was purely physical and just an act to satisfy your parents. So now you spend your days and nights sneaking around with JJ Maybank, only the pogues and Sarah knowing what’s really going on. Rafe knows you’re fucking other people, but he doesn’t know who. If he did, he would lose his shit.

You wake up to your phone ringing next to your bed. Rubbing your eyes, you see the caller ID state that it was Rafe. You sigh rolling your eyes, you just talked to him before you decided to nap due to the exhaustion engulfing you after working a 7 hour shift this morning.

“Is this a booty call?” You ask, flopping back on your bed.

“Y/N! Someone sunk Topper’s boat!” He yells. You sit up immediately, stomach sinking, having an idea of who could have done this.

“Wait what?” You stand up and start pacing around.

“The plug wasn’t put back in. Topper claims he remembered to put it back in, but he was also drinking the last time he was driving it. Probably those fucking pogues though.” He raises his voice. “I don’t understand why you and Sarah hang around them, they’re trash y/n.”

“Rafe…” You state, already getting annoyed. “I love gossip just as much as the next girl, but I was hoping this was either more important information or a booty call. And seeing that it’s not, I am going to go back to bed.”

“Whatever. Come over tonight then?” He asks.

“Yeah yeah, see you then” You huff and lay back down trying to sleep, but your mind won’t stop thinking about the incident. Part of you knew JJ could have done this, and another part of you denied that. You give up on trying to sleep, throw on a bathing suit and one of JJ’s giant tees and head over to the chateau. 

You hop out of the car and walk around to the backyard of the chateau. 

“Now if any kooks come up to you and ask if you had anything to do with it, you walk up to ‘em, look ‘em right in the eye” You hear JJ stop and Pope mumble something. “And deny. Deny. Deny.” he finishes. You stop in your tracks, your suspicions now proving to be true. Your phone goes off and you mentally curse yourself for not putting your phone on do not disturb.

“Y/n?” JJ runs over to you, his face lighting up.

“What were you guys just talking about?” You ask nervously.

“Um uh well. I-” Pope starts but JJ cuts him off.

“Just talking about trying to find the gold. In case any kooks find out, we can’t have them fucking it up for us, ya know?” JJ says. You nod, not believing a single word but too scared to push for any further answers. 

“Well I gotta go back to work, I told my dad I would only be gone an hour or two.” Pope says, heading to the driveway. “Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah. Wait no fuck. I forgot I have a stupid family dinner thing I promised my parents I would go to.” You say, remembering you told Rafe you’d go over tonight. “Can we just come and hang out with you at work?”

“Yeah sure, I don’t care. Kie said she would help out today so she’ll probably be there by the time we get there” He says, and the two of you follow him.

You get to Heyward’s and not even 15 minutes after you arrive, chaos ensues. 

“Hey Pope, someone here to see you” Heyward says, eyeing the boy almost as a warning.

“Evening officer.” He says, swallowing as his hands start to shake.

“I have an arrest warrant for felony destruction of property.” Shoupe orders, as the other officers step forward and grab him. You start screaming, following Heyward outside, JJ hot on your heels. Kie starts to sob, and everyone else starts to shout, confusion in the air around you. Pope looks as if he can’t breathe. His eyes looking lost. All of a sudden the screaming stops, and you hear one voice call out.

“It wasn’t him! it was me. He tried to talk me out of it. but I was mad because he’d just been beaten up. I was so sick of those assholes from figure eight that I lost my shit.”  JJ turns to Pope. “I can’t let you take the blame for something that I did. You’ve got too much to lose.”

“JJ what are you doing?!” Pope hisses.

“I'm telling the truth. For once in my goddamn life, I’m gonna tell the truth. I took his old man’s boat too.” 

“What the hell?” Heyward says from behind you.

“JJ come on” Pope pleads. 

“Shut up Pope, shut up. He’s a good kid. “This was all me.” That was the last thing they said before they took him away. You didn’t notice you had started crying until you felt your tears roll down your neck. You feel a hand on your shoulder and see Heyward giving you the most sympathetic look. As much as he acts like JJ annoys the fuck out of him, you know that he loves JJ.

You, Pope and Kie stay outside as everyone else retreats to where they were before. You sink to the ground, hands covering your face.

“What do we do?’ You groan, wiping away the rest of your tears from your cheeks.

“I’m not sure we can do anything” Kie says.

“Well,” Pope starts “I mean in a perfect world we could pay off whatever his restitution would be. But Topper’s boat is expensive, like only the Kook-iest of Kooks can affor-”

“Pope, we know okay. That doesn’t help” Kie interrupts. You shoot up, an idea coming to your head. Deciding to keep it to yourself knowing that the two of them would immediately shut it down and call you crazy, you make an excuse to leave so you can execute your plan.

“I have to go guys. Get all socially acceptable and that shit for dinner with my family.” You start walking in the direction of your car. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” You call out. You get into the car, open the glove compartment and grab the checkbook. Luckily, you share your bank account with your very, very elderly grandparents, who are loaded. And never check the account ever. So no one will notice anything missing. Your parents won’t be able to see anything, no one will ever know, and you’ll be able to do it anonymously. You drive to the station and climb out the car, your hands sweaty and stomach nervous.

“I’m here for JJ. Uh Maybank.” You tell the lady at the front.

“Let me grab Shoupe” She gives you a judgemental look as she walks back.

“Y/n, didn’t expect to see you here. Everything okay? Parents good?” Shoupe says as he sips on some coffee.

“Yeah yeah everythings fine. Um I’m here for JJ” You say, fidgeting with your hands.

“Maybank?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m here to pay his restitution.”

“That’s $25,000 Y/n…” He puts his coffee down.

“Alright.” You grab a pen from the desk and start to write in the checkbook.

“Woah woah woah. Slow down. What will your parents think when they see 25k missing?”

“They won’t know. It’s not their account.” You finish filling out the check. “I would like to keep this anonymous please.” You hand it to him and walk out the door. You drive to the local market and sit in the parking lot, air conditioning cranked high and your favorite band blasting through the speakers and wait for him to call or text you.

------

“Maybank” Shoupe says, unlocking the cell that he was sitting in. “Your restitution has been paid, you’re free to go.”

“By who?” He shoots up, eyes wide.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Get out of here.” Shoupe commands.

------

Your ringtone interrupts the music and you groan as you reach for the phone hoping it’s from the only person you want to talk to right now. *JJ* flashes on the screen, with a photo of him shotgunning a beer. 

“JJ?” You try to sound confused to avoid any suspicion. 

“Y/n! I’m out! Someone paid my restitution. Shoupe wouldn’t tell me who but at this point I don’t care. Can you come get me please? Oh! And bring burgers and fries, jail makes you hungry.”

“JJ you were there for 2 hours, tops.” You laugh.

“Yeah and I’m starving. I’ll be waiting outside the station.” You hang up, pick up some food and head over to the station.

The moment he sees you his eyes light up.

“Hey beautiful.” He hops in the car and grabs your face, kissing you passionately. “I love you. You know that? I fucking love you.” You smile as the words leave his lips.

“I love you too J. Now eat up.” You throw him the bag of food and drive off to the Chateau, texting Rafe that something had come up. You’ll come up with an explanation as to how you got out of your “family dinner” for Pope and Kie. Tonight, you’re putting JJ first.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

dono req for @omgaspers !!! thank you for making a donation and letting me write this for you in return! i rlly hope u like this pre-relationship fluff hehe

if you would like a personal scenario, headcanon or a match up, please visit this post for information on charity donation requests

daichi sawamura x fem reader word count: 2115 warning: slight angst, mentions of a previous bad relationship

-

A break up with your boyfriend was imminent. All the signs were there. Big and bright green, like a highway sign reading: “BREAK UP - Next Exit.” 

You had been ignoring these signs for miles. But at some point, it was like someone else took the wheel from your hands and jerked it in the right direction for you, forcing you to take the Break Up Exit to Heartbreak City. 

Now that you were there, you couldn’t understand why you had been avoiding it for so long. It wasn’t so bad. At least here, in Heartbreak City, you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing your ex ever again. 

Maybe the fact that he didn’t care enough about your relationship to even be kind of sad that it was over should have hurt more than it did. Really, it was just a cherry on top of the bullshit you had dealt with from him over the previous two years. Besides, him not caring about you had become like a second career to him. You had come to expect it.  

So he didn’t care, not when you were together and definitely not when you were apart, and maybe he had every right not to. Maybe you were in the wrong for expecting him to. Maybe you were always destined for heartbreak, because, in his words, “you don’t know how to be in a real relationship.” 

Maybe. Are real relationships meant to feel so lifeless and draining? Are real relationships supposed to be a chore? 

Is it normal to fight with your partner every day?

Are you meant to beg your significant other to love you?  

You thought you knew the answer to those questions. You thought you were always in the right. 

But if that’s what a real relationship is - lifeless, draining, fighting, begging - then you didn’t want one. 

-

You forgot how nice it was to meet with friends at cafes or parks or shops - that sounds silly, doesn’t it? But you had been so controlled in your previous relationship that fighting to meet with a friend just wasn’t worth it, so you never even tried. 

It’d been over a year since you had last seen Sugawara. He was your best friend in college, and though the friendship fizzled out for a bit, he was more than excited to see you again. 

So you planned to meet at a small and warm and newly opened cafe, and you were way too happy to be there. 

Until Sugawara did what he always does. 

“So. I have this friend.” 

He watched your face drop and knew that you were likely considering running out, so he put his hands over yours and said, “Wait, just hear me out!” 

Sugawara loved playing matchmaker; it was his greatest hobby in college and apparently, he hadn’t given it up. In fact, he had spent twenty minutes bragging about getting two of his current co-workers together. Maybe you should have seen this coming. 

“He’s a gem.” 

“Suga -”

“Just one date!” 

You took a deep breath. “I don’t want one date, Suga - I don’t want any dates. I’m sure he’s great, but -” 

“Just meet him! Please, do it for me. You’ll love him, I promise you will. It doesn’t even have to be a date!” 

You didn’t have a good feeling about this, but post-break up you rarely had a good feeling about anything. And you hadn’t replied, so Sugawara kept talking. 

“You guys can meet up here on Friday for coffee - it can be a nice meeting, not a date! I swear, you’ll fall for him in like a month, he’s so perfect for you - if you don’t I’ll buy you coffee for a year. But I’m confident, so I don’t think I’ll be doing that any time soon.” 

You couldn’t hold back your smile, because Sugawara was being way too serious about this. 

“Want to see a picture of him? He’s super hot, I swear.” 

You shrugged and Sugawara was already looking through his phone, and he quickly shoved it into your hands. The photo on the screen took you a minute to digest - the man was handsome, with brown hair and the kindest eyes you had ever seen with a smile to match. Despite how nice he looked, he also looked incredibly strong. You weren’t sure what your type was, but this man definitely qualified. 

Sugawara took his phone back from you while giving you a knowing grin. 

“His name is Daichi.” 

-

It should be easier to wear the clothes you want to wear. You don’t have to worry about being shamed for wearing a dress that’s too short anymore - yet you can still hear him telling you he doesn’t like it. 

You wear the dress anyway, and wonder when those thoughts of your ex-boyfriend will go away. 

Though it’s warm outside, you don’t mind the warmth of the cafe. It gives the shop an inviting, familiar feeling, and you feel comfortable there. 

You’re looking for a table rather than the man you’re supposed to be meeting, assuming he’d be late - another habit you’d required from your old relationship. But you’re shocked when you find him, Daichi, sitting at the table by the window. 

When you approach him, he stands up and gives you a big smile - it looked genuine and nervous. 

“Hey,” he said, “you’re Y/N?” 

His voice was deep and smooth and you were sure you could listen to him talk forever. 

“Uh - yeah,” you replied. You were being awkward, but Daichi was doing a good job at ignoring it.

He shook your hand, and it felt like you were greeting an old friend rather than a stranger. He introduced himself, even though you already knew his name, and he invited you to sit down, even though you were going to sit down anyway.  

“I haven’t ordered anything yet,” he said. “I thought we could order a pastry to try together - have you been here before?” 

Your search for words to say was shorter than you thought it’d be. “Yeah, once. With Sugawara.” 

Daichi snorted at the sound of his friend’s name. “Oh, Sugawara. I love him, but he’s…”

You laughed. “I know - believe me, I know.”

It didn’t take you long to figure out what Suga meant by calling Daichi a gem. Even when he wasn’t smiling he looked like he was, that’s how kind he was. Any time you spoke, he was happy to listen, attentive and ready to give a reply that was only encouraging you to tell another story. He told you to order whatever you wanted and meant it, and then he ordered the same for himself, saying he trusted your judgement more than your own which made you both laugh.

And he was definitely easy on the eyes. 

But you were still wary. You still didn’t know him well, and he was either completely faking it or way too perfect for you, you couldn’t tell. But his laughter seemed so real, and so did the stories he told; it was hard for you to doubt him even though you wanted to. 

After an hour, your pastries and second rounds of coffee were finished, which meant the date was coming to a slow end. You were surprised at how sad you were about that. 

“Thank you for this,” Daichi said, and you were preparing for him to tell you this wasn’t what he’s looking for, or try to lure you to his apartment for a one night stand, or something equally scary and appalling. But he did neither. Instead, he said, “Maybe we could have another meeting next week, same time and place?” 

Your eyes widened. “Sugawara told you, didn’t he?” 

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You tried not to cringe at the thought of Daichi knowing way too much about your past relationships and current fears, but it was hard. “You’re a bad liar,” you said with a snort. You were sure he was about to question you about your past, even though it wasn’t even all that interesting. 

But just like he’s done the entire date, he caught you off guard. 

“Is that a yes?” 

You looked into his hopeful eyes and for the first time in months, you felt just as hopeful. 

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” 

-

Same time and place, next week, the week after, and the week after that. For a month straight, you met Daichi at that same cafe and sat at the same table at the same time of the week. 

One thing did change every time, though. Daichi never let you order the same thing twice - he said he wanted the two of you to try new things together. And you liked the sound of that, so you went along. 

And he made slow advances. Actually, he didn’t make any advances - the two of you had only held hands, and that’s because on the third date you were more frustrated than afraid and decided to just do it. Daichi’s cheeks turned blood red, and you decided it was worth it to do something scary just to see him flushed. 

On the fourth date, he’s the one who held your hand, which excited you more than you thought possible. 

But you didn’t do much talking. Not until the drinks were empty and Daichi had been giving you a look you didn’t want to see anymore. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice quiet and emotional. He was running his thumb along your knuckles. 

“Yeah,” you replied. It was honest but it wasn’t, and you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Because you were having fun with Daichi. You loved seeing him every week and you loved texting him on the days you didn’t meet. You loved it, but you were scared of it, too. You had spent this time looking for signs that weren’t there and subconsciously following rules set by someone who wasn’t in your life anymore, and you didn’t know how to break those habits. It felt like it should be easier. 

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Daichi watching at you, looking at you as if he knew something you didn’t. He probably did. 

“It’s okay,” he continued. “If you’re scared or hesitant, it’s okay. We can always slow down, okay?” 

“It’s not that.” 

You wanted to laugh at yourself and you wouldn’t be surprised if Daichi did, too - but he only listened. 

“I don’t want to go slow, but I can’t help being… scared.” 

“Hey,” he said again, just to get you to look up at him. “I was the captain of my high school’s volleyball team, so believe me, I’ve learned patience.” 

You laughed with him, remembering the stories he’s told you about the kind of people on his old team. You knew he had a point. 

“But… I’m serious,” he went on to say. “If you need slow and patient, things will go slow and I will be patient - okay?” 

That was all you needed to hear. He seemed like he was being sincere, and you were getting better at believing what he told you. 

Daichi gave you no reason to doubt him, so you didn’t. There were no bad signs - you had been double checking for them. You had to let yourself go with this, because if you didn’t, you’d lose something good. 

That’s why you asked him to walk you home that evening. And when you got to your doorstep, you swallowed any residual fear and asked him to kiss you. 

He looked like he needed to be convinced that you were actually asking him that question. He said, “Are you sure?” and instead of answering with words, you answered him by kissing him yourself. 

And it made you want to cry, because you forgot that kisses were meant to be sweet. The last time you kissed someone, he was just trying to shut you up during a fight. 

No, this kiss was the opposite of everything you knew kisses to be. It was slow and soft and delicate; Daichi was squeezing your hand and you were squeezing his back, making him giggle against your lips - simultaneously melting your heart. 

And it ended far too quickly. 

You stood and looked at each other for a moment, and you thought that it should’ve felt awkward, but you couldn’t have felt more comfortable. 

“Next week, right?” he asked. “Same time and place?” 

He had a habit of asking, just to make sure. You always gave him the same answer. 

“Of course. Same time and place.” 

When you got inside that night, after refraining from kissing Daichi again, you called Sugawara, just to let him know that he was right. 

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Eighteen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part eighteen of this fic. Steve and Nine must leave the house and stumble upon — ? 

Word Count: 3,300 +

Warning(s): Cussing

A/N: Yay! I think that I have an idea of where the next few chapters are going (and then... *whispers* conclusion?) Enjoy! 

P.S. watch Joe Keery’s new movie Spree! I did! It’s great! :-)

The two sat in Steve’s familiar car (doors locked, double-checked) with the windows down, breeze against both of their faces as he cruised down even more familiar roads. They had made a successful escape through his bedroom window earlier: Steve first, Nine second with a perhaps overly-cautious helping hand to guide her down. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier,” Steve said when her shoes hit the pavement of his back patio. He hadn’t bid farewell to either one of his parents, but it wasn’t necessary as long as they couldn’t find him if they went looking. 

After a solid half-hour of aimless loops around town, the car’s gaslight began to blink. “Shit,” Steve muttered, turning the wheel down a new road. “I have to stop to get gas,” he said, his head drifting from the road to glance to his passenger. “It will only take a minute,” he reassured. 

Five more minutes and he pulled in slowly to a gas station, exhaling with relief at it’s empty state. “You can stay in the car,” he told Nine. She looked to him and nodded with a smile, happy to oblige. He slung his door open lazily, exiting the car as Nine shifted in her seat. She pulled her left arm in front of her, eyes catching the vibrancy of red leaking through layers of white bandage it wore. Warily, she dragged a finger against the stain, and took it away to see that same red on her finger pad. “Shit,” she said, copying Steve. 

He returned to his seat, a gas pump sticking out of the side of the car where he had been standing. Sitting again, he gazed over at Nine. “Oh,” he said, then turning in his seat so that he could see her better. He caught sight of her concern and reached out a hand. “Here, lemme see,” he said gently. She offered him her arm and he turned it tenderly, assessing the damage of the day’s activities. “There’s a small store down the road from here. We can stop there and pick up some more bandages, fix you up,” he proposed. The gas pump clicked, signaling that the tank was full. 

The newly-filled-up car pulled into a parking place in front of an indeed small store, and once again Steve was reassured by the lack of action in the lot. There were a couple more vehicles than the gas station (which had been completely empty) held, but none of them were tall, white vans that implied severe danger. He made sure to check, as if a five-second head start to peel out of the storefront would make all the difference if one had been there. “I’ll be right back, any requests?” Steve asked Nine as he stood, a hand on the top of the car as he  leaned down to peer in from outside. 

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

“Uh… I meant, like, snack requests,” he replied, his words stalling as he thought over his ask. “But, um, you can. Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Nine said, a hand reaching to unbuckle her seat belt. She took the hat that had been sitting on the dashboard from its last use as she slid from the car. 

She jogged around the front of the car to Steve and he laughed quietly. They walked together now, and he slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him with ease. His forearm draped down her front side as he spoke softly, something close to a whisper-in-her-ear. “You know, I’m starting to think that the hat doesn’t do much,” he teased. She pulled her head back, looking at him with the beginnings of a smile. A hand reached up from her side and she plucked it from herself. Holding it by the brim, she pulled it down over Steve’s head instead. “Hey! Not cool,” he said, flicking up the front of the hat that had covered his eyes. He took the hat off and gave his head a shake in an attempt to fix his hair from it’s damage. “It looks better on you, anyway,” he admitted, placing it back on Nine’s head and dragging his hand down the front of the brim to cover her eyes as it had his. She tossed her head up to give Steve a bemused smile from underneath the hat’s cover. 

The store was mostly empty when they walked in. The buzzing of some unrecognizable song played through speakers too cheap to work without the hum of electrical problems masking the music’s lyrics. The cashier supposed-to-be greeter didn’t look up from her magazine when the bell in front of the door rang to signify their entry, but the two wandered past her without care anyway. A few steps down one aisle and the shuffling of objects in the neighboring one made Steve creep backwards, stretching out his neck to peek around the corner at the commotion. 

Joyce Byers stood, far too occupied to notice spying Steve, using one arm to shovel boxes of Christmas lights into her cart, and the other to keep the cart steady. He contemplated her actions for a moment — squinted confusion — then reached a hand out in front of him to gently grab for Nine who was a slow step ahead of him and unaware of his departure. She twisted around lightly at the sensation of his touch (fingertips brushing her arm, just out of reach) then sent him a puzzled look of which he did not see. He pulled himself back up then, and whispered so only Nine would hear. 

“Will’s mom is here, I have to talk to her,” he informed, throwing in a “she’s trustworthy,” afterwards to settle her nerves about being seen. 

Rounding the corner, Steve hesitated with his introduction, wondering if he should clear his throat like he had caught Joyce in the middle of something. “Hi, Ms. Byers,” he called out, a little bit of something — perhaps he adopted a shyness — to his voice. 

She turned around sharply, bumping her arm against the handle of her cart and rattling the contents inside. Stacks of the Christmas lights Steve had watched her throw into a pile sat on top of a few lamps as the foundation of her basket. She would hit the light bulb section next, not bothering to count the number she’d need for however many lamps she had claimed before sweeping them on top of the pile. Her hair fell in front of her face as she jolted to Steve’s voice, and a hand reached up quickly to tuck it behind her ear — an action taken less to look presentable and more to be able to see whoever was advancing on her. Shoulders deflating from the scare, Joyce sighed and tried on a smile that looked a little too forced. “Hi, Steve,” she returned. 

“We- uh. We were just here to pick up a few things and saw you,” he started explaining his hello. “Oh. This is Nina, she’s a friend,” he said, lifting a hand to waver in front of Nine as he introduced her politely. Joyce, as if she hadn’t even noticed the girl, lit up her face in a look of corrective surprise. “Oh!” she sang, another solemn grin but also an accompanying hand stretched out for a shake. Nine, caught a little off-guard herself, took the handshake with a kind smile. “Hi,” she said, pondering a second after if she should tell Joyce it’s ‘nice to meet her,’ (people say that, right?) then realizing that she waited too long to decide. Steve sweeped the conversation right back up anyways. 

“How are you? Um- like, is there anything we can do?” he said, unable to decide on a question. How is one supposed to speak to someone with a missing child? What are the right things to say? Did he already mess up? He wondered for a second if this was one of those situations where you just don’t mention the elephant in the room, it’d be rude to bring it up. He then mentally scolded himself for even considering that to be the right route to take. It’d be inconsiderate not to, he assured himself. 

Nine could have sworn she saw Joyce flinch when he asked his questions, as if it would break the role of happy mother she was playing to answer them. “Um - you know -” (he didn’t) “Just doing everything I can. I think people are starting to think I’m crazy”. She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding even more forced than the smile had appeared. 

Steve held his breath a moment, replaying the mental picture that had been on loop in his mind since Dustin told him Will was missing. The mental picture of Will himself, the night Steve and Nine dropped him off at home, opening the door to his house and disappearing inside. Steve worried repeatedly if this particular moment he had often called upon was a mix-up, a recollection of a different night he had conveniently changed the time stamp on. He kept asking himself if he really saw Will go inside that night. He did, right? It wasn’t just his guilty subconscious protecting him by substituting memories, right? 

“You’re not crazy,” Nine unexpectedly spoke. Steve glanced at her then quickly retreated his gaze. 

“Thank you,” Joyce said with a sincere smile that faded into silence. 

Wanting to recover, Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Joyce turned suddenly to gesture to her cart. “I guess this doesn’t really help my look,” she said as she peered over the mountain of electrical supplies. 

“What is it all for?” Steve asked, thankful for both the recoup in conversation and new attention paid to the second elephant in the room. 

Joyce shifted on her feet, hesitant and unsure of how to continue. She was starting to realize her lack of skill in answering questions. “I- I’m going to sound… I’m going to sound delusional,” she said. For the first time in the conversation her voice fizzled out, became weaker with clear indication of tears that wished to join the dialogue. “I feel like Will is trying to communicate with me”. 

Steve’s eyebrows jumped and he staggered over a reply. “Wh- wait, what? Did he call or something? Did someone take him-” he stopped as Joyce began to shake her head. 

“No, no, nothing like that. He just…” she trailed off, refusing eye contact as she searched for the words. “The lights”.

“The lights?” Steve glanced at her shopping cart once more.

“They flicker. And I know it doesn’t make sense but- but I feel like it’s him.”

There is another silence as the two process Joyce’s words - interpretations independent of one another withheld from sharing as she waits for a reaction. Steve first considers the woman in front of him, her cart of lights and missing child, and has to wonder if she is (as politely as he could put it) losing it. He then acknowledges the woman to the side of him, steals another glance in her direction as he remembers how he met her and what she can do, the reason they’re in the store in the first place and how they came to be in the situation. Maybe Joyce was doing just fine.

Nine’s head quirked as she tilted it a little in confusion. Confusion or realization — her mind connecting dots, checking boxes on a recently developed mental checklist that helps her decide if something is just peculiar enough to be related back to her. Flickering lights, like the flashlights Steve, Dustin, and her swung from limp wrists in the forest. Flickering lights, like the ones above her head in the lab that made her close her eyes tight when her powers left them flashing too erratically. 

“You feel like it’s Will?” Steve said. The realization began to dawn on him that this is a heavy conversation to be having in a shitty, run-down store that’s only still in business because the town it’s in is too small to let it die. And so he deliver’s his response a tad quieter, suddenly itching for a bit more privacy. 

“I know how it sounds… but that’s why-” and she gestured to her cart again. “I have to find out”. 

“No- um,” Steve stumbles for a logical response. “I get it,” he tells her, “you’d do anything to find him”. 

Nine hadn’t gotten a chance to choke over her own response. Instead she was still thinking up ways she could somehow help the woman she had just met who stood sad and small in front of her. 

Steve inhaled, cutting short her chance as he redirected the conversation. “Well we- we’re just here for some bandages. Um-” Is it rude to just shift the topic like this? He’s second-guessing himself more often than he’s used to. “Nina scraped herself up pretty bad earlier.” Nine looks down at her arm, a problem completely forgotten from her mind despite the still growing red leak showing through the bandage. It was stinging, too, she remembered. “We’re here, though. Any help you need — we’re going to find Will. I know that,” he finished. 

Consoling looks shared between thank-you’s concluded the conversation within the minute. Now the groups backed away from one another, heads turned to watch the departure and toss solemn smiles for the other to catch. A few awkward strides and Steve and Nine were rounding the corner of the isle, shuffling to redirect their attention back to their errands. Neither of them were brave enough to talk again with Joyce so close in the otherwise silent store. And so Steve led Nine down the closest row of shelves, eyes glossing over the products lined up on each one but not quite focused enough to register what they were (what did they even come here for, again?). 

He moved hurriedly, putting as much space as possible between them and the woman he could only assume was still stockpiling light bulbs. On his third twist around an end-cap, Nine reached a hand out to grasp onto his wrist and stop him from continuing his march. He turned to her easily, eyebrows perked as if he didn’t understand why she stopped their search (...for… oh, yes! bandages). She kept her eyes on his face, and after a moment it gave into a look of distress; brows quirking again, this time dipping downwards with a sadness he wasn’t able to disguise anymore. Big brown eyes so somber, he looked like a puppy someone had just kicked. 

“Steve,” Nine said, and her voice was pacifying — a quilted warmth that fit snug around his name. 

A determined hand — the one Nine had dropped from her gentle hold — reached from his side and rubbed once underneath his eye. He hadn’t started crying yet but his vision was wet, and he was trying to scare the tears away. Unsettled breathes made his chest rise and fall quickly while he tried to catch up with his brain’s sudden increased demand for oxygen. Nine said his name again, conciliatory tone still present and pretty. “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

He was looking down at her, but when he spoke he took his eyes away from hers. Instead his gaze darted around the store to fixate on anything else. “I can’t-” he started, his own voice weak and damaged from his body’s anxiety. He tried to center himself enough to talk, blinking irritatedly in an attempt to get rid of that threat of tears he hadn’t forgotten about. He was shaking his head now as he worked up the breath to continue, “I was responsible for her kid. She- she trusted me. I was supposed to get him home safe and now she has to deal with the fact that I failed.” He looked to her again — either her turn to react or his turn to take another breath. 

“Steve, it’s not-” 

“I can’t even remember if I made sure he got inside that night. I don’t know what happened and I’m too fucking stupid to remember.” 

“Don’t say that,” Nine said, but her words were pushed away.

“She thinks she’s losing her mind. And she might be, I don’t even know, but I know I could have done something.” His words were picking up speed alongside his heaving chest. A tear finally escaped his vision but he was too focused on his speech of self-hatred to notice. It traced down the length of his cheek but he didn’t feel it. 

“No you couldn’t have,” Nine told him, and she sounded sorry. “Steve, look at me”. 

And he did, face still painted with pain. “You can’t remember that night because of shock. Your brain is trying to fixate on every detail but it can’t happen. You’re not stupid.” She said her words like she was so sure of them (because she was), but Steve looked skeptical at best. Nine continued anyway, reassurance incomplete and will with unwavering persistence. “You didn’t fail at anything. You’re a good friend to those kids and a good guardian, too. Something happened that night that was out of our control. Something from Hawkins’ Lab happened.”  

He sighed this time, eyebrows furrowing as another tear dropped. 

“You told me it wasn’t my fault that Will was taken, and now I’m telling you that it wasn’t yours, either.” 

For a moment he simply thought about her words — a long moment that convinced her that he didn’t believe them. His lips parted to speak but he only took in air to hold it in his lungs. Another second passed and his shoulders fell; perhaps he was giving in. Giving into what she told him, giving into her, and he reached downwards to wrap his arms impulsively around her body still somehow warm from the outside sun. She let him, of course, and felt his fingers squeeze around the fabric of her shirt. With his head burrowed between her neck and her shoulder, his hold was desperate and he breathed out a huff of air that felt built up, heavy against her neck. She hugged him back, and while he closed his eyes tight, she understood that this was both a thank-you and a release. 

-

A single bag with a lone item dangled from Steve’s grip as they walked, side-by-side again, through the parking lot. Joyce, a few minutes ahead of them, spun her cart around by the handle so that she could stack her purchases in the backseat of her car. Seeing her from afar, that nagging resumed in Nine’s head, reminding her of her aching desire to somehow help the woman. 

“We have to help her,” Nine said, and her walking slowed. She didn’t look away from Joyce when Steve turned to face her, and she missed his visibly confused reaction. “What?” his disorientation still managed it’s way into his voice, though, and for a moment he thought that she meant they should assist Joyce with her shopping bags. 

“We have to go to her house, see what she’s talking about”.

“Nine, hold on-”

“If she can contact Will then maybe I can figure out where he is. No more wandering around the forest unsure of what we’re even looking for. I can find him. I can actually find him this time and get him out of there. Steve, I-” she pulled her eyes away from Joyce and looked wildly at Steve. 

“Wait, slow down,” he told her, jumbling to catch up with her rapidly developing plan. 

“Steve, we can save him,” she said. 

He paused at this, and the bag at his side swayed lightly. Then, looking off to where Nine had been so focused, he studied the woman so integral to the plan. 

“Okay, I’m in. If you think we can save Will, I’m definitely in,” he told her, unmoving. He brought his head back to Nine after a moment of delay. “She doesn’t know… know about you, though. How are we going to… do this?”

Nine paused herself. “...I guess we let her know”.

---

A/N: Realizing how sad these characters have been these past few chapters... they’re going through a lot, okay?! Can’t promise it will get more uplifting right away, but I have... plans. Whatdoya think?

Tag List: @ggclarissa​ @gurl-ly​ @hyp-oh-critical​ @alewifex​ @we-are-band-sexuals​ @cpt-lamby​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @easvtohate​ @used-avocado​ @kwyloz​ @itzpikapie​ @samwise-babeyy @1985keery​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @mochminnie​ @peterwandaparker​ @ayamecrevan​ @lilyhw1​ @seninjakitey​ @lulurose17​ @write-from-the-heart​ @harringtonlr​ @sledgy14​ @stranger-names​

[mar-bluu]

Tomorrow

Okay! so this is a part 2 to this fic that i posted a few days ago, you’ll probably need it for context but you might be able to pick it up pretty quickly (i hope) Anyway! The absolutely wonderful @cutesiewoojin sent me a lovely idea for some more angst! hope you enjoy! Pairing: Belmerttons Words: 2.4 k Warnings: swearing, general angst, head wound, electrocution

Warmth seeped through Buttons’ body as he fluttered his eyes open. He yawned and flexed his fingers, stretching slightly. “Morning, Sunshine.” He felt a hand run through his hair and jolted from his half-asleep state, grabbing the hand and craning his neck to see who it was attached to. Elmer smiled down at him from above. “You okay?” Buttons let go of his hand and yawned again, feeling his face heat slightly as he recalled what happened earlier. “Uh, yeah. I think so, at least.” He felt his stomach grumble. “A little hungry though.”

I bet,” Elmer said, brushing his hand through Buttons’ hair again. “It’s been like four days since I’ve seen you eat.” He gave a small chuckle, trying to hide the embers of worry sparking in his eyes. “I didn’t think I could fuck up a sandwich that bad!” He nodded to the plate with the untouched ham and cheese, it’d probably have to be thrown out by now. Buttons gave a small, sheepish laugh of his own, being unable to find the words he needed. Should he apologise? Ignore it? Play it off as if nothing happened? He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think of something to say. “What time is it?” He settled on. Elmer checked his watch.

“Three forty-seven in the morning.” Buttons raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, so I’ve only been out for like an hour.” Elmer frowned in confusion.

“It’s Thursday.”

“…what?”

“You’ve been asleep for just over twenty-four hours.” Buttons gawked at Elmer’s statement. After a few seconds of Buttons staring into space, processing the information, Elmer waved a hand in front of his face. “Buttons?” Buttons blinked, turning to him, feeling his shoulders twinge with a slight pain which he shrugged off. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Well, yeah I-” Buttons’ eyes widened in shock as he shifted around to face Elmer, his shoulders and arms pinching in the same way as before. “What the hell dude!? You stayed here the whole time!?”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you.”

“Yes, you could!” He grabbed the sides of Elmer’s face and smoothed a thumb over his cheek. “Did you have anything to eat? Or drink? Are you hungry!?” Elmer laughed again.

“No, I’m okay. I really need to pee, though.” Buttons smiled and moved himself to his knees then to his feet, another spasm rolled through his leg and up to his hip and he gave a small gasp of pain, which he quickly covered with a cough. Elmer hauled himself up, twisting and stretching his legs. “I’ll bring something to eat and some water on my way back that you will eat this time, yeah?” Buttons nodded, shooting him a quick thumbs-up as Elmer disappeared out into the hallway. Buttons rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers as he felt a familiar tingling sensation buzz through the air, electrical currents were always comforting to him. He shook his hands out, stilling his mind as he focused on the currents, humming like old friends. He watched as a small bolt of lightning crackled between his fingers before dimming out. A sharp pain shot up his arm, feeling like a hundred hot needles pricking into his skin. Buttons flinched, stifling a small yelp. He blinked in confusion. What was happening? He shook his head and held his hands out again, this time clicking his fingers in a vain attempt to summon a spark. Unlike his first attempt though, nothing happened. Not a single thing. Well, nothing except the excruciating agony shooting down his arms and into his stomach. He doubled over with pain, gasping for air as pinpricks of light danced in front of his eyes. He stayed there, hunched over, for a few minutes, waiting for his vision to clear and pain to subside, before trying once more. However, this time as he clicked his fingers, trying to ignite a small spark, there was hardly any pain above a pins and needle sensation in his arms. Weird. He thought to himself. Buttons was brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer to the doorway. He looked up to see Elmer walk in, plates of food balanced precariously on one arm and two cups of water wrapped in the other. Buttons moved over to help Elmer, limping slightly as he went. “I would’ve made something a little nicer, seeing as it’s your first proper meal in a while, but we have a shit-ton of bread, so sandwiches it is again! This time, a little fancier, with some apple slices and kinda stale biscuits I found in the back of the pantry.” Buttons grinned.

“That’s more than fine, thank you!” He grabbed the cups from Elmer and made his way back toward the desk, setting the cups down before looking back to the other boy. “Could you give me my powers back?” Elmer cocked his head to the side and blinked slowly.

“I did?” It was Buttons’ turn to look confused.

“You did?”

“Yeah, why?” Elmer placed the plates down and leaned against the edge of the desk. Buttons flexed his fingers, faint light fizzling pathetically from his fingertips. He looked up to Elmer and shrugged. “I don’t know what’s up with them.” Elmer hummed in thought.

“Maybe this is your burnout? Try eating something, maybe that’ll help?” Buttons nodded. It made sense, perhaps that was what the pain was too? Hunger and burnout? He pulled up the chair as Elmer sat on the corner of the desk and pushed a plate toward him. “Thanks.” Buttons said

“No problem” replied Elmer. And that was the end of their conversation, the two of them sitting in silence as they ate. As time slowly ticked past the ten-minute mark, Buttons shifted uncomfortably. He felt like he should say something, Elmer had spent so much time and effort into looking after him, and Buttons had only responded with anger. It felt awkward. He wracked his brain for something to say, something nice or funny or something along those lines. He swallowed the last mouthful of his sandwich, then spoke. “You’re a lovely singer, El.” Elmer gave a polite chuckle.

“Thanks, but you were half asleep when you heard that, being almost unconscious probably improved it ten-fold.”

“Nonsense!” Buttons dismissed with a wave of his hand as they fell back into silence. Elmer glanced up after the brief pause and motioned to Buttons. “How about you? Do you sing?” Buttons laughed, shaking his head definitively. “Not in the slightest.”

“Aww, c’mon!” Elmer nudged him. “Can’t be any worse than me!” Buttons shook his head again.

“Nah, I won’t hurt your ears with that.” Elmer shrugged, smirking.

“Well, if ya change your mind, I’m a big Annie fan.” Buttons smiled as the two finished up eating. They talked for a few more minutes before Buttons decided it was time to try out his powers again. He stood up, a few paces away from the desk, where Elmer sat, cheering him on quietly as not to wake anyone. Buttons held his hands out in front of him and clicked. A hint of a zap sot through his fingers, causing him slight pain, more of a shock than anything, but apart from that, nothing happened. “You got this!” Elmer encouraged warmly. Buttons shook out his shoulders and tried again. The pain was significantly more intense now, and Buttons physically jolted. Still, no spark. Elmer cheered him on again. He tried a third time, this time he whimpered as the zap burned through his arm and both down his chest and up to his neck. Elmer didn’t cheer this time. “Buttons? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just gotta focus!”

“Are you sure? You-” Buttons clicked again, his veins flickering with light under his skin, as he screamed into his hand, knees buckling beneath him. It felt like the electricity was there, enough for him to manipulate, but it was like it was getting stuck in him, unable to find an exit and instead resonating through his body, frying him from the inside out. Elmer threw himself off the table, rushing to Buttons’ side. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” It felt like the energy was building inside of him, like it was growing and growing until it hit the boiling point and surpassed it, turning Buttons into a ticking time bomb of electricity. “Stand back,” he growled through gritted teeth, his body contorting in pain. He wasn’t even trying to use his powers anymore and he could still feel it pulsing through his body, expanding and flourishing against his will. Buttons screamed again, practically writhing in agony. As Elmer reached for him again. “No!” But Elmer grabbed him anyway, his hand wrapping around Buttons’ upper arm was like pulling the pin on a grenade. A high pitched whining echoed through Buttons’ ears and he clamped his hands over his head as a powerful wave of energy pulsed out of him, flipping the desk, sending the plates and cups smashing onto the ground, and throwing Elmer back, ripping his hand off of Buttons’ arm as he went flying backward into the wall before slumping in a twisted pile on the floor. Buttons crashed onto his side breathing heavily as the remaining power spasmed through him, making his legs and arms twitch and shudder in pain. But all Buttons could think about was Elmer. What have I done!? He thought. I can’t have hurt someone else! Not again! As the electricity finished riding its course through his body, he hauled himself onto shaky knees and half crawled half dragged himself over to Elmer, who was stirring faintly in a dazed state. He didn’t look good, and tears welled in Buttons’ eyes as he looked at the damage he’d caused. “No,” he whispered. “no, no, no! Please be okay! Please!” Elmer’s shirt had a large, wide hole burnt into it, framing a long scorch mark carved across the width of his chest. Elmer stirred again, attempting to bring a weak hand up to his wound. “Hey, hey, hey!” Buttons lifted Elmer under his arms and moved him into his lap, cradling him close, trying to avoid looking at the other burns on Elmer’s hands and neck, singe marks adorning his pale skin, slick with sweat. Elmer’s eyes fluttered as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Buttons cushioned Elmer’s head with his hands, trying in vain to do something, anything to help him. He ran a hand through the back of Elmer’s hair and felt his heart drop as he fought the urge to vomit. There, on the back of Elmer’s head was a large, sticky spot. Buttons tentatively drew his hand back, hoping that it wasn’t what he thought it was. He slowly turned his hand over and cried out, think blood coating his hand. He began to hyperventilate, his rapid breathing occasionally interrupted by strangled sobs were the only sounds that filled the room. He was shaking, not just from the electricity, as he panicked over what to do next. Elmer looked up at Buttons through hazy, spaced-out eyes. “Sorry, B.” he smiled faintly.

“Sorry?” Buttons laughed nervously. “What do you have to be sorry for? This is my fault.”

“Nah,” he mumbled. “I shoulda listened when you told me to stand back.” Buttons shook his head.

“You’re crazy.”

“And tired.” Buttons felt his stomach drop.

“You can’t go to sleep just yet, you have to stay awake, okay? El, stay awake for me.” Buttons began to panic again, trying to desperately think of something to try and keep Elmer awake. His mind whirred as he searched for ideas. “Oh!” Buttons drummed his fingers on the floor as he tried to remember words that now of all times he had to remember.

‘The sun will come out, tomorrow’ ‘Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun’

 Elmer gave a faint smile as he cuddled into Buttons’ side.

‘Just thinking about tomorrow,’ ‘Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow 'til there's none.’

Buttons stroked Elmer’s hair, avoiding the cut on the back of his head.

‘When I'm stuck in a day, that's grey and lonely,’ ‘I just stick out my chin, and grin, and say, Oh.’

He didn’t know what to do, he was desperately wanting to go get help, but something inside of him was telling him to stay, that he couldn’t leave Elmer alone, because what if he left to find help and never got to see him again? Never hear his warm laugh, or see his smile that was so bright it lit up rooms? Never got to run his thumb delicately over the sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks? Never got to feel his warm lips pressed against his own? Buttons let out a shaky breath and all he could do was sit there and sing.

‘The sun will come out tomorrow’ ‘So ya gotta hang on 'til tomorrow, come what may’

Elmer intertwined his hand with Buttons’ and looked up, a small smile on his face as he watched him sing. It’s working! Buttons thought. “See?” Elmer wheezed. “You have a wonderful voice.’ Buttons blushed and continued running his fingers through Elmer’s hair. Something that sounded like footsteps sounded faintly down one of the hallways. Help! Buttons’ heart soared at the hope. Elmer yawned as his eyes began to droop, his smile shining a little duller on his face. Buttons’ heart sped up again as he realised Elmer couldn’t hold on much longer.

‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow!’ ‘You're always a day away’

The footsteps sounded louder and closer, and a faint voice came from by the doorway. Buttons looked up to see Mush, standing in the door, staring at Elmer in shock and horror. Not wanting to disturb the boy in his lap, Buttons met Mush’s gaze and nodded in the direction of their infirmary, a silent plea for him to go get Blink’s help. Mush nodded and took off back down the hallway, soft footfalls getting more and more distant.

‘When I'm stuck in a day, that's grey and lonely,’ ‘I just stick out my chin, and grin, and say, Oh.’

Elmer’s eyes began to flutter shut, and Buttons felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. He silently willed for Blink’s speedy arrival. And it seemed as though his prayers had been answered as he began to hear the footsteps again, more than one pair this time.

‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow!’

He looked up as the footsteps approached the door, Blink leading the charge, first aid kit tucked under his arm as his hands glowed with soft light. He broke. Tears spilled down Buttons’ cheeks as he leaned down to dust a light kiss to Elmer’s forehead. It was going to be okay, they were going to be okay, Elmer was going to be okay.

‘You're always a day away’

[princess-of-the-corner]

In an au where Kagami is part of the class, jealousy wouldn't make much sense, but could see Lila trying to claim/ convince Kagami that Mari is only befriending her to exploit her. If Kagami joins while Lila is "on vacation" Kagami and Mari could already be friends

Oh! This got kinda long.

Okay, I'm going to type out the marigami Friendship stuff first, then come back around to Lila!  Kagami is initially just as socially awkward as Canon. She is trying to make friends but doesn't... quite have the skills. Most of the class realize that she's trying, but don't go out of the way to invite her to things. Adrien does try a bit harder, knowing how hard it is to be a socially awkward new kid, and does become her first friend and also a crush. Marinette had been in the "be nice but doesn't really know how to get close to her" group before this. Her jealousy does spike a little seeing Adrien pay attention to Kagami, but she's more "I want to be with him but if I lost my chance I lost my chance". The rest of the girls push her to fight for him though. Marinette and Kagami do initially have a rivalry, as neither are intent on giving up Adrien. However, since they're forced to interact more, that doesn't last long. They do end up talking while paired up for an assignment, and the next day they're friends. After a while of being friends, they do discuss the Adrien situation. Because while neither wants to give up, they don't want to hurt each other in the process. This results in them laying out ground rules: -both are allowed to pursue Adrien -they should refrain from stealing him away from a conversation with the other unless it is important/time sensitive -no direct sabotage. This should go without saying because they are friends, but no messing with each other to make each other look bad, or ruining a plan to confess/ask him out. -No matter what, it is ultimately Adrien's choice on who he chooses, even if it's not them. -Speaking of, should any other people be interested in Adrien, they will be brought in on the rules. That last one brings them around to bringing Chloé in on this since she seems to also be a rival. They don't expect it to go well, but since Chloé is attempting to be nice they decide to give it a shot. It actually goes better than expected because Chloé confesses that her 'crush' on Adrien was half general possessiveness and half 'he's probably the only romantic partner my mother would approve of for me, and even then she thinks he can do better', but she's trying not to do all that anymore so she's taking herself out of the running completely. Chloé asks why they're doing all this instead of taking the 'anything to win' method, and Mari's just like "what would you do if you and Adrien were crushing on the same person?". Chloé immediately remembers Ladybug and dies a little inside. I'm also gonna toss in the setup to my usual ship by saying they have the same conversation with Luka. He's surprised by how much they thought this out and by the overall maturity this entails. And naturally agrees to the rules. Now, while they don't go into detail on their list of rules with others, they do tell everyone that they have it handled. Last note for the friendship: Ryuko shows up in Season 2 instead of Season 3. Idk when but let's toss her in there! Well then. Now we get to Lila coming back. Everyone had already kind written off Mari's issues with Lila as jealousy back in Volpina, so they assume that's still the problem. At first, they don't think about it too much until someone points out "hey, you and Kagami have an agreement, why not do the same with Lila?". Lila still manages to convince them that it is about Jealousy once Kagami expresses her agreement with Mari about Lila being a liar. She says that they must have an agreement of "let's team up to eliminate the competition!". The class is a bit more skeptical, but.... Look. I wrote before on my feelings toward why the class believed Lila so easily. The two biggest relevant here are: 1.) "telling them what they want to hear", which was that they wanted to believe both Marinette and Lila are good people. They'd rather believe that Marinette is making mistakes out of jealousy than believe that their new friend is an awful person 2.) their experience with jerk people so far is more bullies like Chloé was. People who are awful 100% of the time. The idea of someone being kind to some people and awful to others, or even faking being nice for more than a short period, aren't things they've had to really face and don't recognize just yet. So yeah. They end up thinking Marinette and Kagami are actin out of jealousy, and don't think Lila is a bad person because they see her being super nice! Marinette runs off in frustration like she did in the episode, and Kagami follows to help her calm down. Im debating about adding Chloé to this because I can. Fuck it. She knows about their Agreement and how they were ready to bring her in on it, so she knows something's up and follows them too. Lila follows and this goes down similarly. She pretends to be nice, the three are like "BINCH!!!!". So Lila resorts to threats. Mari is the one who panics the most, but Kagami and Chloé help to calm her down in their own ways. Kagami reminds her that they do have plenty of options to show their classmates the truth. Chloé's more like "you stand up to me all the time so you'd better not let this fake ass bitch be the one to break you!" Meanwhile Adrien's confrontation with Lila goes the same and Lila ends up stealing the Butterfly that had gone for Mari earlier. The fight goes pretty much the same other than Mari having a trickier time getting away from Chloé and Kagami to actually fight. As for the ending of the episode: When Adrien suggests the initial strategy of ignoring her and letting her lie herself into a corner, Kagami and Chloé aren't cowards and push him to have more of a conversation as to why he thinks that's a good idea. He doesn't, but: 1.) no one believed Marinette and Kagami, so he probably wouldn't be believed either 2.) the only lies he's seen so far are mildly harmless "give me attention" lies that are probably her misguided attempts at making friends quickly as a new kid. It's not good, but unless it gets worse it should fizzle out soon 3.) calling Lila out, either publicly or privately, gets her Akumatized. If she's going to get Akumatized every time, why not minimize Akumatizations by waiting until they can actually convince the class? While they get his point, Kagami and Chloé aren't afraid to tell him that Lila is actually a problem, straight up threatened them, and Mari nearly got Akumatized. With that knowledge, the original plan is thrown out the window. Adrien is ready to fucking fight. They agree that while they're not ignoring Lila, they are hanging back and gathering information on her lies while using teamwork to counteract any of her attempts at making them look bad. The plot twist is that despite their planning, Luka is the one who accidentally outs Lila's lies. Because Juleka and Rose (and maybe Ivan and Mylene too) are discussing what Lila said Mari and Kagami did because of the jealousy and Luka's just "what about their rules?". They're all like "????" So he explains how the rules that Mari and Kagami had were that they and Adrien's other potential suitors are keeping to a "don't sabotage each other, respect Adrien's choice, bring other people in on the rules if they like him, etc." set of rules. When asked how he knows that he's like "well, uh, I am also following those rules so..." But then he tells them that if Marinette and Kagami are blocking Lila out of that agreement, then there must be a good reason other than the romantic competition. And that gets them thinking. So they actually hear out the group who has gotten quite a bit of evidence and yeah then they help get the rest of the class on board.

[thursdays-fallen-angel]

Outside the Midnight Hour

@deancaswc ; @thursdays-fallen-angel vs. @jimminovak Prompt: Book Title “Outside the Midnight Hour” Word count: 3.1k Rating: T Summary: Dean has a chance to be cast in the movie of a lifetime, but it’s down to the author of the film’s source material to decide if he’s going to get the job or not.

When Dean’s agent calls him, he’s sure that it’s going to be with a rejection. Based on the vibe Dean had gotten in the audition room, the amount of money going into this project—there’s no way in hell they’re going to take him.

After all, this film isn’t like any other that Dean has even so much as auditioned for, let alone been a part of. A paranormal, action-based movie with a heavy focus on psychological aspects and themes of self-exploration? With that much going on, it’s going to have to be perfect.

And the director, Cain Mullen, is one of the best in the industry. He won’t accept anything less than perfection, anyway.

Which is why Dean answers his phone with, “Alright, lay it on me. How embarrassed do I have to be for even trying for this thing?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then Charlie asks, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean slumps down onto his couch, his pout directed up at the ceiling. It’s a decent apartment in a decent area of LA, but overall, nothing to write home about; being an up and coming actor doesn’t quite have the same pizazz to it as being a fully-fledged one does.

If he had just landed this gig…

He sighs into his phone. “Beyond the Midnight Hour. Cain didn’t seem all that impressed during my reading, so how bad is it looking? Maybe I should stick to mediocre romcoms and B-list horror stuff.”

Charlie makes a sound of outrage in reply, and when she speaks next, her voice has taken on that unmistakable, I am your agent and that means I know best, mister, attitude. “Dean Winchester, you are better than those movies, and one day I’m going to make you believe it. And guess what! That day is today, so strap in, bucko.”

Dean blinks. That’s sounding an awful lot like she’s saying…

“Strap in for what, Charlie?”

He can practically hear his agent’s wolfish grin. “You’ve got a meeting, Winchester. A couple people at the studio want to talk to you.”

Dean sits up so quickly that his head spins—or is that happening anyway? “You mean I—?”

“You’re one of two choices,” Charlie is quick to cut in, and there’s the other shoe that Dean knew had to be waiting somewhere. “But Dean, it’s looking really good. The director and a few producers want to talk to you, maybe run you through some more lines, and then they’ll make their decision.”

Okay. Okay, Dean can handle that. One-on-one with another actor, and if he comes out ahead, he could potentially be the lead of the movie of the year. Should be easy enough. All he has to do is win over the directors and producers. Right?

He takes a deep breath, determination taking root. “Alright, Charlie. Send me the details.”

~

Dean arrives at the studio’s main office only a few hours after Charlie’s call, dressed in his best with his stomach twisted into knots. A receptionist leads him to a conference room that has been set up like an informal get-together space, with the table pushed off to the side of the room and an array of basic snacks and drinks spread across it.

There are only two other people in the room, one of whom Dean recognizes immediately.

Cain appears to be deep in conversation with the room’s one other occupant, but he looks up when Dean enters, and his face splits into a grin. “Ah, Mr. Winchester! I’m so glad you could join us.”

Cain crosses the room and grabs Dean’s hand for a firm, overexcited handshake. Dean tries his best not to gape like a damn fish the whole time, but he only barely manages to return the handshake by the time Cain moves on.

“I trust your agent explained to you what we’re looking for today,” the director says, a heavy hand now laying on Dean’s shoulder. “Our team is in a dead split between casting you or Michael Godson as our lead, and that means we’ve brought it down to our tiebreaker.”

Multiple alarms immediately begin to ring in Dean’s mind. A dead split? Him and Michael Godson? Charlie hadn’t made it sound quite so dire, and she definitely hadn’t told Dean who his competition was—though it’s probably fair that she didn’t, because if she had, there’s no way Dean would have shown up at all.

Michael is a pro with a resume that’s a hell of a lot better than Dean’s. Dean might have some decent acting chops, but if it comes down to it, in what setting could he ever possibly hope to beat Michael?

He croaks out, feeling slightly faint, “Tiebreaker, huh?”

Cain nods, then uses the hand he has on Dean’s shoulder to lead him over to the man he had previously been talking to. The guy has been hovering since Dean arrived, looking awkward in the background, and Dean tries not to look as wary as he feels when they are introduced.

Who is he? A producer? Some random pick from the crew? He definitely doesn’t seem confident in this environment, and he’s gorgeous enough that Dean knows he would remember if he’d seen him before. He looks like he’s straight out of every chick flick Dean has ever seen, with his dark, tousled hair and perfect, pink lips.

“Dean, this is Castiel Novak. You might know him as his pen name, CJ Novak—he is the author of the novel Beyond the Midnight Hour is based upon.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry. “Oh,” he says without quite meaning to. He’s heard of CJ Novak. Then, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster and a hand stuck out in Castiel’s direction, “It’s great to meet you, man. I didn’t realize this was based on a book, but based on how awesome the cut-down screenplay version is looking, you must be an amazing author.”

Castiel’s cheeks dust pink, and he belatedly accepts Dean’s offered hand. His palm is smooth and warm against Dean’s own. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Once the handshake has ended, Dean gives Castiel the most charming smile he can muster. It’s not as easily managed as he might have liked, with his nerves ratcheting up as quickly as they are, but—he’s pursuing a career in acting for a reason. He can do this.

And Dean isn’t an idiot. Cain said they needed a tiebreaker, so who better to make the final decision than the man who created the story that’s being put to screen? Dean isn’t going to resort to flirting or anything so cheap to try to win the author over, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be as charismatic as possible.

“I really do want to read it,” he says, now that a beat has passed after Castiel’s thanks. “How different is—”

At that moment, there’s a knock against the conference room door. It swings inward to reveal a pair of unfamiliar faces. “Cain?” one of them calls. “Can we steal you for a second?”

“Of course.” Cain smiles at the pair in the doorway, then turns back to Dean and Castiel to clap a hand to each of their shoulders. “I’ll be back shortly. I’ll see about rounding up the rest of the producers, too, before Michael arrives. Play nice, you two.”

Cain strides out of the room without a backwards glance. When the door closes behind him, the conference room is thrown into an awkward silence. Dean and Castiel both stare at the door instead of each other. Castiel shifts his weight from one foot to the other; Dean clears his throat. They end up turning to each other at the exact same time.

“Well, I guess—”

“I feel like I should apologize—”

Each of them cuts off. Dean’s smile turns sheepish, and Castiel presses his lips together in embarrassment.

“Uh—sorry.” Dean forces himself to chuckle and rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. Smooth, Winchester. “What do you want to apologize for?”

“I was going to apologize in advance for being as socially awkward as I am,” Castiel confesses with a chuckle that’s far more authentic than Dean’s had been. “But I think I proved myself quickly enough on that matter. Cain promised me he wouldn’t leave me alone, and yet…”

Oh. Well. Now Dean feels even more awkward. He tries to push through it. “Well, I can’t exactly say anything for Cain ditching you with me, but I’ll try not to make this any harder on you than it has to be. I’m a chill guy, I promise.”

Castiel squints at him like he doesn’t know how to interpret that statement. Dean’s confidence begins to fizzle.

He swallows hard. “Anyways, uh. I know actors tend to be flashy assholes, but that’s not my style. My little brother’s a quiet type, too, so believe me when I say that’s something I can handle. He’s going through law school right now. Pretty different path than the one I’m on.”

Castiel tilts his head at that, intrigued. “Those are definitely very different paths,” he agrees. “Your brother wants to serve people, and you want to entertain them. Why?”

Dean shrugs. “Just our lots in life, I guess. Sam’s always been a brainiac. Reading, writing, following along with political activist groups. I modelled a bit when I was a teenager, and I followed that line of work to make sure I stayed employed. Money’s important when you’re raising a kid sibling as your own.”

“Raising him as your own?” Castiel echoes, but Dean is sure that they’ve already discussed this more than they should. They’re not here to talk about him.

Or, well. Maybe they are, in a way. But not like this. His personal drama doesn’t mean a damn thing, as far as his career is concerned.

“How different is Beyond the Midnight Hour the book from Beyond the Midnight Hour the movie?”

“Oh. Um.” Castiel clears his throat, but thankfully has the good grace to let the subject be changed. He settles his weight back on his heels as he switches to thinking about a subject he’s actually familiar with. Dean can see how much it relaxes him; the difference in his posture is like night and day. “Actually, the novel I wrote is called Outside the Midnight Hour. After the film rights were sold, the studio came to me with the idea of changing it for the movie adaptation. Something about original titles and alphabetic preference, I don’t fully remember. I was too happy to be getting a movie to care.”

“Oh.” Dean wrinkles his nose without thinking. “You weren’t offended by that? I mean, you must have worked your ass off to write that book, and then after all that, some studio mooks decided to just change the title for their own reasons? The title can be the trickiest part of the whole book, right? That doesn’t sound fair.”

Castiel blinks rapidly, then stares at Dean in what seems to be a stunned silence. It takes a while for him for respond, and when he does, there’s a distant note to his voice. “I… I hadn’t actually thought about it in those terms. I wasn’t offended, but… Should I have been?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. If you aren’t offended, you aren’t offended, I don’t have any right to tell you how to feel. You seem like a good guy, though, Castiel—”

“Cas.”

Dean loses his grip on his rant. “What?”

Castiel’s cheeks have turned pink again. “A lot of my friends call me Cas.”

“Oh. Cas. Okay.” Dean’s face feels a bit warmer than usual now, too, because—is it just him, or does that make it sound like the two of them are becoming friends? Maybe it’s a bit too early for them to actually be at that point, but if nothing else, it’s definitely an invitation.

He clears his throat and makes an effort to remember what it was he had been saying. “Um—anyway. If you’re not offended about the title thing, that’s fine. I probably shouldn’t be saying shit that might pit you against the studio, anyway. Not if I want this job.”

“I’ve already signed my contracts,” Cas says, waving his hand in a vague gesture. “I can’t be turned against anyone. But your perspective is… interesting.” He assesses Dean for a moment, then asks, “If I were to tell you that I was offended by the change in title. What would you do about it?”

The answer to that is an easy one. Dean knows what he would do without a second of hesitation. And, even though he swears he can hear Charlie’s voice in the back of his mind telling him that it’s a bad idea, he gives that answer to Cas.

“If you weren’t into it, I wouldn’t do this movie. I know I already said this, but the screenplay is fucking incredible. You created a great story with great characters. If this movie didn’t respect your vision and earn your support, I wouldn’t want to support it, either.”

Cas’ expression goes slack with the force of his surprise. Dean can’t blame him for the reaction; he’s sure it’s not what Michael would have said.

(Dean has never met the guy, but he seems like a stuck-up prick, so he doesn’t exactly have any desire to. He knows enough from interviews and general gossip, thanks.)

“Why would you give up this film?” Cas asks—demands, really. Once he gets a grip on his surprise, he verges on being angry. “I know your work history, so I know this project is a huge opportunity for you. You told me that you started acting with the hopes of supporting your brother. This would be a better paycheck than any you have ever seen, which could help both of you. So why the hell would my opinion of something as inane as the title convince you to give up your chance?”

“Well… not just the title..” Maybe his logic doesn’t feel quite as sound now that Cas has thrown it back at him like that, but that doesn’t mean Dean is going to change his mind. “It’s your story. I’m just some guy who might be allowed to act it out. One of those things is way more important than the other.”

Cas reels back slightly. “Dean Winchester,” he starts to say, but for a long moment, nothing follows it. Dean waits, feeling uneasy (and definitely like he has blown his chance and used this alone time with Cas all wrong).

Then Cas finishes, “Dean Winchester, you are phenomenal.” In the same breath, he turns his head toward the conference room door and shouts, “Cain?”

It only takes a handful of seconds for Cain to appear, opening the door and strolling through it without a care in the world. There’s no one with him, Michael or otherwise. Dean frowns.

“Any thoughts, Castiel?” Cain asks, casting a cautious look in Dean’s direction. Cas is quick to answer him, though, redrawing his attention completely.

“Dean is the one. I would like him to have the role over Michael.”

Dean’s has just about hits the floor. He turns to Cas, abruptly feeling dizzy and certainly not understanding what the hell is happening. “What? But I… I haven’t even been in the same room as him, yet. Why would you pick me? I mean, his name alone—”

Cas cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I already spoke with Michael earlier in the day. When he thought he had a few, secret minutes alone with me, he spent his time trying to impress me with his reputation and connections. He flat-out offered to introduce me to my favorite actor if he was given the part.”

Dean blinks. “And you didn’t want to take him up on that?”

Cas shakes his head and graces Dean with a small, secret kind of smile. “I think I have a new favorite actor now, anyway. And he’s much kinder. He cares about the work itself instead of just getting the job. Better looking, too, if I’m being honest.”

Cain muffles a chuckle behind his hand. Dean stares up at him in surprise; Cas is so absorbing that Dean already managed to forget that he came back into the room. And when he does look up, the director offers Dean his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Dean. I’ll make sure everything you’ll need to look through gets sent along to your agent.”

“I—” Dean swallows hard. He’s dangerously close to getting choked up, but he eagerly shakes Cain’s hand nonetheless. “Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to working with you, too. I appreciate this opportunity.”

There. Charlie would be proud of him for that line.

Dean can sense that the meeting (or ambush, really, since that’s what it turned out to be) is going to come to an end now that the casting decision has been declared. Part of him feels like he should keep his mouth shut and let that happen, not push his luck, but as soon as Cas starts to walk away from him, presumably toward the door, something like panic grips at Dean, and he instinctively reaches after him.

“Hey Cas, wait up—” Dean leaves Cain Mullen behind in favor of catching Castiel Novak by his elbow. Cas is slow to turn around to look at him, and when he does, his blue eyes have gone round with surprise. And god, with a face like that, how is this guy just the brains behind the story? It’s almost ridiculous.

Nerves bubble through Dean, and he gently releases Cas’ elbow. Neither of them moves to put any additional space between them, though.

“I was just, uh. I was wondering.” Shit, when did Dean become so bad at this? “Do you want to maybe… grab coffee? Or something? You know, new favorite actor to new favorite author? You never did tell me how different Outside the Midnight Hour is from its movie adaptation.”

Cas stares at him. “I suppose I didn’t,” he concedes. Then, after a moment of deliberation, a smile steadily stretches across his features, lighting him up. “Favorite actor to favorite author, you say?”

Dean feigns a casual shrug. “Kinder and better looking than any other author I know.”

It’s right then that Dean learns that, when Cas smiles widely enough, his nose and eyes wrinkle with it. He already loves the look of it, even before it turns out to accompany the words, “I would very much like to get coffee with you.”

[house-of-kells]

A place where I am not myself.

Syntheticspacemagic | Fluff | Ikora x Shiro-4 | SFW 

Ikora had always liked being alone with her thoughts. Alone on mercury when the guardian went in after Osiris and Sagira, alone when she stormed her way through the crucible, and alone when it was just her and her ghost wandering the jungles of what had once been known as Africa, when she was still a fresh guardian.

But this time was different, staring out at the traveler as it pulled itself back together, Ikora felt, for once, uncomfortable with being alone with her thoughts.  she rubbed her palms over the smooth wood beneath her hands as she leaned out over the railing not unlike she had seen Zavala do so many times.  the dramatic irony was not lost on her.  It had been only 2 weeks since the guardian had returned from the tangled shore, informing the two remaining vanguard of Prince Uldren’s death. 

Despite having been the one to send the guardian on that journey, Ikora felt no sense of relief, no satisfaction, only what she could describe as disappointment. disappointment not in the guardian, but in herself, she had gone behind Zavala’s back to OK a mission that had in the grand scheme of things, accomplished nothing.  the two vanguard leaders still had not spoken.  

“Ikora.” a synthesized voice behind her spoke, low and solemn.  Ikora turned her head slightly, just enough to see the speaker from her peripheral vision.  Shiro-4, one of Cayde’s closest friends, leaned against the wall fifteen feet from where she stood, hands folded over his chest, regarding her with his robotic eyes, and for once Ikora wished that Exos’ could display just a little more emotion.  “Shiro, what are you doing here.” she responded in the same solemn tone, ordinarily she’d be more cordial, shaking his hand, all business, but today she just couldn’t muster the effort.

Shiro sported a new cloak sown from black cloth, instead of the yellow cloth he had worn originally, the cloak sported a long red stripe down its left half, as though mirroring the cloak Cayde had once worn. as he shifted his weight, Ikora caught a glint of silver at his hip, a small unassuming sidearm was strapped there.  

“I came to check in, got a message from Cayde saying he had died, and left some things for me.”  he shifted uncomfortably.  “whole place isn’t what I expected to come back to honestly.”  Ikora turned back to stare up at the traveler again.  “and what were you expecting Shiro?” Shiro stood up to his full height, no longer leaning against the wall, and approached. “wasn’t expecting Cayde dead and you and Zavala giving each other the cold shoulder, that’s for sure.”  he gestured to the railing next to her. “May I?” Ikora waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and he mimicked her position, hands placed on the railing, only his eyes weren’t on the traveler.  

Ikora held the silence for a few long moments, cherishing it, before snapping it in her hands. “I never intended it to be like this.”  she said, lowering her eyes to the city. “I’m assuming you mean the guardian skipping off to the shore to do the deed.” Shiro quipped.  Ikora nodded in confirmation, honestly Shiro would have made a fine hidden had he been a warlock, his skills of perception almost beyond reason.  “I thought it would bring...” Ikora paused searching for a phrase to convey what she felt, in truth she had no idea what she had ‘thought it would bring’.  

Once again Shiro came to her rescue. “you thought it would help things make sense, like how it used to be.  you thought it would drive Zavala onto your path. you thought it would bring resolution to Cayde’s death.” again he had hit the nail on the head, but Ikora made no move to confirm his guess.  “I feel as though your words are wasted on me Shiro, why are you here exactly?”  the exo shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “ah, well, you see...” he shrugged. “when Andal died, there was this restaurant I brought Cayde to, down in the city, it was sort of a place away from places, if you get what I mean.”  she didn’t. “No I don’t I’m afraid.”  Shiro sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Cayde eventually ended up calling it ‘the place where I can be not myself’, its sort of a place where you don’t have to be a guardian for a while. you’re a guardian, but not there. you’re a soldier, but not there. you’re a civilian, a titan, a warlock, a hunter. but not there.”

Ikora finally looked over to the hunter, the barest hint of a smile gracing her face, the thought of a place where she could think things over not as the vanguard, not as a guardian, not as a scholar, but as herself, as Ikora, seemed oddly cathartic. 

“you know Shiro, I think I would like that.”  she said, keeping her eyes on the traveler.  the hunter nodded. “I’ll get it set up, and ping you the coordinates tonight, wear something nice.” he looked down at her robes. “and uh, not that sort of nice, like, normal nice.”  Ikora didn’t understand but nodded along anyway.  “Great.” Shiro said, rising up again to his full height “just look, not you.” he said, striding away. Ikora shook her head, wondering how in the world she could not look like herself. 

it had taken a few hours for Shiro to send her the coordinates as well as a time, and a few hours more for her to put together a suitable disguise, but Ikora had managed to dig the robes she had worn as a young guardian out of her closet, and reattach the shoulder sling to her old shotgun, Invective.  the robes were simple, maroon in color, with black leather serving to fill in the gaps, and a handy hood to pull over her head.  across her arm, Ikora had placed one of her old wearable colliders’, and had departed the tower in secret, placing an old teal helm over her head, and pulling up the hood about her neck.  

saying the restaurant was hard to find was the understatement of a lifetime, even with her ghost, Hugin, supplying active coordinates, it had taken them nearly two hours to find it, and the result both was and wasn’t what Ikora had been expecting.  put together from what seemed to be random bits of metal and wood, the ‘restaurant’ was nothing more than a large shack with a corrugated steel panel as a roof, hanging from the roof, just above the doorway, was a fizzled out neon sign suspended by wires threaded through what looked suspiciously like bullet holes; the sign read “the Middle of Nowhere”.  Ikora looked around, there was no sign of Shiro yet, and this didn’t feel like the sort of place to be alone in, and she began to have second thoughts.  letting out a small hum, Ikora leaned toward Hugin and said “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea...”  just as she began to turn to leave, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Ikora.” Shiro called from across the small grassy yard outside of the shack. jogging across, he stopped a few feet in front of her.  “I’m so glad you were able to make it.” Ikora nodded cautiously. “Shiro when you said a place...” she paused, uncertain. “I wasn’t expecting this.”  Shiro nodded, easily reading what she implied. “yeah I know, but give it a shot, and if you don’t like it, we don’t come back.  Deal?” Ikora felt a bit shocked by how forward he was being, she had never taken a chance to talk to Shiro without being in a vanguard meeting, and now that she was alone with him, his calm reassurance was... nice.  “Alright.” she managed to say.  “I can give it a try.”

“Fantastic.” Shiro replied, moving towards the shack, Ikora in tow.  before the pair arrived at the door, Shiro laid his arm across her shoulders; when she moved to step away, he tightened his grip. “okay Ikora, trust me on this, you’re gonna want me around here, at least until folks warm up to you, so just follow my lead.”  Ikora sighed slightly and nodded, Shiro nodded in return, before pushing open the door to the restaurant, while saying. “welcome to the Middle of Nowhere.”  

Despite its outward appearance, the inside of the shack was well lit, with round tables, their finish almost completely peeled off, and old rustic chairs, which probably never had any finish applied in the first place, light bulbs hung from cords stretching upwards to the ceiling;  off to the left on the far side of the single room was a bar, in similar condition to the tables and chairs.  as the pair entered, figures seated alone or in groups at the tables turned their eyes on Ikora and Shiro.  Ikora felt Shiro shift his hand down from her shoulder to around her waist, while he simultaneously raised his other hand into the air slightly and lowered his head in what Ikora could only describe as a half nod. the patrons, most of them hunters by Ikora’s wager, repeated the gesture, lowering their heads and raising their hands, before returning to their drinks or other activities. 

pulling her over to an empty table with two chairs, Shiro took his hand from Ikora’s waist and kicked one of the chairs out from the table a ways, before taking the other chair and sitting down.  Ikora took the chair shiro had moved, presumably for her in the weird way hunters did things, and sat, pulling herself up to the table.  after a moment a young woman came by and dropped two old menu’s onto the table between them. “Anything for drinks?” she asked, pulling out a notepad, her tone somewhat apathetic.  “Two glasses of water, and something for a departed friend if you get my meaning.”  Shiro chimed in.  the woman nodded, not looking up from the notepad. “Sure thing Shiro.” she turned on her heel and wove her way through the tables back to the bar.  Ikora stared after her for a few seconds before pulling one of the menu’s across the table and beginning to unfold it, turning her gaze back to Shiro. “they know you?” Shiro nodded. “yeah, and before you ask, they don’t care that we’re guardians, place operates on a ‘don’t ask don’t tell policy’” Shiro reached out and placed his hand on top of Ikora’s menu, obscuring her vision of the orders. “and don’t, order anything here.”  Ikora would have asked why but decided against it, Shiro was clearly in his element here, and it felt best to just follow his lead. 

The woman returned with the glasses and a dark bottle of cheap wine,  which Shiro took and thanked her, tipping her a few pieces of glimmer before turning his attention back to Ikora. “So Ikora.” he began, and Ikora braced herself. “I heard what happened, and I’m not talking about Cayde, I’m talking about you and Zavala.” there it was, the question she had hoped not to hear. “Listen Shiro, I appreciate this, but I don’t think” she was cut off by Shiro leaning forward, onto the table. “I know you don’t think this is a good Idea Ikora, but I want to hear your side of things, every guardian I’ve talked to knows Zavala’s side, but I want to hear yours.”

Ikora took a moment to compose herself, sifting through her memories, trying to find a place to start;  after she had compiled what she felt was a proper explanation, she cast her eyes downward to her hands.  “I didn’t understand.” she finally said, watching Shiro sit back, listening.  “with Cayde dead, I didn’t understand why Zavala didn’t want to go after Uldren Sov, at first I thought him a coward, too afraid of his own light’s frailty to trust anyone else to do a good job, it felt as though he thought if he couldn’t do something, no one could.”  Shiro nodded. “But that wasn’t the case.” he prompted, and Ikora shook her head. “No it wasn’t, after the guardian returned, and I felt no satisfaction, I turned my thoughts inward.” she looked up to Shiro’s glowing blue eyes.  “if we had sent an army, a raid party, or even a fire-team, the chances of an unnecessary loss would have skyrocketed, and...” she paused for a second, casting her eyes back down to her hands and willing herself to say what she had been avoiding, a result she had until now refused to face. “And despite all how much I despaired, Cayde was still just a single guardian, a loss of another guardian wouldn’t have changed that. simple numbers.”  

As Ikora stared down at her hands, clenched into fists, another gloved hand appeared, looking up slightly, Ikora watched Shiro place his right hand over top her left, a small gesture of reassurance.  “from up in the tower, it all seems like simple math and science.” he said, his tone soft. “if we lose two guardians instead of one, its a net loss, if we don’t prove a point here or there, net loss.” he stared at Ikora intently. “but down here, when the enemy really hits home, its not so simple anymore.”  Ikora nodded, and Shiro sat back in his chair, pouring some of the wine at the table into a spare glass and pushing it towards her.  “I know it’s tough, believe me, but it’ll get better.  I promise”  Ikora nodded, removing her teal helmet.  as the cool air hit her face, she felt her eyes burn, withing the confines and filtered air of her helmet, she had failed to realize she had begun to cry.  “thank you Shiro.” she managed, her voice warbling as she spoke;  she grasped the glass and took a sip, it had a strange, sour flavor to it, but not a flavor she despised. Shiro emptied his glass of water before filling it again with wine, and raised it slightly. “to Cayde.” Ikora nodded and raised her glass slightly off the table as well.

Ikora couldnt help but giggle as Shiro regaled her with yet another tale of Cayde’s antics before he became a vanguard, tipping back her glass, Ikora noticed she had run out of wine again, and went to pour more wine into her glass another time, only to have none pour from the bottle.  as she sat there, pondering why nothing was happening, Shiro gently took the bottle from her hand, and placed it on the table, next to the other empty bottle.  “I think that’s enough Ikora, its getting late.”  Ikora stared at him, dumbfounded. “It is?” she peered up at the small clock on a nearby wall, trying to will her vision to stop wobbling so she could see the time.  Shiro took her gently by the arm, and led her out of the bar, and Ikora had to admit, the cool night air did help straighten out her vision a bit, but not her balance, as she would have almost immediately fallen had it not been for Shiro’s support.  leaning her full weight against him, she stumbled along with him back in the vague direction of the tower.  as he helped her into her dormitory, Ikora put her free hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to thank you Shiro, it was nice to be away from the tower for a while.” Shiro seemed to nod. “whatever you say Ikora, you should get some sleep.”  not that it had been mentioned, Ikora felt the weight of exhaustion creeping over her body, nodding along with him, she mumbled. “yes, sleep would be nice...” Shiro helped her over to the couch, too unfamiliar with the layout of her room to help her to her bed, before turning to leave. “try to take it easy tomorrow Ikora.” he called over his shoulder, Ikora simply waved her hand in agreement, pulling Invective off of her shoulder, and allowing it to drop onto the ground with a loud thud.  the last thing she remembered was watching Shiro close the door behind him, bathing the room in darkness.

[minxiebutt]

Pink and Red

Merry Christmas @daringstars and happy new year! I was thrilled to be given the opportunity to create something for you. Here's 2500 words of fluffy eruri spankings, the tiniest peek of smut, and a lot of sensual loving care. I hope you enjoy this.

Admittedly, Erwin was not a coffee-drinker until recently. It had come to his attention that a very handsome young man was newly employed at a coffeehouse near Erwin’s workplace, and curiosity got the best of him and subsequently gave him a new habit. The establishment is cute and whimsical in a purposeful way. Furniture is all mismatched to the decor, giving the place a sort of eclectic pastel-meets-quirky-fifties-housewife feeling, though oddly, it is very energising when Erwin comes in most mornings, and not just because of the bright colours.

The handsome young man, for the most part, does his best to wave off Erwin’s flirting, but most of the time, he joins in. It’s innocent… usually. Because usually, there are other patrons of the establishment. They trade friendly banter or gripe about the city. The handsome young man recently moved here, much like Erwin himself. There’s a steadiness in their daily exchanges, trading off new information like secondhand sources: what food to avoid, where to pursue entertainment, what’s the best of the best here.

And sometimes their flirting is not-so-innocent. Because sometimes, it’s just the two of them and the machinery. Erwin likes those times, when the handsome young man slides him his drink, he can take a sip, and then moan with appreciation for a job well done. The handsome young man will flush up to the tips of his ears and swear and call Erwin a pervert. He won’t even defend himself, only smile back. In the most boring or stressful parts of his day, Erwin will think of the handsome young man in his pink argyle apron and the name tag that reads Levi with a heart in the place of a dot on the i.

“God, you’re here a lot,” Levi says one morning when Erwin makes it to the front of the line. It’s just a momentary rush, four orders all at once, but he drops his change into the tip jar regardless.

“There’s a very good reason to be here,” Erwin says playfully. “Doesn’t hurt that the reason is easy on the eyes.”

“Uh-uh,” Levi scoffs and holds up his left hand, showing off the exquisite diamond ring. He must be cherished deeply with a ring like that, Erwin muses. “I’ve got a husband.”

“Likewise,” Erwin grins, and shows off his own band. “On my honour, I’m only looking.”

Levi turns away but not before Erwin catches red blossoming on pretty cheeks. He lets the barista make his drink without distraction, but the mood is decidedly turned sour when Levi slams the disposable cup in front of Erwin.

“Look,” Levi says. “This is fun and all, but I need more than flirting as if we’re strangers, Erwin. This fucking city never sleeps and I’m working nights because of it, and you’re at work all day, and this bullshit is literally the only time we see each other. We just. We’re skew. We miss each other-- constantly. We’re out of sync. I need more.”

Erwin’s mind is blank for a moment at the explosion, and then he’s brought back into focus by the woman behind him clearing her throat. He gives her a passing glance but then leans in. “What do you need, then, Levi?”

Levi looks at him long and hard, like he’s deciding whether he should be honest or brush the whole thing off. As if it hurts to admit aloud, he murmurs, “Reassurance, Erwin.”

-

It takes another week, but Erwin aligns their schedules so that they have a full twenty-four hours together. That’s not a long time, but nevertheless, Erwin will not rush through his surprise plans.

When the day comes, he gets home from work early, a whole hour before Levi’s evening alarm would wake him to get ready for his overnight shift at the coffeehouse. He’s not scheduled for today, but he will still drag himself from bed at the same time.

Erwin showers quickly and quietly so as not to wake his husband, and then he slides into bed beside the warm, sleeping lump. Levi’s just begun to come out of his deepest dreams, and he rolls into Erwin possessively, murmuring a little bit of his special brand of sleepy nonsense that Erwin hadn’t realised he misses until now.

Erwin kisses Levi's cheek and then nuzzles it, breathing out a soft, “Good morning, my love.” Levi moans in response, one eye cracked to glare at Erwin.

“You're early,” Levi says, and then a few breaths later, “I’m off tonight.”

“You are,” Erwin confirms, finding the pulse at his husband’s jugular and licking a long stripe up his warm neck. Levi is a furnace in his slumber. He curls his body so tightly that not a wisp of heat can escape, and Erwin likes the way it tempts him.

“And you're off tomorrow,” Levi continues, shifting to allow Erwin unfettered access. This is the first time their schedules have aligned in a few weeks, and Levi is suddenly awake with all the numerous possibilities. He twists his head and bites Erwin’s stubbly chin. “Fuck, finally, we have some time.”

Hot desperation awakens in his belly, and this time, he doesn’t deny it. Erwin’s freshly showered, his skin puffy from hot water, and Levi bites at him again, taking in a mouthful of his stubbly throat.

“We have time, my love,” Erwin whispers, and when Levi surges up to bite him with fervor, he takes a handful of black hair and tugs. Levi stills in his grasp, voice caught on the uphill of a moan. “We have time. I have all the time in the world to work you.”

Levi’s lids lower and a fine shudder runs through his body where it lays flush with Erwin’s own.

“There,” Erwin coos, slowly releasing his hold. “There you go, sweet prince, lay still for me.”

Levi swallows hard enough that the flash of movement makes Erwin’s eye flit down to capture it before levelling on his husband’s bottom lip, tightly drawn between teeth.

“Grab the headboard,” Erwin tells him. At first, Levi’s hands push out at his sides, and then he slithers them sensually through the bedsheets upward to their destination. He grabs hold of the wooden slats that make the chevron pattern, his hips raising as his back arches in sinful anticipation.

“Yes, my king,” he finally answers once his body settles still. Erwin sits up on their bed. The sight of his husband, sleepy-eyed and bed-headed, waiting obediently. It’s breathtaking.

“Oh, so lovely.” Erwin places his palms against Levi’s hips, spanning them completely in ownership. To be newlywed and newly-moved, this period of distance has taken such a toll on Levi, and Erwin feels fluttering in his chest with the hungry expression on his face. God, he’s missed him.

Levi’s hips give another little rut into the air with an unbidden moan and lights Erwin’s mind on fire. They have so much time, more time than ever since they’ve been here. They could go see a movie or try a restaurant or walk through the botanical gardens, but all of that pales in comparison to staying in bed and inside one another.

“What are you thinking?” Erwin asks him gently, large hands kneading into Levi’s giving abdomen.

Levi shakes his head, eyes catching Erwin’s and refusing to look away. “Too much. Thinking too much.”

Erwin’s fingers curl and then Levi’s briefs are being slid down his thighs, but not off, just enough to expose his cock, hard from waking and from Erwin’s proximity. Levi hisses with the cool air against his sensitive glans, but his erection does not shy back.

“Filthy, aren't you,” Erwin says more than asks.

Levi nods, helplessly, flexing his cock to keep it from brushing his stomach, before sighing down into the bed, “Yeah, I am.”

Erwin smiles down at his husband, and without warning, he dips and takes Levi wholly in his mouth until his nose presses into the dark, coarse curls. The groan that fills their bedroom is guttural and raw and god damn, Erwin has missed this.

“Erwin,” Levi pants, giving his sounds away freely in the place of movement. The stoic and aloof shell is cracking open with every breath to reveal his vulnerability. “Erwin, it feels so good, it's so good….”

Erwin pulls up and off, then kisses the tip where it peeks through the foreskin. Another kiss is followed by his tongue exploring the slit and Levi’s responsive hiss fizzles down into a cry of, “Yes, yes, please!”

Like a crafty serpent, Erwin slips the barest tip of his tongue below the foreskin and pushes it back so that the glistening head is naked, and then he sucks it into his mouth. Levi's hips buck reflexively before he forcibly relaxes back, and Erwin smiles as he sucks the head with nibbling teeth and hollowed cheeks. Wrapping a fist around Levi's cock, Erwin begins to jack him off, all his movements in sync on the throbbing flesh, and he brings Levi to the edge without sending him over. The frustrated cry at being denied has Erwin's mouth lifting in a proud grin. He teases, “What do you say?”

“Thank you,” Levi squeezes out between grit teeth. Erwin leans down and laps at his husband's exposed navel. Nuzzles it, too. “Will you show me? Show me that I'm yours, please?”

“Do you need a reminder?” Erwin asks, remembers the way he'd looked in the coffeehouse a week ago.

Without shame, Levi begs. “Please, I need you to send all these bad thoughts away. I only want to think of you, sir. Please, make it so I can only think of you. Please tell me how much you want me. Tell me how good I am. Please, sir.”

After a little clumsy rearranging, Erwin gets Levi laid across his lap, his naked ass and thighs at that prime angle that makes Erwin’s palm itch. With his left hand, he strokes Levi’s hair softly, making it a bird’s nest.

Sucking him off without letting him cum has set his nerves on fire, so Erwin takes advantage of that, ghosting his hands over Levi’s skin, catching on the fine hairs that cover him and nothing else. There's a tight groan from Levi’s throat as he stifles his twitching and lets the sensation consume him. He's so good, he's always so good.

“That's it, there you go,” Erwin encourages him every time he successfully fights a shudder. Delight surges through him when he causes Levi to burst into goose flesh, because he knows exactly how sensitive he's making him. Without warning, Erwin taps Levi’s ass, nothing hard or even painful, but Levi's hypersensitivity convinces him otherwise and he yells out.

Erwin rubs the spot as he gives long, soothing shushes. When the noise quiets from Levi and he begins to sink into Erwin's lap once more, Erwin spiderwalks his right thigh for a few minutes before tapping that one, too. By the time he's got goosebumps raised on Levi’s left thigh, Levi is twitching and jerking with anticipation. Erwin doesn't leave him hanging.

“That feel good?”

Levi moans and nods and then finds his voice. “Yes, sir,” he whimpers. The tap makes him gasp into the sheets.

From there, Erwin begins the steady work. He taps across Levi’s backside, bringing a rosy pink tinge to the skin, and then he goes a little harder, just enough to get Levi's body to prepare endorphins. He knows Levi is close when Levi begins to whine high and lift his head back, so Erwin brings him relief, giving him stinging, spread-finger slaps, concentrating the efforts onto his sit-spots until he throws his head back, moans, and then settles down, limp.

Erwin lightens up on the spanking but continues to stimulate Levi through the rush with his hands and words. “You're a darling for me, you good boy.”

He leans over and kisses several of the notches in Levi's spine, brought to peak with the way he’s puddled over Erwin's lap and the bed. He whispers into the skin, “There is nothing that will ever make me give you up or forget you. You are mine, and I am yours. You will always have me.”

Levi gives him a tiny squeak of acknowledgement but Erwin continues on in the spanking, building Levi up toward another endorphin release with steady slaps against his ass, a rhythm long-established between them, a promise, you, are, mine, and, I, am, yours. Erwin thinks the words with each crash of his hand on the reddening skin, and he knows Levi can hear them in his own mind.

Giving Levi this, giving him what he needs, it brings a burst of pleasure into Erwin and he takes those words and says them aloud to the rhythm of his hand, and when Levi is ready for another release, Erwin keeps the pace but increases the force, and then Levi is unravelling further for him.

It's beautiful and Erwin can't find any words but, “Good, Levi, so good.”

Erwin doesn't cease the spanking, yet. He holds back on the strength of his blows little by little, until he's back to simply tapping Levi’s abused skin. By that point, Levi is coming down from his pain high, whimpering again to vocalise his happy discomforts.

Carefully, Erwin removes himself from under Levi and sets the small man down on his back in the sheets. He climbs on top of him and bundles Levi into a ball below his weight, as if he is a blanket. Levi shifts and whines and moans, but when Erwin presses gentle kisses into the dip behind his ear, he purrs with contentment.

“Don't ever think that I don't want you, Levi,” Erwin commands him. “No matter how hard things get, I want you, Levi, and I will walk through hell to keep you.”

Levi sighs and gives a slight nod, so Erwin praises him, “Thank you for telling me what you need, Levi. Thank you for always being so good.”

Levi's breathing hitches but Erwin can see the welling of tears in his eyes so he pulls Levi's ear into his mouth for a sloppy kiss. He wants there to be no doubts hiding in the corners of Levi's mind. “Good, so good, Levi, always so good. Tell me, sweetheart, tell me what you need now.”

“Just this,” Levi breaths. “Hold me like this.”

Erwin wiggles his hands out from under Levi's shoulders and frames his face, forces his chin up and takes a deep kiss. Willing and pliant beneath him, Levi lets Erwin devour his vulnerability, and Erwin feels all the more protective for it. He drops just the right amount of his weight on Levi to ground him in the coming drop, and then he talks in circles, going between praising and promising and reminding Levi that regardless of his past, Erwin is staying. Erwin will always stay with him.

By the time Levi's alarm rings, they're both feeling like themselves again. Erwin fills their bathtub with near-scalding water (Levi's usual after a drop) and then after he bathes him, he orders Levi to the sofa and brings him dinner, making sure that Levi does not have to lift a finger at all for the rest of the night.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

locking out the ghosts chapter five

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

s5 fic: spoilers for all souls and a little bit for the pine bluff variant and mind’s eye, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

disclaimer: i’m not trying to be preachy with this chapter in any way, shape, or form. most religious-related stuff is straight from 5x17 all souls, and the rest is just my interpretation of what scully would be feeling during/after the episode. 

warning for discussion of child death (in the context of all souls and emily).

Things are fine afterwards. Fine. They work the Marty Glenn case in Delaware, and things are fine—at least between them. They don't agree on Marty Glenn’s innocence, not at first, but the truth comes to light easily. Marty goes to prison and Mulder seems disappointed. He goes to visit Marty in prison, offers to talk to the judge, but Marty refuses. Waiting outside for him, Scully wonders if he has a crush on Marty, the same way she did on Esther or Jack. If he does, she suspects it will fizzle out to nothing the same way her crushes did. If he does, she can't be jealous, because she's the one who broke up with him.

Time moves forward with ease, cases coming and going, little to no tension arising between them. Nearly before Scully realizes what is happening, it is Easter and her mother is flying down to see Bill and Tara and Matthew again. (She is absolutely delighted with this first grandchild of hers. Somehow, Scully has thought more than once, Emily doesn't exactly count.) She invites Scully, who vehemently denies and tries not to feel hurt. Her mother prods gently, suggesting that they visit Emily’s grave with flowers. Scully knows she means well, but her daughter's name in her mother's mouth after months of silence on the subject stings like a slap across the face. “Thank you, Mom, but it's too soon,” she says instead. “I'd rather stay here. I'll go to Mass.” She's been going to Mass every Sunday lately—she'd started going every now and then after her cancer went into remission, but since Emily, she's gone every Sunday that she's not been out of town on a case. She'd hoped that God could help her find peace.

(She thinks she is starting to find that peace. She'd moved the picture of Emily from her wallet to her desk drawer back in March, where she won't keep accidentally stumbling across it. She hasn't moved the chair in front of the spare room, though. Something inside of her won't let her. Like whatever is inside might get out. Like if she moves the chair, she'll be letting Emily go.)

She goes to the Easter service, and Father McCue asks for her help afterwards. He tells her about the Kernofs, and she feels that familiar pang in her chest when he tells her of their lost daughter Dara. She thinks that he wants her to investigate, until he says, “The Kernofs are devout, but their faith is giving them little comfort. I thought with your background your words might carry a certain weight.” Scully realizes then, the pain in her chest sharpening, that Father McCue wants her to comfort them. Because he knows about what happened to Emily. Her mother must've told him, she hasn't confided in Father McCue about this. He could mean her background in criminal investigations, of course, he could want her to tell them that everything is fine and the girl's death wasn't painful or was inevitable or something to that degree. Or he could want her to relate to them in their shared losses. Either way, he seems to want her to solidify their faith in God.

She doesn't tell him that she doesn't feel like her own faith in God is very strong at the moment, after the things she's seen and experienced. That her recent regular attendance of Mass is an attempt to restore that faith in herself.She tells Father McCue that she's available to meet with the Kernofs on Tuesday. The next day, at work, she considers telling Mulder, but ultimately decides not to. This could be a case, or it could be a simple hour or two spent attempting to comfort the Kernofs. If it turns out to be nothing, there's no need to pull Mulder into all of this.

When Scully goes to see the Kernofs the next day, the husband barely speaks to her. The wife is kinder—an understandably muted kindness. She offers Scully a drink before heading off to find a picture of Dara to show her. She tells her that Dara was found dead in the streets, eyes burned out. She shows her a picture of Dara on her birthday and tells her that their theory is that she was struck by lightning, that they have no idea how she even got out of the house. That she was praying when her father found her. The way Mrs. Kernof describes her husband is painfully similar to everything Scully has been feeling. The lack of understanding as to why God would let an innocent girl die. She agrees to help them.

The coroner clears things up and makes things muddier all at the same time. She tells Scully that the cause of death is unclear, due to the lack of burns anywhere but her eye sockets. The religious overtones are obvious, between the rigored kneeling position Dara is still in and the coroner commenting that it's as if God struck her down. Scully has no idea why God would do something like that.

The coroner hasn't looked into Dara’s birth parents. Scully decides on a whim to involve Mulder, at least to find some information for her. She calls him, but he doesn't answer; he must be busy or something. She leaves him a message urging him to call her back as soon as possible and heads home. It starts to rain, hard. She steadies her breathing, staring straight ahead out of the windshield. She keeps her mind firmly on Dara Kernof and doesn't let her mind wander from the case. It doesn't matter. She is going to help this family find peace. Dara Kernof is not Emily, and she is going to find her killer. Or at least find out what happened to her.

At home, she flips through the crime scene photos, looking for any clues as to what could've happened. She finds nothing, Dara's charred eye sockets staring out at her. They start to look as if they are pleading, crying out for her help. She falters. She gives into this pull in her stomach, her heart, pulls open her desk drawer and digs out Emily’s picture underneath all the stuff she slid it under. Her daughter's bright face grins out at her from underneath banners and a party hat. A birthday party she never saw, that she should've been the one throwing. A week is not enough time with your baby. She wonders if the Kernofs are thinking about all the birthdays they will never celebrate with their daughter, all the years they've lost.

Overwhelmed, she sighs, letting her eyes slip closed. The rain pours. It had rained the night she'd arranged Emily’s funeral, Mulder's hand squeezing her knee for comfort as she called the funeral parlor where the Sims had been buried. She thought it was fitting, like the sky was broken open and sobbing. She hoped it never stopped. But the sun had shone the day of the funeral. It felt wrong.

The phone rings and she scoops it up, answering with a simple, “Hello.”

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder says on the other end, voice rushed. “I’m returning your call.”

“Hi,” she says. “Uh, something’s come up. I was, uh, hoping that you could do me a favor.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“This isn’t official FBI business so I was hoping that we could keep it outside of work,” she explains.

“Hey, look,” he blurts, “I’m, uh…  I’m kind of tailing a possible suspect right now, so I’m kind of rushed, so, uh…”

“I need some birth and adoptive records on a Dara Kernof.”

“Who?”

“Dara Kernof. I can’t tell you much more than that, Mulder. I’m sorry,” she says, somewhat apologetically.

“You want to give me a hint? Anything?” he prods.

“Not until you get me those records,” says Scully.

She expects more prodding on his part, but instead he says, “All right, I'll talk to you later,” before hanging up. He must've really been busy.

Scully sets the phone down, rubbing her temples wearily. Resisting the urge to look at the photo again, she slides it back in her desk, shuffling the crime scene photos and sliding them back into the folder. She can't work anymore tonight. She takes a scalding shower and goes to bed. She tries not to think.

The next morning, the police department that investigated Dara's death calls her early in the morning. A girl, Paula Koklos, has died in an identical way to Dara Kernof. A girl who is physically identical to Dara Kernof. Another young girl dead. Scully goes immediately.

Mulder finds her there, somehow. He's eager, immediately intrigued by the entire case. Scully tells him that she didn't want to involve him, although she's not entirely sure why. Maybe because this feels too personal. Or maybe because of the way he's treating it like some big, magical X-File. He's found Dara's birth records, he tells her. He's found that she was a quadruplet. That there are two other girls out there, Dara and Paula’s sisters, who may still be alive.

Mulder's theory is that some religious wacko is the murderer, based off of the position the girls died in and the upside-down cross found in Paula’s room. The social worker—one Aaron Starkey—directs them to Paula’s intended adopted father, one Father Gregory. They leave immediately, some unspoken agreement that Mulder would be consulting.

In the car, Mulder asks the inevitable question. “So, not to prod, Scully, but why didn't you want to involve me? Want this one all to yourself?”

Scully swallows, cheek pressed against the window. “No, I… thought you wouldn't be interested. Religious imagery and all,” she says lightly.

“I'm always up for a case,” Mulder teases. “Even with religious imagery.”

He's never seemed very interested in those in the past, but Scully doesn't say this. They're mostly quiet until they reach The Church of St. Peter the Sinner. “Unusual name,” Mulder cracks.

The church is just as unusual as its name, and Father Gregory is a fitting pastor. He claims to have wanted to protect Paula, to have known her birth mother. He seems to think that Paula and Dara's death was the will of God. Mulder thinks he's full of crap. Surprisingly—or maybe unsurprisingly, considering Mulder's beliefs that have been made clear in the past—he seems to think that there is no supernatural element to this case. He acts like he doesn't know what she's talking about when she brings it up.

“Well,” Scully says in response to this, “Dara Kernof was baptized on the day of her death. She was sanctified by the ritual sacrament… submerged in the spirit.”

“And why would God allow this to happen? Why do bad things happen to good people? Religion has masqueraded as the paranormal since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history.”

“I was raised to believe that God has his reasons, however mysterious.”

“He may well have his reasons but he seems to use a lot of psychotics to carry out his job orders,” Mulder says, like he's trying to be funny, like he's trying to be cocky. “You want to find out who did this? I suggest you autopsy the body of Paula Koklos before it’s interred, before the man who killed her has a chance to find her sisters.”

He heads for the car, climbing into the driver's side. Scully follows wearily. This is why she didn't want to bring him on; because he always freezes up on religious cases, becomes rigid in his disbelief in those things. It's infuriating, because if this were any other case, she knows he would believe every word out of Father Gregory’s mouth. But once again, they've found themselves at odds. Where they usually are.

She goes to begin the autopsy on Paula Koklos and hallucinates her baby on the metal slab. Emily’s pleading eyes, blue as her mother's and her sister's. She looks so small under the blanket. She calls her Mommy. “Mommy, please,” she says, pleading, and Scully can feel herself crumbling. This is not real, she tells herself after turning away and finding Paula there when she turns back. She is trying very hard not to cry. You are seeing things as a result of stress brought on by the similarity of this case to a traumatic experience you've recently had to deal with. But this doesn't erase the image. The sound of her daughter's voice calling her Mommy, calling for help. And she can't help but wonder if this is all a sign, if God is sending her visions. If this is all happening for a reason and she is an integral part in his plan.

She finishes the autopsy. She doesn't know how, but she finishes it. Types up the transcript and goes home. She crawls into bed and finds herself unable to sleep, tossing and turning and pushing at the layers of blankets. She's so cold. It's April in Virginia, and she is freezing.

It's not until Scully gets up and goes into the living room to retrieve her photo of Emily that she can fall asleep. She curls, shivering, in the bed with the only thing she has left of her daughter under her hand. She wakes the next morning with the photo a little crumpled under her cheek. She thinks she dreamed, but she can’t remember what about.

---

The autopsy bay is crowded the next morning. Scully decides to reexamine the results of the Paula Koklos case, having judged that she wasn’t in her right mind the night before. (She couldn't really have found those winglike things, she had to have imagined or misdiagnosed it.) She is putting up the x-rays when Mulder calls, with the news that he may have tracked down another sister and that he and the social worker Aaron Starkey are looking for her in DC. He hangs up on her before she can finish explaining the night before. Less than an hour later, he's calling to tell her that the third girl is dead and Father Gregory is in custody.

Hearing the news, Scully can't help but feel a rush of frustration. I should've been there, she wants to scream. God must want her to save these girls; that's why he sent Emily to her. But another one is dead, another innocent life. She is failing.

Father Gregory insists that he is protecting the girls, that the devil wants to kill them. He tries to find common ground with Scully.  “You know. You’ve already guessed… what they are.” He tries to convince her to let him go so that the fourth girl can be protected.

Scully doesn't. Aside from the fact that Mulder would think her insane, she doesn't think it's necessary. Father Gregory may play an integral part, but she is going to save the fourth girl (who Mulder identifies as Roberta Dyer directly after their interrogation of the Father). She has to be the one—why else would God have sent her the vision of Emily? Those who have visions have some sort of purpose, and this is hers.

If only Mulder knew that. “Don't let this guy get in your head,” he tells her encouragingly, almost comfortingly. “That’s the last thing you want. Sometimes the most twisted ones are the most persuasive.”

“Mulder, he knows where she is,” she says.

“Well, that’s okay. As long as he’s locked up here, it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not going to find her. I think you’re being misled,” she says in a rush.

“By who?” he wants to know, and she has no answer. None that he'd believe, anyway. “Scully, I think you’re the one who’s being misled. Not just willingly, but willfully. I’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated and it scares me because I don’t know why.”

“I saw Emily,” she says, because maybe it will make him understand. He's believed people on visions of Samantha before—the miracle healer from years ago, for one thing. Second time they've mentioned her name aloud in months. “She came to me in a vision.”

Mulder doesn't say anything. She looks away, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. He steps closer, puts his hand on the back of her neck and leans close enough that their foreheads are almost touching. He looks off to the side as if checking for someone, and for an absurd moment, Scully thinks he's going to kiss her forehead in the middle of a damn police station to comfort her. She doesn't even think she'd mind at this point.

Instead, he says, “I think you should step away.”

He steps back, hand coming down to cover her shoulder, and she looks off to the side, blinking hard before looking back at him. “Personal issues are making you lose your objectivity,” he's saying, “clouding your judgement.”

Like that hasn't been an issue for him on a thousand goddamn cases. She's lost people too, now, damnit. She should get the same pass he's had for a while now. “You go,” she says out loud, nearly before she realizes she is saying it. “Go find the girl. I'm going to finish up with Father Gregory.” Because it's easier to agree than argue, especially in situations like this, and damnit, is this how he felt when she told him he should be off Modell’s case? She'd felt she was right at the time, and surely that's the same way Mulder feels. That he's protecting her from getting herself or others hurt. But then again, he was right on the Modell case and she feels she is right now. She knows she is right, she has to be.

“Okay,” Mulder is saying softly, taking the folder from her and walking off. Scully swallows, doesn't say anything else. She looks back down at the photo of Roberta Dyer, running her fingernails over the edge. There has to be a way to save her. She can't fail someone else.

But any hope of Father Gregory helping her is lost—he's found dead in the locked interrogation room, skin harshly blistered and burned with a guard right outside.

It takes a long time for everything to be cleared up, for them to interview everyone nearby about anything they may have heard or saw or done, and to take the body away. Scully puts in a request to do the autopsies, but she's not allowed to that night. So instead, she heads out to her car at close to ten, planning to call Mulder on the road and touch base with him. But her key won't turn in the lock of the driver's side.

Brow furrowing, she shuffles the keys in her hand, planning to try again when the phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and pulls out the antenna, putting it up to her ear. “Hello.”

“Yeah, hi, Scully, it's me,” Mulder says in a rush.

“He's dead, Mulder,” she tells him, bluntly.

“Who?”

“Father Gregory,” she says, fiddling with her keys. “They found him alone in the interrogation room. No one can figure it out. There was a guard sitting right outside the room.” The keys tumble from her hand and she kneels to pick them up, still holding the phone to her ear.

“We didn’t find her. The fourth girl—she was here,” Mulder is saying. But something seems to outweigh that. A strange whispering sound, and black shoes in front of her that have appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She didn't hear anyone else out here.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder says. She doesn't respond. She looks slowly up, slowly… “Scully, you there? Answer me.” It's a man, light protruding from behind him, and yet it can't be a man. “Scully?” Mulder prods on the other end, and she can't answer because she's staring up in horror as the man's face shifts, changes to an eagle and then a lion, and Mulder is still calling her name, and the light grows brighter as the faces change…

When it fades, she is alone, still crouched on the ground with her keys in hand, her knees aching. The thing is gone. Her phone is silent in her other hand.

Scully gets to her feet, trembling a little, and scans the parking lot quickly. No one—no one going to their car or driving away, no men with many faces. The only lights are fluorescent. Shaking her head hard, she tries her key again. It works this time.

Her phone rings again a few minutes later. She answers it. “Scully?” Mulder shouts into the phone, frantic, before she can even put the phone up to her ear.

She tucks it between her cheek and her shoulder, says, “I'm here.”

Mulder's sigh is one of both of relief and of exasperation. “Thank God,” he says shakily. “I thought you were… I almost called the police.”

Somehow, Scully thinks bitterly, digging her fingernails into the leather of the steering wheel, I don't think God is who you would be thanking. “I'm fine,” she says.

“What the hell happened?” Mulder demands.

She swallows dryly. “I… I saw something.” She did, she can't deny it. For the first time in a long time, she can't deny it. Not after everything that's happened on this case.

“What? Another vision?”

Scully licks her lips. “I suppose you could say that,” she says carefully—because that thing couldn't have really been there, the same way Emily wasn't there. God is trying to speak to her.

“Jesus, Scully,” Mulder says in quiet awe. “This case… what the hell is it doing to you?”

She clenches her jaw, holding the wheel tighter. “Mulder…”

“I'm worried about you,” he's saying. “I think you need to walk away from this case, Scully. You seeing things… that's definitely not normal.”

“And you seeing things is normal?�� she snaps. “What about you, Mulder? You see things on every case we're on ,and you never get booted off for that. And you're always furious when you are! Remember how upset you were when Skinner and I pulled you off the Bowman case?”

He doesn't say anything for a minute. “That's… different.”

“Why? Because you were right then and you think I'm wrong now?”

Mulder's silence is longer this time. Scully stares straight ahead at the road, glaring at the headlights across the median. Something bigger than a religious fanatic murderer is going on here—she just wishes someone could see it besides her.

“I'm just worried about you, Scully,” Mulder says finally. “Worried about your…”

“Call me if you find the fourth girl, Mulder,” Scully says tightly and hangs up, letting the phone drop in the seat beside her.

---

She goes to see Father McCue the next morning instead of going into the police station, to get his opinion on the things she's been seeing. If she could just figure out what God's trying to tell her…

Father McCue identifies the thing from the parking garage as a Seraphim from her description, an angel with four faces. The story he tells of the Nephilim, the children of the Seraphim and mortals, and the way that they are called back to heaven to protect them from the Devil, feels too familiar. It feels too much like what is happening. But Father McCue doesn't agree. He thinks she is imagining it based off of hearing the story a long time ago. Clear that she will get nowhere with him on the subject, he tells Scully that he believes God has his reasons. In the moment, she believes that, too.

Directly outside of the church, the social worker, Aaron Starkey, shows up and tells Scully that Mulder has been trying to reach her because they found the fourth girl at Father Gregory’s church. She rides with him down there, panic coursing through her the whole time. Whatever happens, she has to protect the girl. She has to protect Roberta.

When they get to the church, Scully goes straight in while Starkey lingers behind. The church is empty and silent, no sign of Mulder or any police ever having been there. When she turns to question Starkey about it, he answers in a low, menacing tone. She looks down and sees horns atop his shadow. Like the devil. She swallows and turns away to look for Roberta.

She finds Roberta under the stairs, cowering in fear. She reassures her, offers her a way out, and the girl tentatively reaches out to take her hand. Scully leads her further into the church, away from Starkey’s angry demands, muttering reassuring things. And then the light comes.

The light fills up the room, blinding her. Starkey is protesting in an inhuman voice. Roberta steps towards the light. Scully holds onto her hand, pleading with her to stay back. She can't let the girl die, she's still so young…

She looks again and sees Emily. Emily asking her to let her go. Emily calling her Mommy. “Emily,” she says in a trembling voice. She could never let her go, not her daughter…

“Mommy, please let me go,” Emily says. “Mommy, please.”

Her little fingers slip out of Scully's.

Scully watches her walk away, and she cries out for her. Not her daughter, not again. “Emily?” she calls, desperately, pleading, but Emily steps into the light anyway. “Oh, God,” she whispers, eyes slipping closed.

When she opens them, Emily is gone. When she opens them, the light is gone and so is Starkey. When she opens them, Roberta is dead.

Weakened by grief, by fear, by guilt, Scully collapses into a chair.

She tells herself that Roberta is in heaven now, where she'll be happy with her sisters. (She reminds herself that Emily is there, too, and she is in a better place.) She tells herself that this is God's will, that his means are mysterious but there was a reason he made her see Emily. He wanted her to let Roberta go. She tells herself she did the right thing.

But it is impossible to believe these things with Roberta stiff in her kneeling position only feet away. Her charred eyes look like they're calling for help, the same way Paula’s and Dara's did. An innocent girl. Scully calls for someone to come and get the body. When she hangs up, she bursts into tears.

---

When Mulder gets to Father Gregory’s church, he arrives just in time to see the stretcher being taken out of the building. The bizarrely-shaped black body bag that has the impression of kneeling.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, moving into a jog. “Scully?” he calls out, though he has no idea if she's here, and enters the building in time to see her slumped in a chair in the makeshift sanctuary. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her torso, as if to try and shield herself. Her eyes are haunted, red and puffy.

“Scully.” He skids to a stop in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulder. “Scully, what happened? Was that Roberta Dyer?”

Scully nods, jaw clenched. She's looking at something somewhere past her; her hands clutch her arms tighter. “She's dead,” she says in a hollow voice.

“Are you okay?” Scully nods. Mulder doesn't let it end there, plows on like a freight train. “What the hell happened? Were you too late?”

She doesn't answer, still not looking at him.

Mulder sighs, collapsing in a chair beside her. Another girl dead, an innocent girl they should've been able to save. God, this must be killing Scully. And if she was here… “How did you know she was here?” he wants to know.

She finally turns to meet his eyes. “Starkey brought me,” she says numbly, but slightly accusatory. “He said that you were trying to reach me, that you had found the girl.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says, hands flat against his knees, pressing down. “I thought you were going to take some time off. I thought that was what we agreed on last night, after you didn't answer me on the phone for about ten minutes and scared the shit out of me.”

Scully's shoulders tense even more, something he would've found impossible a few minutes ago. “I thought you needed me to come out here. That's what Starkey told me.”

“I never said a word to Starkey.” Mulder's hands ball into nervous fists on his knees. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Gone,” Scully mutters. Her arms are hanging loosely by her side now, her fingers trembling.  

“Gone where?”

“I don't know. Mulder, I think Starkey might’ve been who we've been looking for. I think he might’ve had a hand in what happened to those girls.”

“So, what, you think he's God?” Mulder demands. “Or the Devil? How did he kill Roberta Dyer?”

Scully's mouth thins. “Mulder, you're not being fair. Of all the theories I've gone out on a limb for, because you believed them…”

“This is different.”

Something inside Scully seems to snap here. “How? How is it different? An innocent girl is dead, and I should've been able to stop it!” she explodes. “And maybe I would've if I hadn't… if you hadn't… we are partners, Mulder, and goddamnit, you believe in everything, everything except for God. You conveniently decide not to believe, and you're not there when I need you… when I need your help…”

“I thought you didn't need my help,” Mulder says in a low voice, hating every word as it comes out of his mouth. Hating himself. “You made that pretty clear in San Diego.”

Scully flinches, looks away. He notices just then that her hands are shaking; her hands are shaking, and he's bringing up San Diego, and fuck, he's such an idiot. Fuck.

Scully stands, her eyes teary but her face steely as ever. Her voice, too, strong and clear as a bell as she says, “Fuck you, Mulder.” And then she gets up and turns to leave.

---

The next day is Saturday, so Scully has more than enough reason not to go into work. That's good; she's tired of taking sick days. She downs sleeping pills and sleeps for hours at a time. She dreams tumultuous dreams of the quadruplets staring at her with their charred eyes, pleading for help. And Emily, looking tiny among the angels and demons and the wash of bright lights. She reaches for help that Scully can't give. She cries out for her, calls her Mommy.

Scully wakes with a start, hobbles to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. It doesn't help. She crouches, trembling, on the tile and presses her face into the cotton of her towel so she won't have to hear her sobs echoing off the empty walls. She mutters something again and again into the fabric. It might be I'm sorry.

Eventually, Scully picks herself up off the cold tile and goes to sit on the couch. She turns on the TV with no idea what is playing. She loses hours at a time, the way she did the first few days after San Diego. She remembers dinner when it starts to get dark outside, goes into the kitchen and microwaves a frozen meal.

Her mother called at some point during the day to check on her; they hadn't talked for awhile, and she wants to know if Scully is planning to come to Mass the next day. When the phone rings again, Scully assumes it's her mother calling again. She lets it go to voicemail and is somewhat surprised when Mulder's voice crackles over the answering machine. “Hey, Scully, it's me,” he says. “If you're screening this, pick up. I'm worried about you.”

Scully doesn't pick up. She chews on her thumbnail absently. Mulder sighs. “I'm sorry, Scully. I shouldn't have said what I said yesterday. I don't blame you for Roberta Dyer's death. God knows I've fucked up that way plenty of times, and you're always there to pull me back from the edge. I know now… how hard this case was on you. I wish… I wish I'd figured it out sooner.” He sounds miserable. He sounds sorry. Tears well up at Scully's eyes; she stares down at the plastic case of shitty spaghetti she didn't heat up enough.

“I'm sorry for bringing up San Diego, Scully. I'm not mad at you about that. I'm not… I know I fucked up again. I've done that too much lately. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I just wanted you to know…” The beep of the answering machine cuts him off.

Scully sniffles, wiping her eyes. She climbs out of her chair and curls into the side of the couch, TV droning on in the background. She thinks about calling Mulder. She thinks about visiting Emily’s grave. She thinks about driving all night to clear the images in her head. She wonders if God will ever forgive her.

At some point, she crawls off the couch and pads into the kitchen, retrieves the bottle of wine from the fridge.

---

Sometime in the middle of the night, when he's half-awake on his couch, he makes the decision. The idea had sprung up when she didn't answer his phone call, but it solidified in his mind when he got the call from Scully's mom, saying that she'd called Scully several times without an answer. Her worry only rose when Mulder said he hadn't heard from her since Friday, and that she had a hard time on the latest case. “I know how hard the past few months have been on Dana,” Maggie had said, “and I feel awful that I haven't been there for her more. I'm… I'm honestly not sure she wants me to be.” Mulder hadn't said anything, scraping his teeth over his lower lip. Scully has barely mentioned her mother in the months since San Diego, but he suspects she has been avoiding her. He knows facing her family after Emily wasn't exactly easy.

“I've been worried about her, too,” he said aloud.

Maggie had paused for a minute before saying, “Would you mind letting me know when you hear from her? Or maybe even going to check on her? I think she'd rather hear from you than from me.”

Somehow, I don't think so, Mulder had thought, but he agreed to call her when Scully contacted him. And since then, he's been waiting. Trying to decide what to do.

And around midnight, it really does seem clear: he should go ahead and check on her. It's late, but she might still be awake. He can tell her that her mother is worried. He can tell her he is sorry. And he really is worried about her: the state that she was in when she left the church on Friday would worry anyone. He knows Scully, and he knows she can't be dealing well with any of this. He knows he should've been there for her.

He makes the decision and he gets up from the couch, shoving his feet in shoes and grabbing his keys. He just wants to know she's okay.

At Scully's place, he has to let himself in because she doesn't answer his repeated knocks. Inside, he finds a nearly empty bottle of wine, a glass shattered on the floor. “Scully?” he calls out cautiously. “Scully, are you okay?”

He heads towards Scully's bedroom, but stops in his tracks in the hall. He sees her lying on the floor in front of a door, in front of a chair wedged under a door. She's wrapped in a blanket and huddled on the ground. She's wearing an overlarge t-shirt that's he's stunned to realize is his—the Knicks shirt he's had for years. She's breathing slowly in sleep, but she jolts as soon as Mulder touches her shoulder. “What,” she mumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around her. He can smell the alcohol on her breath from here.

“Scully, it's me.” He touches her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Mm, ‘m fine Mulder,” Scully mutters irritably. “Just tryin’ to sleep.”

“Why are you sleeping out here? Instead of in your bed?” He reaches for her cold fingers and pulls them into his.

“I wanted to be… didn't wanna leave her,” says Scully sleepily, her lids raising slightly. He gives her a look of confusion. The phone slips to the floor as she reaches for her necklace, to clasp it in her hands. “This would've been her room,” she clarifies.

Mulder sucks in a breath of surprise at that, feels the weight of her statement settle in. “Oh, Scully,” he whispers, pulling her up off of the ground and into his arms.

“I had it all planned out, was gonna get a bed and paint…” Scully shifts against him, balling a fist into the hem of his shirt. “I was gonna take care of her. I really loved her, Mulder. I wanted to be her mom.”

“I know.” He's stroking her hair a little. He'd mostly managed to block out what little things he'd remembered about Emily, but now they're back and crowding his brain, making him near physically ill. If he feels this terrible about a little girl he had a total of two interactions with, how must Scully be feeling? “I know,” he says again, and kisses her hair.

Scully sniffles into his shoulder. “And I barely even knew her. I never had the chance t-to love her. They took that away.”

“I know. I'm so sorry.”

Scully wipes her nose, her eyes. “I let her die,” she mumbles, her breath hot against the cotton of his shirt. “Both of them. Emily and Roberta… it never should've happened. I should've been able to save her… but I looked at her and I saw Emily. She asked me to let her go. She called me Mommy.” She sniffles again. “And I did it. I let her go. I let her go, Mulder. And now Roberta Dyer is dead because of me.”

Mulder rubs the space between her shoulder blades. “Maybe that was what was meant to happen,” he murmurs.

Scully laughs bitterly and loosens her hold on his shirt. “You don't believe that. Y-you said. You didn't… you didn't believe me. You never believe in anything religious… God… you n-never…”

He stiffens, his arms slack around her. She's right, he didn't believe. He doesn't believe, not in God. But he doesn't blame her, not for Roberta Dyer's death. But she needed him to believe. She needed him to believe…

“I'm sorry, Scully,” he says against her temple. “I'm so sorry.”

Scully pulls out of his embrace, mumbling something that sounds like, “Let go.” She leans forward on her hands and knees, lowering herself back to the floor. “Wanna sleep.”

“You should sleep in your bed,” Mulder says, touching her shoulder. “It's warmer there.”

Scully shakes her head firmly, huddling down in front of the chair and pulling the blanket tight around her. Mulder gives up, shifting to sit against the wall. Scully mutters something indecipherable into the blanket, pressing her face into it. “It's okay,” Mulder whispers. “Get some sleep.”

As soon as she's asleep, he pulls off her shoes, finds a pillow and another blanket on her bed and brings them to her. (He might as well make her as comfortable as possible.) He sits beside her again on the floor. Her right foot slides across the floor in her sleep, bumping against his arm. Her toes are freezing, so he reaches down to rub some warmth into them and vows to buy her some socks this Christmas.

Samantha used to sleep on the floor outside their mother's room when she was little and had nightmares. He wonders, briefly, if Emily would've had nightmares and if she would've slept outside the door to Scully's room in this same fashion. If Scully would've let her crawl in bed after nightmares, even though parenting books advise against letting your child sleep in your bed. He doesn't know the kind of parent Scully would've been. (Will be, someday.) Hovering, he assumes—she flat-out refuses to leave his side when he's injured. The doctors at Emily’s hospital described Scully as “one of those tiger-mothers”, said she chased a man down the hall with a gun. What if she had gotten a chance to be a mother, if the courts had approved her adoption petition. Would she have stayed in California with Emily? No, because she said that her spare room would've been Emily’s room. So, what then? Would she have brought Emily back to DC in tiny winter coats, held her hand in the elevator? Would she have painted her spare room a bright color? Would she read picture books to her daughter in bed, carry a gun so that no one could ever hurt them again? Would she have stayed on the X-Files? Would she have stayed with him?

Mulder rubs warmth back into her cold feet, closes his eyes to try and grab at the image. He'd do anything to give her this life, he thinks. Anything. Even if it had meant sacrificing their fledgling relationship. He would've lost her either way, it seems, so better to have her gain a daughter in the process. But then again, maybe she wouldn't have broken things off if Emily had lived. Maybe she wouldn't have. Are you the parents, the doctor had asked, and she'd looked to him as if for confirmation before looking away. Maybe they could've been. Maybe they could have.

Mulder sits on the floor with Scully as she sleeps until his ass hurts. Her toes curl into the palm of his hand. He rubs a thumb over the curve of her foot. He sits there with her until his phone rings. Scully turns on her side, muttering something and throwing her arm out. Worried he'll wake her up, he stands quickly and heads out into the living room, answering the phone with a sighed, “Mulder.”

“My colleague heard you speak in Boston, Mr. Mulder,” says an unfamiliar voice on the other side. “Your take on alien conspiracies and the men in Congress.”

Mulder huffs out a laugh. It won't be the first time that he's gotten calls from conspiracy nuts. Not the first time in the middle of the night, even. But he's really, really not in the mood right now. “Well, tell your colleague that three a.m. is a little late for fan mail,” he says irritably, rubbing at his forehead.

“Don't underestimate the gravity of this phone call, Mr. Mulder,” the voice says, and it sounds deadly serious.  Serious enough that he revises his plan to hang up. “It would seem that your belief system aligns with ours. A man like you could be very valuable to our movement.”

Mulder tenses from head to toe. Pacing across Scully's living room, he can still see the top of Scully's bright head. “And what kind of movement is that?”

“I'm afraid I can't say any more over the phone,” the man on the other end says smugly. “We'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss this in person.”

Mulder rocks back and forth on his heels, turning away so he can't see Scully. “Can you give me a hint, at least?”

“You're notorious for your curiosity, Agent Mulder. I'd think that'd be enough.” The man pauses before whispering, “The fountain at Meridian Hill Park. Six a.m. Don't be late.” The dial tone clicks over, ringing harshly in his ear.

Mulder lets the phone clatter down on the counter, considering. Typically strangers calling him to arrange a meeting could be considered dangerous, something he'd want to avoid. But still… what if they're allied against the Syndicate, the people doing experiments on little girls and putting honing chips into the necks of innocent civilians? He has to go. For his sake and Scully's and Emily’s and Samantha's and any chance that this purported movement could be fighting against these people. He rubs his eyes again and heads for his coat.

He starts to leave without saying anything, thinks better of it. He tears a scrap of paper loose from the pad Scully uses to make grocery lists and scribbles a note: Scully, Had to go. I'm sorry. Take these. Have a good weekend, get some rest, and call me if you need me. He sets two aspirin on top of the note before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

---

Scully wakes up alone on the cold tile of her hallway, a blanket tucked around her shoulders. Her head is pounding. Groaning, she sits up, rubbing circles on her forehead.

She doesn't remember much from the night before, aside from a bottle of wine that tasted salty with her tears. She thinks Mulder may have been there. She finds the phone shoved under the legs of the chair shoved under Emily’s doorknob, and deduces that she called him. She got drunk enough to forget things and apparently fell asleep outside of her spare bedroom.

This can't keep happening. Scully grabs the chair and scoots it away from the door for the first time in months. It makes a screeching sound as she moves it across the floor. She can't keep hiding her feelings at the bottom of a bottle. She has to find a way to ask for forgiveness, to reconcile this all within herself.

There only seems to be one solution, she decides as she shoves the chair back underneath the table. (It seems ridiculous, suddenly, that she left it there for so long.) She needs to go to confession. She needs to absolve of her sins, to understand why God has let this happened and used her to do it. She needs to know that she did the right thing. She decides to go in the afternoon, when she knows Father McCue isn't there. This is too personal to talk to her mother's old friend about.

She finds the note that Mulder left and takes the aspirins on top of them. She drives to the church in the late afternoon, when she knows she won't run into her mother. She tells the priest her story, grateful for the grate between them so that she cannot see his face. The shame is thick in her throat.

At the end of her story, the priest asks if she believes in a life after this one. She finds herself unable to answer. She wants to believe, but sometimes… after everything she's seen… She needs to believe that there is a better place, for Roberta and Paula and Dara and their nameless sister. For Emily, for Melissa. But she doesn't know what to believe anymore.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe this, too, is part of what you were meant to understand?” the priest asks her.

“You mean accepting my loss?”

“Can you accept it?”

Scully swallows. She can't forgive the men who created Emily and ensured that she would die. And she's not sure if she can ever forgive herself. But can she forgive God? (Will she ever be forgiven?) Can she accept that her daughter was meant to die, meant to go on to a better place where she could be with the only family she'd ever known? “Maybe that's what faith is,” Scully says quietly.

In the end, she doesn't know whether or not she did the right thing. And she's not entirely sure where her faith lies. Despite having moved the chair in front of the spare room (having, in a way, let Emily go), she knows she has a ways to go in the healing process. She's still haunted by her lost daughter. She needs to deal with it.

In the end, she calls Karen Kosseff and makes an appointment for that Monday. She's helped Scully get past things before, and Scully hopes to accomplish the same thing again.

She calls Mulder once she gets home, hoping for a full scenario of what happened the night before. He doesn't answer.

---

By the next evening, he's had a gun shoved in his ribs, been invited to join a ruthless terrorist group (called the New Spartans, of all things), and told by The People Above Him that he has to. He staggers in his door sometime after five, exhausted and wishing he'd carried Scully to bed and fallen asleep beside her instead of picking up the phone and stumbling straight into a trap. Stupid, stupid. He left Scully drunk and asleep on her floor to run off and become a double agent in an assignment that will likely kill him. He trusted a lead with absolutely no basis and ran headfirst into a ruthless militia. He left her alone. When she needed him. He collapses on the worn leather of his couch and dials her number. (Speed Dial 1, just like always.)

She picks it up with her usual, brisk, “Scully.” His first thought is, She sounds better, but then he remembers that Scully has a talent for hiding her emotions. The cracks in her foundation are hairline fractures, and she remains the strongest person he knows.

“Hey, Scully, it's me,” he says.

“Mulder?” She sounds confused. “Were you… were you at my apartment last night?”

He chews at his lower lip. “Uh, yeah. Your mom called me, worried about you, and I was, uh, I was worried about you, too, so I came over to check on you… you were asleep on the floor…”

“Oh.” Now she sounds embarrassed. “Was I… I was drunk, wasn't I.”

“You'd… yes.” Mulder exhales slowly. “I was worried about you. I am worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Mulder, I…” He imagines her rubbing her temples wearily. “I don't remember much from last night. It's been a hard weekend.”

He closes his eyes, her words sinking into his skull. “Scully, I'm… I'm sorry about what happened on Friday. I was an ass this entire case. I haven't… I haven't been there for you lately. I should be there no matter what.”

“You called to tell me you were sorry,” she says softly. “And you were there last night.”

But I ran off before you woke up. He licks his lips, starts, “Scully…”

“Mulder, can I call you later? It's been a long day, I've just come from Confession...” Her voice is trembling, uncertain.

“Sure,” he says, digging his fingernail into a crack in the couch. “As long as you're okay. You can talk to me if you need to. I'm here.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” he agrees. She hangs up on the other end. He curls further into the corner of the couch, stretching his legs out.

He wanted to tell her. Wants to tell her. Skinner told him he couldn't. “The more people that know, the more dangerous this situation is,” he said. “You're at a delicate position, Mulder. If it ever slips that you're a double agent, they won't hesitate to kill you on the spot. Even make an example of you as a warning to others.”

“Scully's my partner,” Mulder said fiercely. “She's the best ally I have.” The only one I trust, he resisted the urge to add. “If I don't tell her, she's going to get suspicious. And I need her on this.”

“If you put her on this,” said Skinner, “you run the risk of the New Spartans targeting her. If they find out she knows…” And that was enough to convince him.

He still wants to tell her—Scully can handle herself, she'd be furious if she knew that was the reason he was keeping this from her. But now is not the time. She's been through too much in the past week—the past few months—to be worried about him. He can't tell her.

He should tell her. This assignment is dangerous. More than dangerous. Skinner went over the history of the New Spartans with him, and they have left a lot of dead behind them. They are good at disguising the dead so that the bodies aren't found for months and they're hard to identify when they are. If he dies—and he will die if he is caught, they have killed several federal agents before—Scully won't know that he is dead for weeks or months or even years. She might think he is still alive until they find him. He can't do that to her. If he doesn't come home, she deserves to know why. But. But he can't risk her. He doesn't want her to die, and she deserves a chance to move past these things that have haunted her these past few months. This should be his burden alone.

He tells himself that Scully will be okay if he dies because she is Scully and she is strong. But he knows, somewhere, that his death will be enough to break her. For the same reason that she couldn't leave him after a computer tortured him. She cares about him, even if it's in a solely platonic way, and Scully has lost too many people in her life. Attended too many funerals. They both have.

God, he hopes he doesn't die. He doesn't want to die. And he doesn't want to leave her alone. Of all the times he's let her down, that might be the worst.

[looselucy]

Gut

103 My mind was lacking all the nonsense and protuberant questions that usually filled any space they could discover, and I found myself utterly relaxed. As always, I’d been hesitant to take my place on the chaise in Dr Jacksons office. To be honest, I was hesitant going into her office at all, but I’d shown my face for the second week in a row and I was beginning to fall back into the routine I’d gotten so used to. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel entirely right about going to see her, but it was important to me that I showed up, and did everything I could to feel better within myself. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

It took me some time to reply, wrapping myself up in the utter nothingness I was feeling, swallowing in the empty atmosphere and breathing out long, steady breaths. “Good.” “Now, this is just a small exercise, okay? It should only take a couple of minutes.” “Okay.” I swallowed. “I want you to think back to New Year’s Day. Can you do that?” I knew I had to be open with her. I’d spent months hiding the authenticity of my feelings from her, and those sessions being completely pointless thanks to it, but sometimes it was hard to deal with how open I had been with her. She made notes about most things, but she didn’t even need them. She was the type of person who remembered every single detail of every person she’d ever come across. You could tell her something once, in small detail, and she’d remember it perfectly and figure out the information you hadn’t passed across. Of course, that meant she was in the ideal job, but it also brought up conversations and situations that I thought I wouldn’t have to acknowledge again. An uncomforting shot of bile burst into my stomach, and I did my absolute best to ignore it. “Yes.” I eventually replied. “And when Harry admitted his feelings for you.” “Yes. I remember.” “I simply want you to tell me how you handled it.” My recollections of that day were sharp to the touch, stinging as they scraped through my mind mercilessly. I worried that all my memories of Harry would start to twist and change and grow edges just as piercing as those of New Year’s Day. Is that what would become of Memory Lane? It was a place where sunflowers had once grown tall in their search for the sky. Would they wilt and wither and instead be replaced by poisonous plants, painting their way down the picturesque path I had once loved so dearly. I had hoped to wander fondly down that road, but I couldn’t help but feel like once blue skies were changing into grey clouds that could spawn storms at any moment. “Terribly.” I eventually replied. “I uh… I didn’t let him… feel the things he was feeling. I completely shunned him and denied everything. I denied his feelings and I denied my feelings and I… ran. I ran away from it because it wasn’t easy to face. So I just… turned away from it and forced there to be this… distance between us that I hadn’t even wanted.” She didn’t say anything for a while, and I wondered if she was making notes but I didn’t open my eyes to confirm my suspicions. Keeping them closed kept me locked within that headspace where I could openly say things like that without just dismissing everything and repeating the exact same actions I had done that very day. “Now,” She eventually replied. “I want you to tell me how you could have handled it differently.” “But-” “Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and you can’t change what has happened, but it can help you to see how you can handle future situations more productively. Mistakes are hard to own up to, but they really can help you to learn.” Mistakes were usually things I liked to pretend had never happened, and she knew that about me. Not only did I run from difficult situations as they presented themselves to me, but I’d also become an expert when it came to blocking out my mistakes and pretending they’d never happened at all. It was something I’d always been aware of about myself, I just hadn’t really been fully aware that it was something that needed to change as desperately as it did. I knew running from things had its poor repercussions, but I was only just coming to terms with the fact that turning my back on my wrong turns wasn’t just moving on and doing myself a favour, it was refusing to learn and alter myself. And altering myself was exactly what I wanted to do. I’d slowly become better at confronting things over the past few months, but I knew there was always room for improvement. I took a deep breath in, and tried to place myself back in Harry’s parents’ home, sat across from him, destructive spirits seeming to pulse upwards from the dining table. I returned to a scenario that had haunted me what felt like a million times, and I tried to return there with a different mindset to the one I’d actually had at the time. “I could have… I should have accepted what he was telling me. I shouldn’t have shunned him or castoff his feelings in the way I did. I should have, listened and… Fuck. I don’t know!” “Yes you do.” She rejected. “Now tell me.” “I don’t just run away from situations, I run away from my feelings. I fucking try to anyway.” I blurt. “And I should have really thought about how I was feeling rather than just, trying to decide how he was feeling and doubting that he could like me. It’s not my decision to make! It’s not my call! Holy fuck I don’t-” “Florence, take a minute, calm down.” I did as I was told, allowing myself to slip back into a calmer state than I had just been. All I could feel was utterly frustrated with myself, more of my shortcomings appearing into my mind the more I thought about that one scenario. Just one set of actions, and so many faults, so many flaws and so many awful decisions. Just from that one time. Recalling that day, I could see red alarms flashing around us that hadn’t been visible at the time, glowing and telling me that I was fucking up in every single way I possibly could. It was awful, but enlightening. “How’re you feeling?” She asked me after a while. “I’m okay. Sorry.” “Don’t apologise. Just tell me what you could have done instead, that would have made the situation easier. Better, for both of you.” With my eyes still closed, and my breathing now somewhat regular, I took a few moments for myself before I replied. “I should have accepted that what he was telling me was the truth. I shouldn’t have judged his feelings on his behalf. Even though… it didn’t make sense to me and it didn’t… seem right, I should have accepted it. And I should have… calmly thought about how I was feeling, and spoken with him. Openly. Honestly. I should have returned the favour.” Even then, readjusting the circumstances and altering my reactions, I knew I still would have heavily doubted that Harry could feel that way about me. But over the months following he’d proved me wrong, with every single move he made and every interaction we had shared, he showed to me that I had been wrong to doubt his feelings. I took those moments of silence that she allowed me, to think about the way that I wasn’t the only person in the world who saw all their own flaws under a magnifying glass. Everyone had their problems and things that needed working on, but I thought about Mo, and Sasha, and Niall, and Molly, and bloody Harry and I couldn’t name those things. I couldn’t sit there and list off things in the way I knew that they would be able to, and for the first time in my life I began to question if there wasn’t just a problem in the way I viewed myself, but also the way I viewed those around me, and the pedestal I placed them upon. I couldn’t believe how much she was opening my mind with what appeared to me such a simple exercise. “Okay. That was good.” She exhaled. “I’m going to give you another scenario, okay?” “Okay.” “Do you remember when you told me about when you dropped out of university?” She continued to bring up occasions that I had fucked up with great success. “Yes.” “And you remember how it was that you told your mother?” “Yes.” I tried not to smirk, my lips stretching upwards, a chuckle misplaced in my throat. “This isn’t funny, Florence.” “Okay.” “Now what did you say to her?” “Word for word?” It was getting harder not to laugh. “Yes.” “I’m not going to uni anymore and you can’t fucking make me go back, so don’t bloody bother trying.” I recalled, letting out a snigger once I’d repeated my words. “It doesn’t take a genius to work out that’s not ideal.” I noted Dr Jacksons smile without having to see it, all visible to me in the tone of her voice. “I was drunk!” I reasoned. “And it was a voicemail, she wasn’t even there! It wasn’t that bad.” I really wanted to open my eyes because I was convinced she was laughing, quietly against the back of her hand and praying I wouldn’t notice, but I was sure of it. However, whatever she was doing, was working, and although I’d broken the mood slightly, I knew if I opened my eyes I wouldn’t shut them and feel that same way again. Eyes closed meant open mind, apparently. We both took our time composing ourselves, moving past the humour of the situation and facing the consequences of leaving my mother a drunk voicemail to inform her I’d given up on my education. She cleared her throat before she spoke again. “Now, tell me how you could have handled that might have improved the situation.” “I should’ve just waited.” I sighed. “I should have gone home, and spoke to both my parents about it and told them where my head was, and what my plan was, and why it wasn’t the end of the world. That one’s easy. Gimme a harder one.” She finally caved, letting out a very small laugh. It was rare that I’d manage to get a giggle out of her, and it was always made me feel a bit proud, somehow. “You can sit up now, if you want.” Again, I did as I was told, finally opening my eyes, blinking back in the sunlight that fizzled through the window behind her, and she looked really happy. I then realised that I felt really happy. It wasn’t just down to the hilarity we’d stumbled across, but because I felt as though I’d taken more steps in the right direction. Usually, that made me cry, but for some reason, this time, I was pleased. Because for once, I wasn’t looking at my progression by comparing it with my many regressions, but just by viewing the progress as a standalone piece. I didn’t need to look backwards to see the view ahead of me. Because it was there, glittering upon the horizon, and I was moving closer to it, so close I could feel the heat that it was generating. I grinned at Dr Jackson before dropping my head shyly, once again accustom to the light of the room. “How different do you think a lot of things could be, if you had managed certain situations differently at the time?” “You could ask anyone that.” “True,” She complied. “But I’m asking you.” “I could have saved myself, and those around me… a lot of time and energy. A lot of… heartache.” I admitted. “How?” “By taking my time. By… being honest and open and… thinking before I acted.” “You’re too dependent on impulse and gut rather than premonition, care and thought. Gut feelings are often right, but they still deserve some processing, and for you to attempt understanding them before acting on them. And sometimes your gut… is just your gut.” “Okay.” I nodded, taking in what she was saying to me. “And I also want you to be aware, that it is okay to feel the way you do, even if it does hurt people.” I furrowed my brows as she spoke. “But it’s not okay, or healthy, to dictate how other people feel. Don’t throw your feelings on other people in an attempt to make them easier to manage.” “Okay.” I nodded again. It made sense. Maybe on New Year’s Day, I would have felt the same way. Maybe I would have turned around and told Harry that his feelings weren’t reciprocated, and that would have hurt him, but at least I wouldn’t have been demanding him to feel a certain way and doubt his own heart in a weak effort not to feel awful about what I was doing. “You always talk so much sense, it’s insane.” I almost groaned. “You must have, like, every aspect of your life together.” “I don’t, trust me.” She sniggered. I dropped my head again, once more accepting that someone else who I thought really had their shit together, didn’t. I think I knew then that it was time to stop seeing everyone else as the silver lining, and myself as the cloud. “Shit!” I cried after I glanced up to the clock on her wall. “We’ve gone ten minutes over!” “It’s fine. I don’t see my next client for another twenty minutes.” I practically leapt up to my feet, brushing myself off and shaking myself a little, like I was jumping back into reality. It was so refreshing to be walking out of there feeling good instead of feeling drained and miserable. Though I’d hated showing my face there again the week before, I knew I’d made the right decision to go back and see her. “Thank you.” I bid as I began my exit. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you next week.” “Thank you, for all of this. I really do appreciate-” “Just go!” She held a frustrated grin. “Okay. Going. Thank you. Thanks. Okay.” I waved and mouthed one final thank you for good measure as I back out of the door, and closed it gently behind myself. I felt great. 104 The following day, myself and Mo were sprawled across his sofa, my legs up and balanced on top of his, an empty pizza box down on the floor ahead of us as we unenthusiastically watched TV. “I bought a lottery ticket today.” Mo grumbled. “If I win, I’ll buy you a flat.” “Oh shit. You well want rid of me, don’t you?” I snorted. “I’ve not even been here two bloody weeks and you’re dreaming about winning the lottery and kicking me out.” I’d knocked on his door on the 28th of May, most of my possessions stuffed into a single suitcase, and tears filling my eyes. We’d only made it to the 8th of June and he was ready to get me the hell out of there already. “I didn’t mean it like that, you fool.” He huffed. “I would like to buy you a nice flat because I like you! I don’t want rid of you, I just know that if I won the lottery, that would be a good thing to buy you! You’d put it to good use, I reckon.” “I would. I promise. Thanks!” I smiled softly. “What would you buy yourself?” “A dog.” He nodded confidently. “So I get an entire flat and all you’re buying yourself is a dog?” “I’d probably get another pizza. Main priority is a dog though.” “Fair enough.” “What would you do if you won the lottery?” He finally turned his head away from the tele. “Shit, I dunno.” I lolled my head back. ��Umm… Maybe I’d buy like, a really sick building in the centre of the city. Y’know on like… that run-down street where all the retro and vintage shops are?” “Yeah!” He perked up. “And I’d live upstairs, and downstairs I’d have a shop or something.” “But you don’t need to work, you’ve won the bloody lottery!” “I know but it’d be cute, right? Like, maybe a little book store like Arthurs. And you could work there and I’d overpay you by ridiculous amounts, and just have this like really nice little existence.” “That’s so boring.” He groaned. “Aren’t you gunna go traveling and buy a shit load of cocaine and go wild?” “That… doesn’t even nearly appeal to me.” “Humdrum, is what you are.” He smirked. “I’m actually happy with that.” I knew I needed to move out sooner rather than later. Mo was still exceptionally pent up over the thought of his mother paying a surprise visit and throttling him for living with a girl. I missed my own space and I was tired of sleeping on the sofa every night. I knew Mo would gladly have me there for as long as I needed, but it didn’t mean that our situation was ideal. I found myself staring to the floor, wondering who was now living directly below him, inhabiting my old home and probably successfully locking the door every time they left. I couldn’t help but wonder how different my life would be if I wasn’t utterly inept. If I had locked my door, I would have never lived with Harry, and maybe I wouldn’t have ever allowed myself to fall for him completely. I would have stayed in my dead-end job and continued down my route of denial and things would have been exactly as they were a year before. I knew there had been a lot of things that had gone utterly wrong in my life since, but even taking everything into consideration, there was this very small part of me that was exceptionally glad that I hadn’t locked my door that evening. Things might have been easier, if I had, but nothing would have changed. There was a small knock on the door, timid and shy, and it prompted Mo to leap up to his feet immediately. I fell back into silently watching TV as he opened the door to greet our visitor. “Oh, shit. Hi, man.” I heard him greet. “Is she here?” The sound of Harry’s voice forced my eyes to widen and my body to bolt upright, gripping onto the sofa like the thing was keeping me sturdy. “What the fuck?” I whispered harshly to myself. It had only been a matter of days since I’d been around to pick up the last of my things, and attached the dagger pendant securely around his neck. He’d asked for space. He’d asked me to stay away and I’d done that. I knew he wasn’t lying to me either. He really did want to get away from me and allow himself the opportunity to breathe in a life where I wasn’t suffocating him with my contaminated air. I hadn’t been expecting to hear from him ever again, really; never mind a mere few days passing after what felt like our final goodbye. There was a sense of urgency in his voice. It was strange that he hadn’t politely greeted Mo in return, instead just rushing straight to his point. My head was a mess. “Uh, yeah.” Mo mumbled. “You wanna come in?” “Please.” I jumped up to my feet as Harry walked inside, trailing just behind Mo whose eyes were so wide it looked like he was on the verge of exploding. “Hi.” I spoke a little breathlessly. “Am I alright to talk to you?” Again, he dove straight to his point. “I just need five minutes.” “Sure.” Mo was so awkward he didn’t know what to do with himself, stood gracelessly forging a smile and shuffling his feet. “Umm, should I-” He attempted. “We’ll go in your room, if that’s alright?” “Yeah yeah, of course. Shall I put the kettle on?” “I won’t be long, don’t worry about it, man.” Harry smiled. I was becoming increasingly nervous with each thing Harry said, and each glance to Mo and his anxious frame. I was so frenzied that I couldn’t even possibly think of his reasons for being there, and I didn’t have the patience to wait to find out. I gave Harry a gentle smile as I scurried through the living room, brushing past him to make my way into Mo’s bedroom and grant the two of us a little privacy. Harry followed quickly, closing the door behind himself as I turned on the spot, folding my arms uncomfortably. He remained close to the door. “How are you?” I asked. “I’m alright. How’re you?” “I’m fine, thank you.” I nodded. “What’s wrong?” “I’m gunna go see my parents.” He answered instantly. I think my heart stopped beating, just for a moment. I placed my hand upon my chest in the hope of feeling some kind of rhythm and was met with nothing whatsoever, a dull emptiness almost vibrating against my palm. I felt a mix of things all at once. Happy. Sad. Relieved. Nervous. I was so glad he’d decided to go and speak to them, but at the same time I’d completely understood why he didn’t want to. What his parents had put him through, purposeful or not, was so awful that they probably didn’t deserve his company. He'd only known about his brother for just over a week. Even though I’d tried to guide him in the direction of going to them and speaking with them and expressing his pain, I hadn’t expected it to come around so quickly. “You are?” I could barely hear myself, my voice weak and shattered. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m gunna go this weekend… and… if things are okay I’m gunna stay there for my birthday.” He would turn 24 on the upcoming Monday. I had briefly wondered how he planned to spend the day, and if it was better to throw out the gift I’d bought him months earlier or if I should just drop it at his door, and hope he understood that I’d meant no harm or pain with the present. I was still unsure. I sat myself down on Mo’s bed, struggling to comprehend what he was telling me, and having an even harder time attempting to find the right thing to say. “Okay.” I nodded eventually. “I think that’s good.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. I think you need it.” “I think so too.” He finally admitted. “I’m fucking terrified though.” “That’s okay!” I leapt back upwards and neared in him the hopes of helping him to ease. “It would be weird if you weren’t.” “I don’t know what I’m gunna say.” He took some steps forward too. “I don’t know what they are gunna say and… I’m so scared, Ren. Because… I’m angry with them, and right now… I fucking hate them. But… what if I go and we can’t fix this? What if I go to see them and we can’t get past this? Because I lost my brother and I don’t know if I can lose my parents too.” I wasn’t sure how it happened, really, but by the time he’d let out a sob I already had my arms around him, woven tightly around his neck, holding myself so close to him that I could feel every single quiver and judder his body had to offer, pushed up onto my tiptoes. There was no way I could place myself in his shoes, or try to feel or understand what it was that he was going through. He didn’t want to lose them but he was so angry at them I wasn’t sure he’d really be able to face them or ever look at them the same way again. I didn’t need to tell him that I understood or that I could emulate the feelings that he was experiencing. All I had to do was hold him, and it was all I could do. I parted from him after some time, and he automatically bolted the back of his wrist upwards to get rid of the tears that stained his cheeks, his nose bright red. “It’s not going to be easy, but if I know anyone who’s strong enough to handle it, it’s you!” I told him with an indisputable confidence. “I need you with me.” He whispered, his eyes lifting from the floor and then plunging my own. “Please will you come with me?” “Ar-are you serious?” “The trains booked for Sunday and… I booked two seats. And I know having you there will help me to… stay calm, and… I really think I need you.” The word yes was sounding over and over again in my head, because there wasn’t even room to question it. I had to go with him. There was no way I couldn’t. And yet the sound struggled to break through my lips. I wanted him to know that there wasn’t a doubt or hesitation in my mind, jumping along with my gut feeling without a second thought, no matter the advice I’d taken just the day before. Yet, it wasn’t as easy as I hoped it would be. “You don’t have to-” “Of course I’ll go with you!” I finally blurted. “I’m sorry, I’m just… I think you’ve just caught me off guard. Of course I’ll go with you, if you think it will help.” “I do.” He nodded. “You don’t think I’ll just make it worse? I hate the thought of making it harder for you.” “You won’t. I know you won’t.” He sighed, wetting his lips. “You know me better than anyone, and you know… what goes on in my head better than I do! I know that you’ll give me the best moral support that anyone could, and fuck everything else that’s happened. We’re there for each other, me and you. That’s what we do. That’s what we’ve always done.” He was right. We’d built and entire friendship, and then relationship, on the foundations of helping one another. The support between the two of us had always been solid, and I think it was hitting the two of us then that we didn’t need to be together to support one another. It wouldn’t be the same and it would be met with complications that hadn’t been there previously, but we knew that we’d be there for each other, if and when we really needed to be. “Then I’ll be there.” I managed to smile. “Okay.” He managed one too. “The trains on Sunday, at three. I can meet you at the station like… ten minutes before.” “Can we make it like… half an hour? So there’s no way for me to fuck it up? I’ll probably be running late anyway.” “Okay.” He chuckled. “Fair point.” We took a few moments of silence just staring at one another. Those seemed to happen more frequently since we’d parted, or maybe I just noted them more. When we were together, we’d share those moments in bed, and the words that would rush through my head were I love you I love you I love you. Like I could never say the words enough so they had to become a constant thought, too. Then, the silence was swarmed with words unspoken like I miss you I miss you I’m sorry. He cleared his throat and ended our gazing, blinking down towards his feet. “I should go.” He grumbled. “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me, it’s fine.” “I’ll see you Sunday.” “Do you need me to bring anything?” “No, it’s good. Just you.” He began backing away, turning around and placing his hand on the handle momentarily and then whipping back around almost instantly, and he looked frustrated. “For fuck sake, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you a favour. You’re gunna fucking kill me.” “Oh.” I baffled. “Okay?” “Don’t kill me.” He cringed. “Well, tell me what the favour is first and I’ll decide my course of action.” He let out another breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, the words he couldn’t quite say causing his shoulders to stiffen. He’d completely put me on edge, and I had absolutely no idea what to expect from him next. His fingers were still around the handle, his arm stretched behind him as he gripped a little harder as a way of prepping himself for his following words. “My parents don’t know we split up and I need to keep it that way.” “Okay.” I didn’t grasp it fully, at first. “What? Wait, what?” “I need you to be pretend to be my girlfriend.” I didn’t know what the fuck to say to him. Part of me just wanted to laugh, thinking about all the shit we’d been through. Meeting at therapy, pretending to be in a relationship. Then moving swiftly onto burying my feelings and ignoring him, to a short friendship. Then I was living with him. Then I was in love. Only a few short months later, and we were trying to pretend we were strangers and get over every single thing we’d been through together, only to crash back at the beginning. “You wanna… pretend to be in a relationship? Again?” I gawped. “I know it’s fucked up, and it’s a lot to ask, but…” He cursed quietly to himself. “But they will break, if they think I’m lonely. Now more than before. If they know that we’ve split… It might cloud this whole discussion we need to have, and they’ll just worry and stress over the wrong thing, and that’s not the focus right now. Daniel is the focus now, and my dreams, and nothing else. I can’t have them… knowing that I’m going through this bullshit with them and then… losing you on top of that. I just need them to think that we’re fine. I hate them but I don’t want them feeling…” He sighed. “I’m not wishing any pain on them, y’know?” I nodded, completely understanding why it was that he wanted us to pretend to be together again, but it didn’t mean it was going to make it any easier. It had been a task enough in itself to perform like that over Christmas, but with everything that had gone on since, it was bound to make it twice as difficult. I took a few moments for myself as he awaited my answer, questioning the differences there would be this second time around, whether we would share kisses and hold hands and be as friendly as we had been the first time, or if that would just be too hard. I let out an awkward laugh, taken aback but knowing I would do anything if it meant helping him. “I can’t believe we’re gunna do this.” I huffed. “It was mad enough the first time.” The smile he gave me then, felt like the most genuine smile I’d seen from him in weeks. He was so thankful. He didn’t need to say it. I knew he was. “Head first back into the faux affair.” He breathed heavily. “I just… I need you now more than ever.” “I know.” I nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. Okay.” “Maybe… not as intense as last time.” “That’s probably… sensible.” We both managed to laugh again. “We did get a bit carried away.” “A bit?” He grinned. “You ended up living with me.” It was nice to be laughing about the situation rather than crying about it. We took the humour of our scenario for what it was without acknowledging our feelings, just for a moment, and we saw the funny side. It was nice. It felt good. But it didn’t last. Eventually, our laughter died and our smiles faded, and back came our emotions, and the thought of how complicated things had been, and how we might just be about to throw ourselves head first into a situation that we couldn’t clamber back out of without us getting hurt. But what was going on with his parents, and the help he needed, was much more important than any of that. “So, I’ll see you on Sunday.” I spoke after some time. “Thank you, for this. I know it can’t have been easy for you to… decide to do this.” “It was easy. I’m trusting my gut on this one.” My gut had taken me to some dark places before. My gut had taken me down routes more challenging than I had initially thought they would be, and it had forced me to make mistakes that I couldn’t turn my back on. But this gut feeling, was one I had no doubts about. The gut feeling I had to care and support for Harry, was a gut feeling that I would never doubt.

[fundeadasylum]

All the Silverware and Dishes are Poisoned

I am literally the worst for writing this.

Teslaverse. Definitely not canon. Alternate ending for the Severance Contingency thread. This is not a happy one shot.

Warning for suggestions of violence, gut spills, guilt trips, vivisections, and a slow spiral into madness.

EDIT: I wrote this five hundred years ago and I still hate myself for it. And for some reason you psychos wanted to see it, so here it is.

———

He tried keeping track of the days and he managed it for almost a month.

Then they did something and he lost heaven only knows how much time and after that he gave up and just let the hours pass.

They were much more careful with him this time. Maybe careful wasn’t the right word. They certainly didn’t treat him nicely but they didn’t treat him as a child either. He was an object to be contained and studied again. The thought chilled him to the core and made him feel sick.

When he ran screaming at the door, pounding and scratching at it, calling for his friends, they shackled him to the wall.

He had no idea where Simon was.

His mind unhelpfully provided him scenarios about just what they were probably doing to Simon.

He threw up against the wall until there was nothing left in his stomach and then dry heaved until he thought he’d choke to death.

****

He fought back when they came for him. He scratched and bit and hit and kicked anything he could reach. Then they tasered him and he woke up sore and teary-eyed strapped to a chair in that horrible, bright orange straight jacket.

They had to wait for him to calm down before they could get a word out of him.

“It was Agent Kass! He said—“

“We know what happened.” They interrupted him a lot, talked down to him. Dib didn’t think it was just because he was a kid, “What we want to know is where the scip you and your…associate stole is.”

They wanted Zim. Of course they did. Dib felt a flare of protective jealousy—Zim was his project—before he settled for glaring at them. Panic clawed at his chest and he couldn’t stop the quivers shaking his frame. There was no way to get out of this, not now. They’d be watching him too closely.

When they put him back in his cell, chained to the wall by his ankles and a length of steel cable, he shouted a swear word at the closed door.

Kass would have been proud.

****

“Pathetic.”

Dib jolted and stared around the room, eyes wide, chest heaving.

He could have sworn—

But no, that was silly.

He put his head back in his knees and closed his eyes again.

He tried to remember how to breathe.

****

The room looked smaller. He knew, rationally, that it was not. But it felt like every time he sucked in a breath, the walls moved in a little closer.

Dib held his breath to see if it would stop the walls from shrinking in on him. It didn’t work mostly because he couldn’t hold his breath from that long. He decided to stop looking at the walls and went back to trying to worm a finger under the cuff on his ankle. There was an itch under there that was driving him crazy.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s only that driving you crazy. Just an itch you can’t scratch.”

Dib looked wildly around the room, panic making him shudder.

He’d heard it that time, he knew he had.

He knew that voice.

“I’m a little hurt, kid. I thought you’d be happier to hear from me. I mean, at least I’m someone to talk to, right?”

“No,” Dib blurted, eyes wide, still looking around for the source of the voice. A source he knew, he just knew, he wouldn’t find, “Because you’re not—you can’t be—you—we l-left you—“

“Left me out in the Void.” Future Dib’s voice finished for him. It was a sneer, a curl of disgust and hatred that made Dib flinch,

“I really should find a way to thank you for that.”

“N-no, no! You’re not really here! This is—this is some kind of trick!” Dib shouted at the ceiling, at the locked cell door, standing on a shaky soap box to try and convince himself, “Y-you guys think I’m gonna f-fall for your—your mind games!? Or whe-whatever! Not happening! Let me out of here! Let me go! LET ME OUT!”

“That’s funny,” Other Dib’s voice chuckled coldly from nowhere and everywhere at once,

“I said the same thing.”

****

“Where’s Simon?”

“—about where you’ve been these last few—“

“Where. Is. Simon.”

“—really don’t think you’re in any kind of position to be—“

“Where’s Simon!?”

“—if you don’t calm down, we’ll—“

“WHERE’S SIMON!? WHAT’VE YOU DONE WITH HIM!?”

“—containment breach! Just—“

“IF YOU’VE HURT HIM I’LL KEH—I’LL KILL YOU! WHERE IS HE!? WHERE’S SIMON!?”

“—someone get this kid under control—“

“—holy shit! He’s—“

“WHERE IS HE!? WHERE IS HE WHERE IS HE WHERE IS HE WHEREISHEWHEREIS—“

****

The new cell was smaller but the ceiling was higher. The walls were padded and there were cameras high up in every corner of the room. Dib tried to reach them but he kept falling and eventually decided it wasn’t worth the bruised tailbone.

He was no longer allowed out of the cell without a straight jacket.

It had been oddly satisfying to bite that agent hard enough to break skin.

“This is just rich.”

Dib flinched and backed up against the wall, gaze darting around the room. The tracking bracelet on his ankle rubbed his already raw skin. That had been added after the fifth escape attempt. Well, they called it an escape attempt, Dib called it trying to find Simon and get the fuck out of this place.

“Look at you, you’re a mess. See what happens when you don’t follow your destiny, kid? You should have listened to me. You should have become me.”

And there he was, lounging against the locked cell door as if this were a palace. That winning smile was a twisted sneer of victory, his arms crossed across his chest, head cocked at an angle that spoke of observation and scorn. The harsh lights of the room caught the blue of his goggles and splintered it.

Dib make a dry squawking sound and flatted himself against the wall. He wished he could sink through it.

The Other Dib, the one from that hoorible future, the one they’d left trapped in the Void, pushed himself off the door with his shoulder and walked slowly across the room. He owned the space he moved across, exuding an air of confidence that was nearly tangible. Dib wanted to be sick but all he could do was slide to the floor to try and keep as far away from his alternate future self as possible.

“Yh-you’re not real.” He said, trying to sound firm, trying to believe himself. Other Dib’s sneer widened, “You’re not real! They’re s-still trying to get information out of me! This is a trick! Where’s Simon you slimy bastards!”

Other Dib let out a low whistle, stopping a few feet from Dib, “Wow, what a potty mouth you’ve become. Picked that up from Agent Kass, did you? Hey, what happened to him anyway? He was tied up with you in that van, right? Do you think he’s dead? I bet he’s dead.”

Dib pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He would not give in to their taunting. He was stronger than this! He would get out of here! He had to! He had to find Simon! He’d find Simon and they’d get out and they’d go back to 1 Tesla Drive and back to Dee and back to Mab and back to home cooked meals and Zim screaming at him. Back to adventures through fizzling portals and shady pasts, back to too many cans of Black Plasma and a fridge that stole eggs, back to ghost hunting shows hosted by idiots with fake equipment, inventions that half worked, the smell of sulphur and burnt wood.

Back home.

“I wanna go home…” Dib whimpered into his knees as he curled up, trying to shield himself from the Other Dib’s onslaught of verbal abuse, “I want to go home…”

****

Light in his eyes.

He squinted and half turned his head away.

Hands on him.

“Suh…”

“SCP-7772 is awake.”

“Sih…”

Something cold in his mouth. He spat it out instinctively. It was forcefully jammed back in and he realized dazedly it was a thermometer.

Why was it so hard to think straight?

“Temperature: normal. Heart rate: slower than normal but that might be the sedatives.”

“Si…”

Metal? Metal. Metal! There was metal!

He jerked. It held fast. A strangled sob shook his voice as he tried to speak,

“Si…mon…”

“Fuckin’ nutcase. Keeps crying.”

“It is a kid.”

“From another dimension, yeah.”

“Still human.”

“Apparently.”

“Simon…!” His voice was hoarse, shaking. Was he crying? What was happening? He felt sick, “Simon! Where’s S-Simon!?”

“Not this again…”

“Shit, kid’s like a broken record. First that Keter and then that humanoid with the weird heart.”

“Think it actually cares?”

“Simon! Simon! Where are you!? Sh-S—h-help! Somewh-one! Simon!”

“Someone shut it up before it gets hysterical.”

Ice. Thin. In his arm. Metal. Heard to breathe. Hard to think straight.

“Pathetic, really. Could have been something. Now look at you.”

“We should just put it out of it’s misery…”

“You almost sound like you give a shit.”

“Hey, bro, why’re you given up so easily?”

…Simon?

****

He tried keeping track of the days.

He tried making plans to escape.

Nothing stuck.

They started leaving the straight jacket on.

It was driving him crazy.

“Oh, is that really the only thing that’s driving you crazy?”

“Why didn’t you ever come find me?”

Other Dib was a regular. Dib had given up trying to get them to stop tormenting him with whatever they were putting in his cell to make him see these things.

Sometimes there was someone else.

Dib refused to look at them.

They had a gaping chest cavity and jagged cuts and there was something important missing from their dripping mass of internal organs.

He’d looked once.

They’d had to sedate him for a while.

“Hey Dib, when you get out do you think we could make a detour to look for my heart? I think they’re keeping it in a jar somewhere.”

He dry heaved on a painfully empty stomach and tried to remember how to breathe.

****

“I wonder if Dee’s okay…”

“She’s probably dead.”

“….nuh-uh. Mab woulda taken care of her when I never came back. Zim’s probably okay too.”

“Just keep telling yourself that.”

****

“I’m sorry, Simon…”

“That sure amounts to a lot, doesn’t it.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

****

“SCP-7772 is mentally degrading at an alarming rate.”

“You want to do something about that?”

Dib kicked his foot off the edge of the exam table so his tracking bracelet banged against the metal edge, glaring at the two men in the room with him. They were all talking about him like he wasn’t there, ignoring him, treating him like something inhuman and not worthy of their attention.

He could see Other Dib in the corner, leaning against the wall and sneering at the room as a whole.

“We’re supposed to keep going until we find out where SCP-7771A and B are.”

“Think it even knows what we’re talking about anymore…?”

“I’m right here, you know.” Dib spat, banging the tracking bracelet on the edge of the table again. It sent a jarring sensation through his leg to his bone, “You could just talk to me.”

They shared a significant look that made Dib’s mouth taste sour. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of dripping red and a hole where a heart was supposed to be. He swallowed the churning in his stomach.

“All right, 7772. Where did you hide the Keter?”

Dib rolled his eyes, “Not tellin’. Besides, he’s probably not even there anymore so even if I did tell you, it’d be pointless.” He sagged back against the exam table, squirming in the straight jacket, “Why don’t you just ask Agent Kass, I bet he’d be more than happy to spill his guts.”

One of them laughed,

“He already did. They’re all over one of the basement containment cells. Amazing how much honey was inside him…”

Dib nearly fell off the exam table as he tried not to be sick. The men started laughing. Other Dib was laughing too.

It sounded like Simon might have been crying.

****

“I’m never getting out of here, am I?”

“Probably not.”

“Maybe if you tried a little harder, you could have saved us both, bro.”

“I…I’m going…to die here…”

“Now wouldn’t that be an ironic ending.”

****

He thought time was going in reverse.

Not going backwards but just. Not flowing the right way.

Because while the hours upon hours of interrogation and threats and physical pain seemed to drag, the time between them was endless. Nothing but limitless spans of time where nothing was happening. There was no one in the room except for him.

Well, him and those phantoms.

Always, always, always the mocking phantoms.

At least they were familiar.

****

The door to his cell was nearly ripped off it’s hinges by the force that threw it open. Dib watched it through a haze of sedatives as it bounced off the wall and nearly slammed shut again. He figured this was probably a dream of some kind, brought on by drugs and exhaustion.

Mab strode through the door, all fury and elegance, grace and danger, her hair wild about her in a cloud.

Oh yeah, definitely a dream. No way Mab would come to a Foundation site for him.

“Oh Dib…” Her had was warm on his cheek and he chuckled weakly. What a realistic dream this was, “I’m so sorry it took this long to get to you. But with only ZiM and I…”

“Wait until she finds out what you let happen to Simon.” Other Dib said in his ear, “Not that Simon didn’t deserve it, but I mean…”

“Hey! I did so not deserve this!” Simon had his hands on his hips behind Mab, scowling. Blood oozed with syrupy slowness over his fingers, “Sure, it’s Dib’s fault but I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Dib closed his eyes and ducked his head with a whimper.

“Dib? Look at me, please. We need to get out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.”

“Sah—Simon.” Dib wheezed into his chest.

A hesitation.

“I know, darling.” Mab swept him up into her arms and headed for the door, “I know. It will be all right. No one is angry with you. We will all be all right.”

****

There were scars.

Marks on wrists and ankles from struggling. Jagged lines from needles ripped harshly away. Raw red cuts never treated properly because someone had gotten mouthy. A sickening set of stitched together lines that no one talked about.

Those were nothing compared to what happened inside their heads.

****

He tried keeping track of the days.

It was easier when he could see the sun moving across the sky.

Mab helped. She helped them both. 

Simon didn’t move like he used to.

ZiM yelled a lot. That helped too, in a weird way. Dib thought ZiM was angry. He never asked.

Time felt like it was moving normally again.

None of them returned to 1 Tesla Drive.

They moved on. And closed the portal behind them.

[datingfreeworld]

Web based dating specialists are on the trail of adoration

an individual taking a selfie: Tera Stidum models for a representation in the Houston Chronicle studio, Monday, Feb. 11, 2019, in Houston. © Jon Shapley, Staff Photographer/Staff Photographer

Tera Stidum models for a picture in the Houston Chronicle studio, Monday, Feb. 11, 2019, in Houston.

You endured Thanksgiving, Christmas, even New Year's — still single. You guaranteed yourself (and your mom) that you would begin web based dating as a New Year's goals. But, here it is, Feb. 14, Valentine's Day, regardless you're single.

Internet dating? It's the new (or not all that new) typical. The Knot.com says, in 2017, 20 percent of ladies met their men of the hour on the web. Possibly you've attempted internet dating previously and your outcomes were fair. I had. Also, this year I chose to get help, so I enlisted a web based dating mentor, Tera Stidum, 43, situated in Houston.

Would it be advisable for one to jump on Match.com today, Valentine's Day? Round out a profile and give it attempt? "Totally!" says Stidum, creator of "She Dates Savvy," an internet dating guide. You can likewise discover her recommendation at SheDatesSavvy.com.

Stidum has been fiddling with web based dating since her school days when AOL turned out with AOLLove. She was in school contemplating news coverage and searching for adoration. She's utilized online stages discontinuously from that point forward. In 2015, after a fizzled relationship, Stidum made a profile on Match.com (once and for all) and discovered her future accomplice. "He simply had something," she said.

That something constrained her to send him a message. (Truly, women, she started contact.) He reacted, and they have been joyfully hitched for a long time. She at that point chose to compose She Dates Savvy, in view of her own web based dating achievement. Her significant other is her colleague and greatest supporter.

Stidum is not really solo in the business. Google internet dating specialists and you'll finish up with a plenty of decisions. On the off chance that your web based dating results are not yielding what you need, get help.

I began working with Stidum following a time of dreary outcomes all alone. We've been cooperating three weeks, and in spite of the fact that I have not had any dates yet, the gauge of folks I'm drawing in is better, and I've had several promising telephone calls.

Stidum's customers think about her more as a holistic mentor, not simply dating. Her simple way to deal with dismissals joined with her immediate methodology make her vibe like a closest companion.

How to explore through the majority of this internet dating information? First pick a stage. Stidum favors Match.com (it has an immense assortment of prospects) and Bumble (the lady starts contact). She likewise loves eharmony.com, despite the fact that she says you are depending on the framework to send you coordinates, not your own (and her own) shrewd inquiry strategies. Keep in mind, the stages are profiting from individuals, so they are bound to need you to remain a part as far as might be feasible.

As a mentor, Stidum starts with an interview call that she uses to decide whether the customer is prepared for internet dating. "In the event that the customer says in that call, 'I extremely simply need to get hitched and discover my significant other,' at that point I let them know 'I'm not the mentor for you,' " she says. She realizes she can't guarantee those sort of results.

At that point comes the profile. Making a profile that communicates your identity can be precarious. After a fast evaluation of my profile, Stidum prompted me to post photographs that uncover my identity. She says to make a point to incorporate one where you are grinning at the camera.

Try not to utilize photographs of you with others, if conceivable, and certainly leave your kids or grandchildren out. It very well may be hard to expound on yourself in a complimenting and legit way. Try not to be reluctant to get help. "With a portion of my customers, I am on the telephone with them when they round out their profile," she says. Her activity incorporates helping them make words that fit. She additionally converses with her customers about what to state, when to express it and how to start contact.

Next, the methodology. A vital part of Stidum's administrations incorporate preparing on the characteristics of every stage. She has contemplated them and realizes how to make looks through that will yield the most men fit to her customers. "It's a numbers diversion!" she laughed healthily. She proposes her customers go through 30-a hour daily on the stage hunting down their next accomplice.

As the dating moves along, the training does as well. Stidum for the most part works with females age 50 and more seasoned. She esteems their background and their eagerness. They state, "instruct me.'"

In any case, numerous ladies in that age amass need some re-preparing. "You can't make a profile and afterward stay there hanging tight for him to come to you. Uh, no chance! That is absolute BS these days," Stidum says. "See, you realize what you need, presently you need to advance toward it."

She needs ladies to know there's nothing amiss with starting contact. The informing needs to move to a telephone call and after that a date.

Stidum gives her customers ice breakers, disclosing to them what to state to make discussions. For example, utilize the data in his profile to message your enthusiasm for him. "Hello, Mr. Online Profile, we both love the theater. What's your most loved play?"

When her customers have the date set up, Stidum is still there. She even endorses the outfits chose for the principal date.

The greatest misguided judgment about web based dating is that there is a major issue with you in the event that you have to depend on it, Stidum said. Web based dating is a proficient utilization of your time: "It bodes well. Look what number of men are on there. You can't go anyplace and meet that numerous men searching for a relationship anyplace else."

More youthful customers wrongly meet a person after only two or three messages. Stidum has a procedure for the methodology. She suggests close to about fourteen days of informing and that should prompt a telephone call or two. On the off chance that you haven't met him by, at that point a slight bump isn't out of request. "Hello, Mr. Online Profile, I've delighted in talking with you. How'd you feel about gathering for an espresso?" If he decreases, you might need to proceed onward.

As you start filtering through profiles, you may run over a few tricksters who go after ladies in the 50 or more age go. "They will come on solid with colorful sweet talk," she says. Watch out for a man who does not have any desire to push toward an up close and personal gathering, rationalizes about moving far from informing or messaging and requests to convey on WhatsApp, she says.

Try not to give potential dates your genuine telephone number. Utilize a Google number — it's free and simple to join.

Internet dating will provoke you. Be that as it may, instructing can enable you to understand things from with an improved point of view and remind you if your potential match discusses sex immediately, proceed onward!

http://datingsitesfree.info/

[seriphthefox-blog]

Knox (Original story)

I decided to make a gay fic with my actual fursona, Seriph, and what I believe a love interest for him would be, Knox. This is one that I’m going to actually finish hopefully (considering I’ve written part of three different ones in the past that I never finished). If you enjoy it please let me know and I will be very grateful. Sorry for any misspelling.

(Chapter 1)

I was sound asleep at sometime in the morning I think. Maybe. I don’t know. I say ‘was’ because the sound of knocking on my bedroom door woke me up.

“What?!”

“Get up!”

“Leave me alone Destin!”

I rolled over and pulled the pillow onto my face in an attempt to down out the noise. That didn’t help as his persistence got to me.

“Alright! Just stop!”

I jumped out of bed not bothering to put on a shirt and swung the door open.

“What do you want? And what time is it?”

“C'mon. Get yourself ready.”

“For?”

“Were going out somewhere. And you are gonna get, or at least try to get, somebody.”

“Excuse me?”

“You live in the apartment all alone, not counting me, and you almost never leave the damn building. Not the greatest way to live.”

“I don’t tell you how to live your life, do I?”

“True. But you still should get out of the house. Or apartment rather.”

“God. You sound like my dad.”

“Don’t insult me like that.”

That statement earned a chuckle from me.

“Either way, my girlfriend is coming with us since she’s free for today.”

“Oh great. Now you want to make me depressed.”

“Oh shut up. You’ll find somebody. If you don’t I’ll wear the frilliest dress possible in public.”

“Now that I’d love to see.”

A series of knocks on the door drew his attention away from our banter.

“That must be her.”

He went over and opened the door for her.

“Hey Destin!”

“Alis.”

They shared a hug before she noticed me standing behind him.

“You trying to swoon me now Seriph? You know I’m taken.”, she asked taking in the fact I had no shirt on.

“Are you for real?”

“I’m kidding. Come here you.”

This was Destin’s girlfriend, Alis, if you didn’t already know. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

I shared a quick hug with her as well before I grabbed a shirt from my room.

“So where is it were going anyway?”, I ask as I slip into a deep red t-shirt.

“We’re going to a bar downtown. It opened up only a week or so ago and we wanted to check it out.”

“Sounds nice. I’m in.”

“C'mon you’ve gotta…what?”

“What do you mean what Destin? I said I’m good with it.”

“It’s just that-”

“I usually bitch and moan and then don’t go. I know. Is it really so odd for me to say yes for once?”

“Kinda. But either way I’m glad you’re agreeing for once. Let’s go.”

“Okay. Nobody gave me the time yet.”

“It’s about 7:35 pm.”

“That’s late as hell. And I assume we’re going in your girl’s car?”

“Yep. Unless you want to drive your car.”

“Nah. I’d rather not unless I need to.”

“That makes sense.”

“Are you ladies gonna keep talking or are we gonna go drink?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to talk too much Alis?”

She playfully swung at me and not surprisingly I moved out of the way.

“Better luck next time sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna get you at some point. Let’s go.” —– We all huddled into her car with me sitting in the back seat which was good so I could at least try and keep my thoughts to myself as Alis drove us to the bar.

“What’s the name of this place anyway?”

“Bibentes I believe. It’s Latin for 'Drinking’ if memory serves from school.”

“That’s a little on the nose don’t you think?”

“Don’t blame her. Blame the people that opened the place.”

“I know. I’m just saying.” —– It took only about 20 minutes to get down to the place. Mainly because we went at a time pretty much everyone was getting off work.

She pulled into the lot and we all entered the venue, quickly being hit with some popular music.

The inside was a lot bigger than I’d expect a bar to be but not the size of a nightclub. Although it did have a dance floor and a dj. So I guess it’s a mini club? I don’t know.

“Nice place.”

“Good. Me and Alis are gonna dance. You can do what you want.”

“Go have fun.”

They buggered off while I sat at the far end of the bar. No sooner had I sat down did a glass plop down front of me.

“Welcome. What can I get you?”

“Something good.”

“I guess that it’s my choice then.”

“I guess so.”

He grabbed one bottle and tossed it in the air before grabbing a drink mixer. He grabbed the bottle by the neck over the mixer filled it a third of the way.

He grabbed two more and juggled them around before pouring a little of each into the mixer.

He covered it and tossed it in the air, spinning around and grabbing a different glass before catching the mixer again. Then he just shook it and poured the concoction into the high ball glass.

“And there you go.”

“Thanks. Nice show too.”

“You’re welcome.”

I through a 20 on the table along with a few singles to pay for my drink. He went off to another customer and I got up from my seat. The thing is that as soon as I turn around I ended up walking into somebody, spilling my drink in the process and falling to the ground.

“Okay. That hurt.”

“I’m sorry. You okay?”

I looked up to see a grey wolf standing over me. He was wearing blue jeans and a light grey, almost white, jacket.

“I’m fine.”

He pulled me up to my feet and I could now see his baby blue eyes a little better.

I quickly noticed the fairly sized stain on his jacket.

“Looks like I ruined your clothes.”

I pointed to the large stain on his chest. I felt kind of guilty about it even though it was an accident.

“It’s nothing. The jacket is only like $10. Besides, I can wash it out.”

“I still feel guilty though.”

“Like I said, it’s okay.”

“Didn’t take you long did it? You jerk.”

I would’ve thought it was Destin if the voice didn’t sound angry and slightly higher pitched. I turned around and what I saw was a white deer, skinny, a year or two younger than me, and dressed in shorts that only girls should probably wear and a purple shirt missing the sleeves.

“What do you care? We broke up remember?”

“Only three days ago you asshole!”

“For your information Lyle I bumped into the guy, ok? Secondly, why would you care? You’re the one who agreed to end the relationship. I didn’t force you to.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to do something like this.”

This isn’t something that needed to happen so I tried to say something.

“Calm down okay. I didn’t know anything about this.”

“Fuck you.”

He took his glass and tried to throw his drink in my face. I ducked and it made a puddle in the ground behind me instead.

“Really? Try harder.”

He threw a punch and I just caught his fist and redirected it causing him to fall.

“Let’s go you.”

I dragged him outside by the collar of his shirt and let him go on the side walk.

“Now get the fuck out of here. And don’t ever try to punch me again.”

I went back inside and the bartender gave me a thankful nod.

I turned my attention back to the wolf.

“And old flame?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a real piece of work.”

“I know. But when you have someone as cute as him you learn to deal with it. I’m Knox by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Seriph.”

I shook his hand which kind of hurt because of his pretty strong grip.

“So what brings you here Seriph?”

“A friend of mine. Along with his girlfriend.”

“Not a socialist huh?”

“Not really. Or rather not completely. I’ll get out of my apartment by choice when the mood strikes me. Which isn’t too often.”

“I used to be like that when I was wasn’t much younger than I am now. Wasn’t too good for me. But then I met Lyle and we’d been together for a little over three years as of a few days ago.”

“Speaking of which what was that about?”

“We broke up two or three days ago. The love in the relationship kinda fizzled out for me but apparently it hadn’t for him yet. He didn’t take my request to well because he smashed a hole in my wall with tv remote.”

“That’s a thing.”

“Yeah. I fixed it before I came down here tonight so I just have to paint over it now after it drys.”

“Well you can forget about him now. He’s not a problem anymore.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting him out of here.”

“No problem.”

“So…”

“So what?”

“Were both just standing here. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell. I usually sit at home watching tv and doing whatever to make time go by. I’m not really an interesting person. I mean I went to a concert a few weeks ago but that’s about it. How about you?”

“I work here sometimes actually. Today I’m off but I decided to come down here and have a drink. Try to take my mind of Lyle.”

“I guess as security? You’re a sizable person.”

“Yeah. I usually throw out the hooligans that’ll start a problem, like Lyle.”

“He sure was a handful.”

“I know. He’s roughly 110 so he isn’t exactly a lightweight for most people.”

“I get where you’re going with that but all I did was just drag him across the floor. Not exactly that hard.”

“True but anyway to get someone outside works.”

“I guess.”

“Thanks again for helping with Lyle. I usually would deal with him myself but I’m glad you helped.”

“You sound like a broken record.”

“So be it. Anyway here.” He reached into his pocket and produced a pen and piece of paper. After scribbling something down on it he handed it to me. “You’ll know what to do with that. See you around kid.”

“I’m 22 dude.”

“Well you look a little younger. See ya.”

“Bye.”

I stared down at the slip of paper which had a string of numbers on it along with his name in script under it.

My facial expression became confused because what was written on it was his cellphone number. I don’t really understand why he’s give it to me but I can’t dwell on it now. I shoved the paper into my pocket jut before someone called for my attention.

“Hey Seriph.”

“Yo Destin. Are you guys really gonna leave now?”

“I mean we’ve been here for a little over an hour already. Besides there isn’t too much we can do here anyway.”

“Did you guys drink at all?”

“I had one and Destin had a couple.”

“Yoink.” I snagged the keys from her hand, spinning them around my finger. “Then neither of you are driving.”

“Give me my keys.”

“Uh uh. I’m the only one that didn’t drink so I’m driving. And Alis, you’re not driving home either. You’re staying over for the night. Now come on.”

I got into her car and started it before they hopped in as well. —–

We were almost back to my apartment when Alis spoke up for the first time on the way back.

“Hey Seriph?”

“S'up.”

“Did you meet anyone there?”

“No. Why?”

“Because I saw you talking to some guy before we left.”

I slammed in the brakes at the comment. Thankfully there wasn’t any traffic around. Since we were just a block from the building I parked on the side of the road before I gave an answer.

“I’m not allowed to talk to people or something?”

“You can. It’s just that I also saw you throw someone out and they seemed to have a problem with him. What was that?”

“An old friend of his. He explained what happened, he tried to swing at me and I was having none of it. So I dragged his ass out the door. End of story.”

“Okay. I thought something else was going on in that conversation. Like the taller guy was hitting on you or something.”

“Alis, I’m not the best looking fox around. Besides, I’m sure he’d have a better taste in men if I had to take a guess.”

“Maybe. Then again I’m not a guy.”

“Yeah. Now go to sleep the two of you.”

They went to Destin’s room while I dropped onto the couch.

I pulled the slip of paper out and just stared at it.

“I don’t get why he gave me his number. Either way, it’ll be nice to make a friend.”

I put it back in my pocket before I fell asleep.