#every cliche in the book they are throwing at me and i am eating that sh*t up like it's a 2016/2017 drama

[theinfinitedivides]

he's an absolute idiot in love but ykw he's her idiot in love so it's fine

[project-offline]

Alexis

It Starts With Hello

Taylen’s point of view on how she met this person.

I first met Alexis in high school when we were in the same homeroom class together. We first bonded over our love for sports, for at the time she was playing hockey competitively and I was playing water polo; we discussed about our busy schedules with practices and how we frequently we left on trips to play at tournaments. I would talk to her every now and then, but I didn’t really get to know her until about 4 years later when we were in the school’s yearbook class together. We shared our love for graphic design and our annoyance with typography as our friendship grew. After we graduated from high school, for a couple months we kept in touch with having a small study group where we had weekly sessions at Starbucks. Although we are no longer studying at Starbucks on frequent occasions, 4 years later today, we continue to keep in touch every week (if not on the daily) and share our love for Marvel, Lord of the Rings and other various shows on Netflix.

This or That

You can only choose one…

Salty or Sweet

Winter or Summer

Air Guitar or Air Drums

Coffee or Tea

Dogs or Cats

Sleeping or Eating // How do I choose?! They’re very close.

Five Facts of Fun

What are 5 facts about yourself?

My favourite hobby is reading.

Working with kids is a big part of my life and my career goal is to be a primary school teacher.

I played a lot of hockey when I was younger and I’ve coached the sport as well.

I have a fear of heights.

I am the eldest of 4 siblings and because of that, it has shaped a lot of my personality.

Drop a Bop

Pick a song that is the theme song to your life and discuss why.

Because "teenagers [do] scare the living [fuck] out of me”. And that's why I want to be an elementary school teacher and not high school kids. I kind of like how it's comical, the way they’re talking about in the song like they were teenagers saying like "you're gonna clean up your looks, with all of your lives in the books, to make a citizen out of you". Because teenagers are such a feared group of people by older people, they took that and were like "yeah... we are scary". While teenagers scare me, I don't think people make enough effort to understand them enough. I just don't want to be the one to do that because they still scare me and I'm worried about it; and I don't think I’m good at it, but they deserve to be treated more like adults.

Debate Time

What is your perspective on the following question: Is the ocean soup?

If you throw a bunch of things into a pot with liquid and you don’t cook it, do you consider that soup? Cause that’s basically my deciding factor. If soup has to be hot… well cause you can have cold soup that started hot and at some point you had to cook it. But yup, I’d say it’s soup.

Some Deeper Small Talk

Chosen from a group of questions, the person answered the following question: What was something mean that was said to me in my childhood that I carry with me to this day? What would I say to my younger self now?

[At the time when I was younger and playing hockey], it was probably some of the various stuff that got said to me in the dressing room... and so I'd probably tell myself well what I’d always used to say to my younger self, which sounds cliche, but “it's going to be fine, it's going to be okay". I think my biggest thing as a teenager was that I was constantly worried and anxious about everything, so I used to always say that to myself to help reassure me.

The Final Spotlight

If you had the final opportunity to say anything to the world, what would you say?

Please, just be kinder to people.

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 06 —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

‘‘ I swear I am going to have someone beat your ass Park Jimin!’’

‘‘ It’s not my fucking fault! I broke up with her but you lead her to the apartment  knowing she’ll follow!’‘

‘‘ Damn it Jimin im going to kick your ass!’‘

Your eyes pop open just in time to see Jungkook on-top of Jimin hitting him repeatedly on the face while Jimin manages to push him off of him and begin his fist fight against him. He straddles Jungkook to the floor and punches are thrown left and right. Now the sudden headache of seeing the two brothers fight has began in your head and you cannot stand hearing the groaning and yelling between them. Bringing your hand up to signal them to stop, you realize they don’t even know you’ve awakened.

 Jungkook on the other hand is not having it so he throws Jimin off of him harshly making Jimin groan. The way he grabs Jimin’s collar with venom fast strength finally gives you the courage to yell out to them.

‘‘ Stop! Damn it, you two are like literal fucking teenagers. Act your age!”

The both of them turn their heads toward you slowly. Jungkook drops his fist, which was going to connect with Jimin’s face. You take a good look at them. Freshly bruised from each-other. Great.

‘‘ You think fighting is going to solve this problem huh? Get over here now.” You say, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Jungkook gives Jimin a death glare before rushing to your side and feeling your forehead. You slap his hand away and pull him down by his shirt only for him to recieve a harsh slap to the forehead.

‘‘ Shit!” He stumbles back and rubs his forehead. He shoots you a glare, wanting to yell at you but doesn’t.  You motion for Jimin to come to you too. He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

‘‘ I don’t think it’s necessary for you to do that..” He says, as if your death glare towards him isn’t enough to tell him you aren’t joking whatsoever.

He gets the memo when you disregard his comments before hanging his head low and bending down a little to your height. One slap against the forehead and two across the wrists.

‘‘ That’s for you fighting He was only looking out for me. The last two were for having a psychotic girlfriend who almost killed me. Look at my wrist!’‘

You hold them out to see two I.V’s, one for blood transfusion and the other a regular for nutrients on your right wrist. Both of them bandaged up which does need to be changed because of the old blood.

‘‘ I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would be this upset.’‘ Jimin says, hanging his head low. Jungkook rolls his eyes at him out of annoyance.

‘‘ Whatever. I already called my lawyer for your case. Since Isabel tried to attempt murder to you, you will win this case for sure.’‘ He proudly leans against the wall hoping to atleast crack a smile from you.

You don’t smile though. The last thing you need is another scandal. If this were to make the news and blogs right now then it could be a bad thing. You’ve just started your modeling career again and right now would be the worst time to have something like that. 

Jimin leans on the wall with his hands in his pockets, still avoiding locking eyes with you which is something he usually does. Something tells you that he’s hiding something. Something that you just can’t put your finger on.

‘‘ The police will come shortly for witness statements and your statement. Then they’ll call for a court date as soon as possible.’‘ Jimin’s voice low, illuminating with a hint of sadness.

Out of curiosity you want to say something more. To ask him whats going on and why he’s acting rather like this. It’s really not like him. He’s hiding something for sure and you just cannot put your finger on it. You just agree and pull out your phone. A missed call from Ryan. You try texting her and she almost always responds immediately. This time she doesn’t. What’s really going on?

You don’t know but Ryan took it upon herself to pay Isabel a visit. Usually visitors aren’t allowed for people in holding but with a little sweet talk of hers she got to get atleast 10 minutes to talk. That’s all she needs. When it comes to you, her bestfriend, she never messes around. Hearing the news from Jungkook yesterday she almost went luncatic. Throwing things at him, calling his brother every disrespectful name in the book. Oh she hates him now for sure.

Jungkook had to stop her from going over to the hospital to beat his ass into a bloody pulp for causing you pain and getting together with that crazy girl just to break up with her. Ryan was heated. 

But now she can take this heat and serve some to Isabel right now. She walks with confidence into the room. Nothing and nobody can stop her and if they even try, she’ll chew them up and spit them out. Catching a glimpise of Isabel sitting at the table with her hands cuffed and security next to her, Ryan shoots her a devious glare.

‘‘ What brings you here? I expected my boyfr-’‘

A harsh slam from her hands hit the table as she bends a little to her seated level, ‘‘ He’ not your fucking boyfriend. You were lucky I wasn’t there to beat your fucking ass.”

The guard tenses up at the sounds and sudden movements. Ryan notices, and decides to take her seat to calm down before she’s the one sitting behind the jail bars too. 

‘‘ Ryan.. I thought we were friends?’‘ She frowns, pouting her lips while fake wiping tears away. 

Ryan scoffs,shaking her head ever so slowly with a devilish grin on her face. “ We aren’t. Don’t let me catch you un-attended without your manager or body guard.. Isabel.’’

Isabel laughs one of her evil laughs, throwing her head back then coming back up, “ Oh how cute. Is this a threat from little ol’ you? Me and Jimin were doing just fine before your bestfriend had decided to enter his life again. I’m not the only bad guy here. She should know boundaries for taken men. Ex’s aren’t supposed to be firendly and lovey dovey. Spending nights and going everywhere with each other. Especially when one’s a famous idol with another idol girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

“ Maybe you should take that up with your hoe of a boyfriend. He’s the one who can’t leave her alone.” She yells, inches away from Isabel’s face. The two stare at each other long and hard. Isabel is no match for Ryan though.

The guard clears his throat to break the two’s glares. The tension is thick in the air.

“ If you ever touch yn again, I’ll make sure you’re the one in the hospital this time around.”

‘‘ You’ll all see. I’ll win this court case. Trust me… there’s things you do not know.” 

Ryan rolls her eyes, strutting her way out the room with the sound of her heels clicking right behind her. Consider the message recieved. 

It’s been one week after the situation. In which in between those days you were dismissed from the hospital and have been in at Jimin’s house ever since. You didn’t want to be here. You want to be at home with your cat, Clara. Jungkook’s been going over to feed and play with her. Jimin kept pleading for you not to return home just yet because it could be a danger to you. It makes sense. You never know what Isabel has up her sleeve. 

So you’ve been sitting here doing the same old thing everyday. Eat, watch movies and netflix tv shows,  sleep, and repeat.

Jimin would come in and out of his home studio to check in on you. He still has to work on producing and singing his songs. He’d bring the food and your medicine he prepared per usual,  kiss your forehead, and go right back out to producing his highly anticipated album.

It all seems fake to you. Something is off. Something is not being told to you. You can feel it in your gut but can’t put a finger on it.

‘‘ This is so cliche.’‘ You murmur to yourself, switching the flat-screen T.V off.

And as if on cue Jimin comes inside your- well his room with a glass of water and prescribed pain killers for you. The slight smile on his face makes you want to smile but you don’t.

‘‘ Smile for ocne yn. Do you not like staying here?’‘ He says, sitting next to you on the side of the bed and places the glass in your hands.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, taking the two pills out of his palm. “ No.. but be honest with me Jimin okay?”

His face turns a quick shade of pink then pale as if you had said the wrong choice of words at the wrong time. As if he had seen a ghost at this very moment. That’s not a good sign at all.

‘‘ Are you.. hiding something from me?’‘

The atmosphere is thick and silence fills the room. You don’t say anything and he doesn’t either. Your eyes meet his and for once they don’t pull away first. 

Jimin doesn’t know how to break it to you though. It’s now or never.

‘‘ She will never leave me.”

You bite your lip hard, “ What do you mean?”

“ That she said that she’d do everything to ruin our relationship if we continue to persue one. She’d spready rumors about you to Dispatch. Make a scene whenver you’re near me. Anything she can do, she will do it.”

You don’t know how to take this all in. You knew Isabel was possesive but not this possesive. The thought of her doing things on purpose for you to make everyone hate you makes you want to cry. To just bawl your eyes out right here right now. You can’t.. you won’t do it. 

You won’t give in because thats what she wants. To make you cry. To ruin your reputation and work. Jimin came back into your life and of course you don’t know what to do or how to deal with it. But this is what you wanted right? You’ve been longing for you and him to get a second chance. It’s you. You’re the one who’s been putting things off and not letting things go with the flow. Maybe he came back to you because he realized how wrong he was for cheating on you. For leaving you behind. For not seeing things for truly how it is. 

You knew Isabel was bad luck from the beginning. Now is the time to try and take back what was originally yours. That will hurt her more than ever. 

“ She needs to have a reality check. Not everything revolves around her.”

‘‘ I agree. Putting her behind bars might give her a reality check. It should serve her right for harming people.” Jimin sighs. 

The silence is thick. You both don’t know what to say and it’s sure as hell awkward more than ever right now. Until that silence breaks. 

‘‘ I feel like you aren’t being your true self to me. If we are getting things out now.” 

His sudden comment makes you lift your head up from playing with the comforter. “ What do you mean?’’

‘‘ You.. don’t want to take actions on what you feel, say, or want to do with or about me. It’s killing me inside.”

He’s right. You do try to push your feelings aside no matter what the cause is. It’s just you trying to not set yourself up for hearbreak again. You do want him. You do want everything to do with him. Considering the things that happened in the past, it’s no doubt theres a fence guarding your heart from intruders. 

You exhale out heavily, “ Im just.. scared.’’

‘‘ Of? “

‘‘ Being hurt again.”

Dead silence again. This time he’s the one trying to come up with words to redirect your view of him. Yes, he broke your heart in the worst way possible. He wants you to see he’s changed. 

Jimin bites his lip, voice shaky when he begins talking again. ‘‘ How can I show you that i’m not the same anymore. Im not I promise you. I want you to see I have changed. I know it’s my fault. I destroyed you but let me fix it.”

It’s all come down to this. You’ve wanted this and now is the chance to get it. Now is the chance to have what was once yours. But the feeling of doubt had taken its course on you at the worst time.

‘‘ Jimin.. how do I know that for sure?’‘ You say, unintentionally fluttering your eyes at him. To you it’s to prevent from letting tears fall. 

Jimin see’s it as that specific thing you used to do when you wanted him. When you craved him and would drop hints. To be completely honest, you do crave him. You do want him. Make-up sex was something you two used to do often. It was your toxic way of saying im sorry. 

Somehow you want to put that toxic thing into action right now. As fucked up as it is, that’s how you two know you’re sorry towards each other. Actions speak louder than words. 

He closes his eyes for a quick second before clenching his jaw to contain himself. Your weak spot.

‘‘ Stop doing that. Unless you want to start something you don’t want to finish.” 

You smile just a little, hoping he’d get the memo. “ What if I do want to start and finish it..”

As if a car alarm went off, Jimin’s eyes pop back open with a suprised look. That’s the last thing he’d thought he’d be hearing from you. “ Are you sure about that? I mean we don’t have t-”

You lean in closer to where you guys are inches apart, his lips softly rubbing against yours. “ I’m all for it.”

Within seconds, Jimin’s shirt is removed off of you only revealing your blue panties which have became a little soaked with your wetness. He takes in the scent of you before his mouth connects with your thighs, slightly sucking to leave bruises on you.

‘‘ Jimin.. don’t tease me.”  You sigh, laying fully down to spread your legs even more. He hums against your skin making you catch chills up and down your spine.

‘‘ That’s my specialty baby. You know that.” He trails a kiss with each word all the way down to your core where he dips a finger inside. You tense up attempting to close your legs. He doesn’t allow it, spreading them open harshly again. 

‘’ Jimin-’‘ You barely utter before he begins to move his fingers in and out of you slowly. You let out a whine to try and make him go faster but it doesn’t work.

He comes up to your mouth and plants a wet, sloppy kiss. “ No whining. You’re gonna get what you want. Just relax baby.”

Is all he tells you before he goes back down to your core to tend to your desires.

The first lick between your legs is ever so gentle. Too gentle for you right now considering that you want release badly and Jimin knew exactly that. He opens his mouth and swirls his tongue up and down your slit. A groan leaves his mouth once he gets a taste of you which sends a vibration to your sensitive bud.

Each time his tongue laps against you your body jerked and shook but that only makes his tongue go faster. Sending you into a moaning and groaning mess as you tug on his hair.

“Mmh you even taste the same like always.” He moans with a smirk.

“Jimin please-” you cry out, locking your fingers into his hair when a finger is inserted into your dripping wet hole.

‘‘ No whining babygirl.’‘ His voice gentle as ever when he removes the finger inside of you making you pout a little. But that pout soon turned into your eyes becoming wide when he starts to take off his shirt, then grey sweatpants, then his underwear where his thick cock springs up.

Your eyes can’t leave his body. God it’s been a while. He looks pretty damn good. You wan’t to take all of his length in your mouth right now. To hear him praise you about how good your mouth feels against him. God you want it right now. 

He gives it a few strokes before walking over to you. Just before hovering over you, he gives you a passionate kiss while lifting up your legs and positioning them to his liking. Missionary.

The tip of him pokes at the entrance of you, teasing in and out. Soon enough he enters you slowly making both of you moan together.

You still wrap and fit around his member smug as ever, and he could not believe it. The feeling of familiarity of being inside you sends him into a moaning mess with each stroke. You can’t contain your moans and screams. He feels way too good. 

Jimin begins to deep-stroke you by pulling all the way out and slamming back in. You scream his name out in pleasure as your nails scratch up his toned back. Wet sounds fill the room with him picking up his pace. You take a glimpse of him only to admire his figure right now. Forehead forming sweat beads while he groans and moans biting his plump pink lips.

Your breathing becomes faster when that familiar feeling soon starts to take over. You turn your head to the side and let out a string of moans. Jimin isn’t having that though. His hand grabs your face gently and makes you make eye contact with him. Your legs start shaking as your head tilts back moans getting more faster. You finally let out one last one in sync with him, his hot sperm shoots inside of you.

Jimin pulls out, breathing heavily and collapses ontop of you. You let out a small grunt with the sudden extra body upon you, then giggle at him when he lays his head lays against your chest. This is what you wanted. He’s true. He’s sorry. 

‘’ I love you.”

That word surprises you. You weren’t prepared for it. Somehow though, you enjoy the fact that he’s said it to you. Love. Jimin’s love. Your love. 

‘’ I love you much more Jimin.’’ 

[fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan]

A Lie to Love - Nathan MacKinnon

This is for @antoineroussel Summer Fic Exchange. I had the wonderful @broadstbroskis!

I had so much fun writing this fic and reading everyone else's work, I love getting to see so many great writers sharing their work on this site. This is also one of the longest pieces I have written in a very long time, as I was writing this I had a million other fic ideas pop in my head so many those will get written some time soon.

***

I just sat down on my couch, just getting home from work when someone started knocking on my apartment door. I was hoping to ignore it and it would go away, unfortunately they kept knocking. I groaned as I got up, decided how much I was going to curse this person out. “What-” Right behind the door was Nate, giving me a nervous smile.

I had met Nate through his teammate Gabe, I babysat for Gabe and Melissa on a regular basis. Nate showed up one night that I was watching their daughter looking for advice from Melissa. I was able to help him then he hung out with me until Gabe and Melissa came home. Since then I could expect him to show up at my apartment at least once a week for dinner, and we were close friends after I had to save him from a laundry emergency that first night I met him.

“I’m so glad you’re home. I need a huge favor.” Leaving the door open I headed back towards my couch, I knew Nate would follow me and close the door behind him. Once I was sitting on the couch again Nate pulled my legs onto his lap.

“Last time you asked for a favor I ended up with the flu.” Which was true, he had asked me to help out at a learn to skate event that was outside in December. It had been a cold and foggy day, and two days later I was down for the count.

“I brought you soup! And tissues for we left for that road trip.”

“You brought me one box of tissues and two cans of tomato soup.” Nate raised an eyebrow like I had proven his point. I threw a pillow at his head before speaking again. “I’m allergic to tomatoes!”

“Oh, I’m an idiot. Sorry. But I still need a favor.” I really wanted to just say no, ask Nate to leave and go to sleep until I had to go into the office tomorrow. But I knew I was going to say yes before I even found out what he needed. “Please Ruth.”

“What is this favor?”

“I need you to be my fake girlfriend.”

“That was not what I was expecting you to say.” That got a small chuckle out of Nate but he also looked nervous. “Why do you need a fake girlfriend?” Nate was in a ‘single and loving it’ stage of life, he just wanted to play hockey and hang out with his teammates.

“An executive on the team has been talking up his daughter for like the last two years. I’ve been able to brush off the hints he has been throwing at me, luckily she doesn’t live here. Today he came up to me when I was heading out for the day, talking about how his daughter is coming into town and how we should get dinner together so I can get to know her. I thought I could brush it off as a one off dinner, say we there was no connection and then she would be gone. Easy, ya know?”

“Not really. But continue.”

“Apparently this isn’t just a visit for her, she is moving here. And going to work for the team on the social media team.”

“That must have ruined your plan.” Nate nodded and I knew I was going to agree to his crazy plan. “So how did all this lead to me needing to be your fake girlfriend?”

“I panicked and said I had a girlfriend.”

“And I’m the only girl you hang out with that isn’t related to you or in a relationship with a teammate.”

“You are also one of my best friends and the one person I trust every part of my life with. I know this is a lot to ask, I know this is bigger than asking you to help with a skating event. This is a change to every part of your life, and lying to a lot of people.”

“I’ll do it.” Nate’s jaw actually dropped like he couldn’t believe I was agreeing to do it. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Thank you, thank you so much. I know this is a huge ask, I really do.”

“Before we talk about details, I need food and wine. Not necessarily in that order.” I ordered food and pulled out the biggest wine glass I had. As we waited for the food, we came up with a plan and story to tell everyone. We decided to stick with the cliche story of best friends who decided to fall for each other.

“Um, what about kissing? And other PDA?” Nate’s cheeks flushed as he asked the question and I knew it wasn’t from the wine. “I don’t want to do anything you are uncomfortable with.”

“Let’s just start with hand holding and that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” Our food was delivered then, Nate going to the door and coming back with the bags of food.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it, you can think about it like this is our first date.” I nod and start eating once we decided on something to watch. This felt normal for us, eating take out and watching whatever hockey game Nate was able to find. After we finished eating Nate helped me clean everything up before he got ready to leave. I walked him to the door, hugging him tightly as he let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I will ever be able to repay you for doing this. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it Nate, I’ll always be there when you need me.” I closed the door behind him, hoping that I wouldn’t regret agreeing to fake date my best friend.

Nate’s pov

I had been ignoring my phone since I pulled into the parking lot at Ruth’s apartment building, knowing that asking Ruth to do this would make or break our friendship. When I left her apartment I was hopeful that this wouldn’t be the end of our friendship. But I also knew it was only going to make my feelings for her grow. I realized within a month of knowing Ruth that I had feelings for her, and I had almost told her a dozen times a year since then.

I checked my phone when I got home, I had four missed phone calls from my captain and nearly a dozen texts. I skipped over looking at all the messages and just called him. “Nate, why did I hear you say that you are dating someone? Mel has been questioning me since this afternoon because she heard you say to someone that you are in a relationship. She is pissed that I didn’t tell her about it. Which is hard to do considering I had no clue.”

Before I could answer I heard Mel’s voice. “MacKinnon, you better tell me who you are dating.”

“Uh, Ruth-” There was a loud squeal on the other end of the call and then I heard Landy trying to shush his wife.

“When were you going to tell us this?” Gabe asked after it got quiet. I wanted to tell them the truth, we had talked about it. We eventually decided that we wouldn’t tell them the truth because Gabe was the worst gossiper on the team.

“It’s only been about a month, we wanted to make sure this was going to work before we shared it with anyone. We wanted to wait even longer but one of the executives was trying to set me up with his daughter.”

“Alright. I guess that is enough information from now. We can always ask more questions at that fundraiser on Friday night.”

“Oh shit.” That caused Gabe to laugh at me.

“You didn’t tell her about that yet?”

“No, we weren’t going public yet so I figured that I would just go by myself. But I guess I need to tell her about that now and see if she is willing to come with me.”

“That is a big first outing, good luck with that buddy.” Gabe hung up and I knew that I needed to tell Ruth about Friday but when I left she had mentioned she was going to crash as soon as I left. I figured I should go to bed now and deal with everything tomorrow.

***

I was getting ready to knock on Ruth’s door when it flew open and Ruth was standing there looking shocked. “Nate! What are you doing here?” Her eyes then looked at the coffee cup I was holding, one that I had brought for her. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You only ever bring me my favorite coffee order when you have bad news.”

“I-Landy reminded me last night that we have a black tie fundraiser on Friday night.”

“And now that our supposed relationship is public, you are expected to bring your girlfriend with you.”

“Yeah. I am sorry, I never meant to make your life this complicated.” Ruth took the coffee from me, taking a sip before locking her door.

“I know what I signed up for Nate. I need to get to work, walk with me to my car.” I followed her through the hall of her apartment, waiting for her to yell at me. “What is this fundraiser for? And what kind of dress do I need?”

“It’s for the children’s hospital. We do it every year, they book a huge ballroom and it’s a lot of rich people. The Avs don’t run this fundraiser but all the sports teams in town donate a bunch of stuff to them to auction off and the team likes us to go so the people are more willing to open their wallets.”

“And yet that doesn’t tell me what kind of dress I need, or what time this thing is. Or any of the other million things I need to know to get ready for this thing.”

“I’m not sure about any of this, every year I go by myself. I can have Mel call you?”

“That sounds good. I have to go now, I have a project that was assigned to me yesterday that is way behind schedule. So thank you for the coffee and I’ll see you later.” I watched as she got into her car and drove away.

Ruth’s pov

By the time lunch came around I was buried under a pile of work, I hoped that if I could work through lunch and stay a little late every day this week that I would be caught up by the end of the week so I could focus on the lie at this fundraiser. So when I saw that Melissa was calling me I knew my plan was about to be derailed. “Hey Melissa.”

“I am going to ignore the fact that you didn’t tell me about you and Nate. And I am also going to save all of my questions for later, Nate told me that you need a dress for Friday. I can be at your office in 10 minutes, we can go shopping during your lunch hour.”

“I am so behind on a project that was just given to me this morning and it was already so far behind because the guy who was incharge of it before me was an idiot. I don’t have time to take a lunch break this week.”

“But Nate gave me his card to buy your dress with.” I knew I would regret what I was about to say but I didn’t have another option.

“If I tell you what size I wear, can you just get me something?”

“Absolutely!”

“Thank you. As much fun as I think shopping with you would be, I just can’t leave right now.”

“I get it. Send me a text with your sizes and I’ll find you the perfect dress.”

“Because my brain is a mess right now, I wasn’t supposed to babysit on Friday right?”

“No, my parents are in town this week. They are watching the kids. There is no way you are getting out of this event.” A part of me was hoping that I would have that as an excuse to not go but with that option gone I started to mentally prepare myself for Friday night.

***

“Thank you for letting me get ready here.” I said to Nate as he let me into his house. “And thank you for letting me crash here tonight.”

“Of course, it makes more sense this way. I also have your dress, Mel wouldn’t let me look at it when she dropped it off on Tuesday. I figured you can use my room to get ready, it has more counter space for whatever you need.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bedroom and bathroom.”

“It’s not kicking me out when I volunteer to use the guest room. C’mon, let me carry your bag.”

“How long until we need to leave?”

“I have an Uber scheduled for 75 minutes from now.” I nod, knowing that I could make that work without having to rush too much. Once Nate headed into the guest room I started to unpack what I would need for now. Grabbing a towel before going to figure out the shower, which was far more high tech than anything I had ever seen in a shower before. I wrapped the towel around myself and went to find Nate. “Nate?! How do I work your futuristic shower?” I only stuck my head out in the hall to yell and luckily he heard me from the guest room he was in. A few seconds later he came out in only a loose pair of shorts, laughing at me. “Don’t laugh at me, your shower has a computer screen!” I opened the bedroom door so he could come in, watching his eyes widen when I saw I was only wearing a towel. As he came in to turn the shower on for me I took the time to look over him. When he turned to show me how to change the temperature and turn it off I knew he caught me checking him out. Nate was such a beautiful person, inside and out. I knew that fake dating Nate had the potential for my true feelings to come out and I was trying to convince myself that this wouldn’t end with the death of our friendship.

“Need anything else?”

“Nope.”

Nate’s pov

It took every ounce of willpower to not kiss Ruth when I saw her standing in my bedroom in just a towel, and then when I caught her checking me out I was really tempted to tell her the truth. I knew that this fake dating would just cause more pain for me but there was nothing I could do about that now. I took a colder shower than I had originally been planning to take but after that was done I got my suit on, just a dark grey suit so that hopefully I wouldn’t clash with whatever Ruth was wearing.

Just as I finished getting my shoes on there was a knock on my door. I opened it and was immediately speechless. The deep green dress looked amazing on her and I am pretty sure that my jaw was on the floor. As she moved in the dress I saw the large slit on the one side that showed a lot of her leg. “Can you zip my dress?”

“Y-yeah.” Ruth turned so her back was to me, pulling her hair to the side so I could tug up the zipper before whispering. “Perfect.”

“I should be ready in just a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I just need to come grab a tie. I wanted to wait until I saw what color your dress was.” Ruth nodded as we both heard into my bedroom, I headed straight for my closet and by the time I came out with my tie on Ruth was standing at the end of my bed smiling. “You look amazing.”

“You do too.” I walked over to Ruth, both of us looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We make a good looking couple.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” I froze after those words came out of my mouth, Ruth looking at me with wide eyes.

“O-okay, um, I’ll go grab my stuff and get out of your hair.” Ruth went to turn and walk away from me, but I gently turned her around so I could tell her the truth.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” I cupped Ruth’s cheek, locking eyes with her. “I have had feelings for you for so long. Probably since a month after I met you but I was scared to tell you. And then we became friends and I didn’t want to make things weird, so I kept it a secret. But I also fell for you more as we became closer friends. So I think a part of me decided to say I was dating someone because I want to be dating you. For real.” Ruth didn’t say anything, just took a step closer and pressed her lips to mine. “I, what just happened?”

“Everything you just told me, I feel the same way.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now kiss me for real.” That I could do, I kissed Ruth like I had wanted to do for years. We only stopped kissing when a car horn sounded in my driveway. “I think I need to fix my lipstick.”

“I would say sorry but I’m not. I’ll go to the car if you want to fix your lipstick.” Ruth nodded, stepping back while smiling at me. “Just so you know, this isn’t our first date. I will be planning that for next week and it is going to knock your socks off.”

“As long as you are there, I can’t wait.” I kissed Ruth one more time before healing downstairs to tell the driver we were almost ready. I also couldn’t keep the smile off of my face, I couldn’t believe what started out as a panicked lie turned into a chance to date my best friend for real.

[suca-loca]

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k 

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary: 

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of  -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.  

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes -  who hasn't on this forsaken server? -  but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "  

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "  

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream  - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "  

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.  

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress. 

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy. 

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "  

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much. 

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all. 

And then she realizes a horrible thing. 

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day. 

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough. 

Somewhere above, a crow caws. 

She burst into tears.

[bqstqnbruin]

Two times you knew where you were going and one time you didn’t

So that Matthew fic turned into a Matthew Tkachuk one (thanks @hockeyfutbolkpopyeah​ !). It just didn’t fit with Gryz when I started writing it, but I have a Gryz reqeuest it’s just 3:30 in the morning and I’m teaching in less than 7 hours so I should probably be going to sleep if I want to teach them the correct stuff. This is longish though, I hope you like it!

_____________________________________

“We need to plan a vacation. I’m tired of being stuck inside with nothing to do.” You throw your book that you’ve been staring blankly at to the other side of the room, it sliding across the floor before hitting the wall. “You’ve been going on trips all year while I’ve been here, working, like a boring normal person.” Your boyfriend, Matthew, was in the kitchen, not even thirty feet away, making you dinner while you were ninety percent sure he either wasn’t listening to you, or couldn’t hear you. “Can we take a road trip? Like, go all cliche college girls with the snacks, the playlists, the Airbnbs around the country?”

“Well,” he puts down the knife from whatever he was chopping up, “Where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t know” you shrug, walking to the kitchen. He turns to you, putting his hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised, giving you a look that says, ‘really?’ “You look ridiculous with your hand on your hip.” You can’t help but laugh as you try to move his hand off.

He snaps it away, a smile growing on his face as a laugh leaves his lips. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who brought it up.” 

“Oooh!” you say, draping your arms around on his shoulders while he pulls you in by the waist, “I saw this thing on Pinterest where -”

“No, not Pinterest.” Matthew groans.

“Yes, Pinterest, shut up,” you snap. You were female who loved aesthetic, how could you not be on Pinterest all the time? “But I saw this couple was trying to decide on their next vacation destination, kind of like you and me, and they got this map and threw a dart at it, and they just went where the dart landed.” 

He stares at you for a moment, brow scrunched as he’s thinking. Either that or he’s questioning what other crazy ideas you can think of and why he’s with you in the first place. He’s said stuff like that before, sarcastically, of course, so you wouldn’t be shocked if this was one of those moments. “That might not be the worst idea. Then we don’t have to deal with your constant, ‘I don’t know’ stuff.”

“So, let’s get a map?” 

The map and darts came in two days later to your apartment. As you hung up the map on the wall, Matthew started, “Aren’t we going to put wholes in the wall if we throw darts at it?” 

“Yeah, and? You paid the security deposit, not me,” you joke.

“Oh, shut up.” 

You stand back, dart in hand, “Who’s throwing, you or me?”

“You can’t aim for shit.”

“Ok, Mr. Ten-Goal-Season.”

“The season just started! Ten goals is good!” he defends himself, his cheeks turning red. 

“Can I throw it?” you beg, giving him the puppy dogs eyes that get him to say yes to you always.

“We’re gonna end up in the fucking ocean,” he mutters as both of you stand back for you to throw the dart.

“If it lands in the ocean then you better learn how to swim because this is the determining dart,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly, winding up to throw. You chuck it, just praying that it sticks so Matthew will shut up about your inability to throw things.

“And we’re staying on land!” he yells, running to the map. 

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to New Orleans!” 

One

The entire drive was spent with you and Matthew switching off driving every six-ish hours, six shifts total, three shifts each, playfully criticizing each other’s driving at least four times per shift. The only time you stopped was for food, the bathroom, or to switch drivers. The two of you sang off-key to every song for hours on end.

“Babe, where are we even staying?” he asks you. You had programmed the address into your phone for the Airbnb, but you guess you forget to show Matthew where it was. 

“We’re staying in the French Quarter: we get the entire villa, there’s Wifi, parking, a kitchen, only one bed.” He gives you a quick glance as you do that annoying flirty eyebrow wiggle that makes him laugh every time.

“Ooo, you should have told me about the one-bed thing before. That seems like a real deal-breaker for this trip. I think we have to turn around and go home.” 

“Oh, shush, you know you love me,” you tease. 

“Well, duh. You think I would put up with your crap if I didn’t?” That stupid smile that makes you melt shows up on his face. “I think we’re here?” 

“We are!” You leap out of the car, leaving Matthew to get the bags while you follow the directions the host left you to get the key. You burst through the door, Matthew following suit, “J’adore!”

“You know that just means ‘I love,’ right?”

You turn to him, shocked, “You know French?”

“Vous seriez surpris de ce que je sais.” He winks, pushing past you to go explore the rest of the villa.

“What did you say?” you yell to him, trying to find where he went.

“You’d be surprised what I know.” 

You follow his voice and find him in the bedroom. “And what do you know?” you ask him, leaning against the doorway.

“Well, I know that we both want to go explore New Orleans, but we’re both too tired right now.” 

“Well, yeah.”

“But,” he starts again, “I also know that there is at least one activity we aren’t too tired for.” He walks up to you, putting his hands on your waist, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. 

His lips ghost yours, you doing everything you can to let the teasing last a little longer, “What’s that?” He knows how much you love this. 

“This,” he lets out, lifting you up and kissing you, you wrapping your legs around his waist as he stumbles to the bed. He throws you down, climbing over you, starting to tug at your shirt as he leaves a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your collar bone. 

The two of you spend the rest of the night in bed, going to sleep more exhausted than you were when you got there.

The next morning, Matthew wakes you up by starting to jump on the bed. “It’s early, we need coffee, and we need to start exploring!” he yells like a toddler, jumping off the bed, landing so hard on the ground you were sure he broke something. 

“You’re fucking annoying.” 

“Yes, but I’ll be less annoying once we go to Cafe du Monde, which I know your mother loves, and you two have the same taste, so I’m like ninety percent sure that you will love it, too. Plus you said you wanted to go there, so might as well do it first so we can get caffeine and energy!” he practically yells from the bathroom.

“You don’t need any more energy!” you yell back. He could go from being a child to being how he was last night in 0.2 seconds. You really did love this boy, despite the pest that he always was. 

You get up out of bed and try to get ready with Matthew practically on top of you, forcing you to get ready fast while he hands you dry cereal to eat so you’re not as cranky when you have to interact with more people. You put on olive green floral shorts, a plain white top, and some sandals, and try to find your bag in the mess that Matthew made of your stuff trying to unpack at some point last night.

“Are we driving or walking?” he asks, turning around to face you as you meet him by the door, “Fuck,” he whispers, “If I didn’t want to explore the city so bad, I’d want to explore you right now.”

You throw your head back, letting out a cackle that would cause any other guy to break up with you. “That was disgusting,” you say, taking his hand, “and let’s walk. Decatur Street is like ten minutes away, and it’s gorgeous out.” 

“Not as gorgeous as you, though,” he flirts, trying to keep his corniness going.

“Shut up,” you say, not hiding the smile on your face. 

The two of you leave, ready to explore New Orleans in the summer heat, walking in the morning to the world-famous cafe. Your parents had gone to New Orleans a year before you were born, and your mom bought a Cafe du Mondo mug that she still uses all these years later, faded, chipped, and probably going to fall apart if she even looks at it the wrong way. 

“We have to get her a new mug. The next time she sees us, we will definitely be bumped up on the ‘favorite children list.’” You start rambling and walking just a little faster, doing a little skip on the sidewalk as he tries to keep up with your pulling him towards the cafe. 

“Am I one of her children?” he asks. 

“She probably loves you more than I do, God only knows why,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, him knowing that it’s probably true. 

“Well, I am pretty great,” he says, kissing your cheek as you approach the cafe.

“Wow.” You admire the already busy cafe, the people sitting outside under the green and white awning, laughing, smiling, reading, eating, drinking. “Can I be annoying?”

“You need permission?”  

“Can I get a picture of you in front of the cafe? Please?” you beg him, taking out your phone. “You know how much my mom would flip if she knew we came to her favorite place in the world?”

“Why don’t we get someone to take a picture of the two of us? Excuse me?” he stops a stranger walking by, “Would you mind taking some pictures of me and my beautiful girlfriend? It’s for her mother.”

He hands the person his phone, pulling you towards him. He stands behind you, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheek as you can’t help but blush and smile by how loving he was being. The stranger hands back his phone, you two thanking them profusely as you go to get into the long line and figure out what you want for your breakfast. 

“So do we want to be cliche and get what they’re famous for, or do you want to get something else?” you ask him. “The beignets are to die for and my mother has never shut up about how she’ll never have anything as good as them, so we kind of have to get those. And then the cafe au lait is supposed to be great and I think you would love that, but I need black coffee, so I might just steal a sip of yours?” you spit out at him as you get closer to the front of the line.

“I have no clue what you just said. You’re ordering for us and I’m trusting you this time.” 

“Ooo, that’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you tease him, getting up to the front of the line. You order the beignets and coffees, stepping off to the side since all the tables were full. If you had to walk and eat, you didn’t really care. You got to be with Matthew, your probably crappy aim bringing you into what was quickly becoming one of your favorite places on this planet, even though it had only been about an hour. 

You get your beignets, taking a bite as you walk around and explore more of the area. “Holy, fuck,” you say, mouth full, “this is amazing. I want to marry this beignet.”

“That’s going to be pretty hard if you eat it.”

“I want to marry the person who made this beignet.”

“As your boyfriend, should I be offended by this?”

“You have competition. Become a beignet boy and I’ll reconsider.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “Where to next?”

Two

You spent the rest of the day exploring the French Quarter, roaming aimlessly, getting strangers to take pictures of you everywhere you went. Every photo you took was your new favorite. 

“Let’s go to the French Market tomorrow,” you tell Matthew, settling into bed. You two were exhausted; way too exhausted to do anything else. The two of you had walked like twenty miles during the day. You actually probably didn’t but it felt like it. The sun had drained you, giving Matthew a little pink on his cheeks, you knowing to reapply sunscreen enough times that you were fine. 

“Sure,” Matthew mumbles, falling asleep.

-----

“Three centuries of history, six blocks of shopping?” you exclaim as you get to the French Market. You had been googling the history of the market the entire Uber ride over, talking Matthew’s ear off about it, him pretending to listen because he really doesn’t care as much about history as you do. You were excited for another day of walking. If you weren’t here, you would probably be just sitting on the couch, reading, watching Netflix, and complaining to Matthew about how you were bored. 

“So, do we want to do food or shopping first?” 

“Shopping we need to work up an appetite,” you tell him, dragging him into the market. You wanted to walk all the way through first, pass each place, then go into the stores on the way back to the entrance when it was time to leave. You pointed out so many places that you wanted to go into; Evan’s Creole Candy Factory, Head to Toe, Pop Shop, Cella’s Boutique, Matthew only really caring about the first one, but he came with you because he knew you wanted him to. 

“Sports!” he yells, trying to drag you to the only sports-themed shop in the market: N’Awlin’s Sports. He starts running towards the store, faster than a kid running to a candy store, both of you almost dropping the bags of stuff you had purchased in the meantime.

As soon as the two of you enter the store, he stops, takes in a breath, and says, “I love you, but if you can marry beignet’s, I’m marrying sports.”

“You’re already married to sports, babe,” you say, smiling because of how happy he was. You knew that you were dragging him around. But every time you looked at him with a smile, one grew on his face, too. He loved seeing you happy, and you loved seeing him happy.

“I don’t see any hockey stuff.” 

“There’s no hockey in Louisiana. The closest team is probably Dallas?” you guess. 

“That’s dumb.” He just stands there, looking a little defeated because his beloved sport wasn’t represented in the store. 

“Let’s go outside, I’m sure we can find something you like to look at,” you say, pulling him out of the store.

“I like to look at you.” 

“Gross,” you laugh, “Let’s have someone take our picture like we did yesterday!” 

Doing the same thing as he did outside Cafe du Monde, Matthew convinced a stranger to take your picture. This time, he insisted on hugging you, kissing your cheek while you looked into the camera, beaming. You both loved the photos from yesterday, especially the cute lovey ones, so why not take some more? 

Plus one

“I’m stuffed,” you say, trying to stretch out as much as you can in the chair of the restaurant without risking hitting another patron or a waiter. 

“You picked a good place,” Matthew admits, raising his glass to you to finish the last bit of his drink. This was the only place you had been today; after the last two days of running around and exploring, you two had just decided to take a lazy day. When you realized it was dinner time and the only food you had was snack food, you knew you had to go out for dinner. 

“I’m marrying the chef,” you say.

“No, I am,” he spits back.

“Guess we both are.” You shrug, finishing the last bit of your drink as the waiter comes back with Matthew’s debit card. 

“Ready to go?” He stands up, reaching out for your hand to lead you out of the restaurant.

“Sure, where?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“You don’t know this city well enough for me to trust you when you say that.” 

“Will ya just shush and trust me?” A smile sneaks onto his lips as he leads you down the road.

“Where are we?” 

“The Moonwalk.” The two of you start walking down a long path, overlooking the Mississippi. It was gorgeous, buzzing with people, lit up by the street lights and the shine of the nearly full moon overhead. There was something magical about it, you had never seen anything like it.

“And to think, we came here because of a dart.” You approach some musicians playing a song you swore you knew, couples dancing to the slow beat. Matthew took you by the waist, you draping your arms around his neck as you followed the rest of the couples. 

“Never thought I would say thank god for a dart,” he says in a low voice. “I love you.” 

The music stops, and so does the dancing. Everyone around you claps as they start to play a faster song. 

“Let’s get our picture in front of the river,” he suggests, motioning for you to give him your phone. 

He flags a couple down, handing them your phone, taking a minute as it looks like he handed something else to them before coming back.

“Everything ok?” you ask.

“Couldn’t be better,” he says, beaming, putting his arm around you.

The two of you smile as they take your pictures on what you’re pretty sure is also Matthew’s phone. You start to head towards them to get your phones back when Matthew pulls you back.

“Wait, wait, not yet.” 

“What’s up?” 

Before you know it, he was getting down on one knee. 

“No way,” you say has he takes your hand in his, a small box in the other. 

“I had a plan to ask you this before you suggested the road trip, and honestly, it was me throwing the ring at you because that kind of fits our personalities. But this I think is much better. I want to be the beignet boy, I want to be your mom’s favorite child, I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. Y/N, will you marry me?” 

You’re a mess, crying and thanking yourself for wearing waterproof makeup today. Even if he had proposed to you with his original idea, you would have said the same thing. “Yes. Yes of course!” 

He slides the ring on your finger, everyone around you cheering and clapping, the musicians playing a new song. He kisses you, lifting you up at your waist, your leg popping like Mia in the Princess Diaries.

All of this because of a dart.

[atths--twice]

A Slightly Different Path

Now, I may have already posted this story before, but once again, we can always use more fiction in our lives, right? 😊

I wrote this for a friend who supplied the idea of, what if in The Sixth Extinction, instead of Scully saying, “Maybe as his partner, but not as his doctor,” she had said “but not as his wife.”

I had started to write an Unnatural and Amor Fati story some time ago. They have been tweaked a bit to now fit this idea, and Amor Fati was completely broken down and restructured. I love when that happens, while simultaneously feeling like I want to pull my hair out. 😊

While I believe that All Things was the first time for these two, I find that there is wiggle room, if I supply the wiggle, by looking at it from a different angle. Now, that doesn’t mean I think this story is canon by any means, but if you squint, and imagine it, I think this could possibly work...

Chapter One      1/3

A Bit More Natural 

What if The Unnatural took a slightly different turn? 

The book slammed down onto the desk with a heavy thud. It registered to him, but only insomuch that he realized he had slid down in his chair and needed to readjust his positioning. He looked over the top of the book and saw Scully. He offered her no words as he pulled himself up into a more comfortable position.

He saw her in his peripheral, standing up on the desk and looking up through the basement windows. He paid her no attention, but continued to read the book in front of him.

“Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside,” she said with longing. “Do you ever entertain the idea of trying to find life on this planet?”

“I have seen the life on this planet, Scully, and that is exactly why I am looking elsewhere,” he said, as he turned the page in the book. A crinkling sound got his attention, and he looked over to see Scully taking an ice cream from a brown paper bag, opening it, and taking a bite.

“Did you bring enough ice cream to share with the rest of the class?” he asked with disbelief as she seemed to have forgotten about him.

“It's not ice cream,” she said smugly, as though she had bested him. “It's a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle.”

“Ugh. Bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that,” he said, with a disgusted face. “You sure know how to live it up, Scully.”

“Oh, you're Mr. Live-it-up,” Scully said as she started to step down off the desk. “Mulder, you're really Mr. “Squeeze every last drop out of this sweet life,” aren’t you?  On this precious Saturday you've got us grabbing life by the testes, stealing reference books from the FBI library in order to go through New Mexico newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949. And for what joyful purpose?” She stopped speaking and her words amused and aroused him.

“Looking for anomalies, Scully. Do you know how many so-called "flying disc" reports there were in New Mexico in the 1940s?” Ready to tell her, she interrupted him.

“I don't care. Mulder, this is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie,” she said, and he could hear her silent challenge.

“Well, I won't sit idly by as you hurl cliches at me. Preparation is the father of inspiration,” he said, throwing it back at her.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die,” she said, with a mischievous smile as she took another bite.

“I scream, you scream, we all scream for nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles,” he said, setting the book down and lunging for the cone. He grabbed her arm and held it as he took a bite.

“No-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!” Scully yelled, with laughter in her voice. “Mulder!” The cone broke and fell onto the page of the book as they tussled with it.

“Mulder!? You cheat,” she said, looking at him with a smile, as she licked the remnants of the dreamsicle off her fingers. “I can't believe that you've been reading about baseball this whole time.”

“Reading the box scores, Scully. You'd like it. It's like the Pythagorean Theorem for jocks. It distills all the chaos and action of any game in the history of all baseball games into one tiny, perfect, rectangular sequence of numbers,” he told her, trying to explain his fascination to her; to share his passion for something he had loved for so long. “I can look at this box and I can recreate exactly what happened on some sunny summer day back in 1947. It's like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me. They tell me that even though lots of things can change, some things do remain the same. It's...

“Boring.”

“Boring? How can you say that? Here, look,” he said, quickly wiping off the book and going back a few pages, to one he had been reading a few minutes ago. “Ah, here it is. Look right here. See the runs, hits, the score. Inning 3 was exceptionally interesting. And it went to extra innings. That’s always exciting. Plus, you know it was more … scrappy back then, so I’m sure some kind of fist fight broke out during the course of the game.” He looked at the box score again and he smiled. He could almost smell the grass and feel the heat of the sun on his skin as he watched the game in his mind.

“So,” Scully said beside him, bringing him back to the present in their air conditioned basement office that smelled of … well, Scully, if he was being honest. He could smell her above anything else, especially standing as close as he was now. “So … I’ve been up and down many flights of stairs, lugging those huge books around, while you’ve been sitting here reading about baseball? Imagining some sunny day as you ate popcorn and watched men hitting balls with sticks? Am I understanding that properly?” Her eyebrows were up and he knew he was in trouble.

“Not the whole time,” he said, and if it was possible, her eyebrows went up higher. “Really, Scully, I was looking for anomalies. I am looking for them.”

“Buuut …” she drawled out.

He sighed and dropped his head. “I was also looking at box scores.”

“While I …” she prompted.

“Carried large and heavy books up and down the stairs,” he said as he looked up at her. She nodded, a smile spreading across her lips before her tongue ran across them. He moaned internally as he watched her, wondering how her lips would taste.

“So,” she said again, stepping away from him and gesturing with her arm for him to walk ahead of her. “You’ve not only made me do most of the work, on a Saturday, in a business suit, but broken up my tofutti rice dreamsicle. You owe me a new one, so let’s do it, Baseball Boy.” She waved her hand again and stared at him, her eyebrows way up. He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. She snapped her fingers and pointed, causing him to sigh.

“Fine,” he said, stepping past her and grabbing his jacket off the coat rack. “But we’re getting real ice cream, because that tofutti shit is awful. I think the air in my mouth actually tastes worse now. How do you eat those? Ugh.”

“Well, I didn’t really get to eat much of it as you so kindly wrestled it out of my hand,” she snorted, as they walked out the door and she closed and locked it behind her. He nodded at the janitor and heard her say hello again as they made their way to the stairs.

“Well,” he said, as they then walked to the elevator and he pushed the up button. “I did you a favor then, because that was disgusting and you should never eat it again. Ever.” She smiled at him and once again licked her lips, making him exhale loudly and wish the elevator would hurry the hell up.

Two elevator rides later, they walked into the parking garage and over to his car, with her telling him he was driving and treating her to an afternoon away from the office.

“The whole afternoon? You said ice cream,” he deadpanned, having no intention to go back to the office now that they were outside of it, but not wanting her to know just yet. “Scully, there are still two or three books waiting to be gone through on my desk.” She stopped walking and stared at him. Oh, eyebrows down, no smile.

Backtrack man, backtrack, he thought.

“Fine, Scully. The afternoon is yours, what do you wish to do?” He bowed slightly and she hummed in the affirmative, her heels clicking along the concrete once again. Raising his head, he grinned at her back as she walked to the passenger side and waited for him to unlock the door.

He hurried over and unlocked it, both of them getting inside. Putting on their seatbelts, she looked at him with a smirk. “Ice cream first. You need to begin your payment. I carried four books up and down the stairs. If each book weighed about twenty pounds -”

“Twenty pounds,” he snorted.

“Yeah, twenty pounds,” she insisted as she stared at him, and he looked away with a smile as he shook his head. “That’s eighty pounds total. If you’re going to make it up to me, well, you’re in serious debt right now. So, ice cream first and then we’ll see what else you can do to work off your payment.” He looked at her and she raised one eyebrow, smiling saucily.

He wondered if she would still be smiling if she could read his mind and see the sudden thoughts running wild in there. Naked thoughts, of his fingers trailing across her soft skin as she moaned into his mouth, her tongue wrapped around his.

“Mulder?” she said, a curious look on her face. He cleared his throat and turned on the car, backed up, and put it in drive.

“Ice cream first,” he agreed, hoping the cold treat would lower his temperature. But then she arched her back, sticking out her chest as she adjusted her position. He could picture his face between her breasts as his hands mapped out terrain he never wanted to leave.

Blood, the smell of the sewer, pustules, he thought, turning out of the parking garage and heading to the nearby ice cream shop, trying to calm his racing pulse.

___________________

“I won’t be able to finish all of this, Mulder,” she said, looking at her ice cream skeptically. “No chance. So it looks like your debt still holds.” Lifting her spoon to her mouth, she gave him a look as she took a dainty bite.

“Whatever you don’t eat, I’ll finish, so we’re square,” he said with a wink. She widened her eyes in response, looking at her bowl full of ice cream and then his, shaking her as she did. “You don’t think I can?”

“I don’t think you should,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ll get a stomach ache for sure.”

“Well, then I guess you better eat up,” he said, gesturing with his chin for her to get back to her treat. She sighed and took another bite, bigger than the last. He nodded at her and suddenly she reached up and ran her thumb across his lips. He froze at the feel of her warm fingers on his cool mouth and he stared at her as she looked at his lips.

“You’ve got hot fudge just there,” she told him as she wiped at it and then stuck her finger in her mouth, sucking off the chocolate, humming as she did. His brain short circuited and he forgot to breathe, letting out a large puff of air when he did remember to do so. She looked at him strangely, but said nothing.

Flukemen, Frohike shirtless, aliens ripping themselves from inside a person's body, he repeated over and over in his mind as he felt his jeans tighten, thoughts of that chocolate sauce being used in different ways firing into his synapses. Scully continued to eat her ice cream, oblivious to any of his discomfort.

When he was sure he could function normally, he began to eat his ice cream, the hot fudge cooled and thicker than it had been at first bite. He ate it all, even lifting the bowl and drinking the melted bit at the bottom, much to Scully’s horror. He set the bowl down and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

He glanced at Scully’s bowl and raised his eyebrows. “Do you need me to finish that for you or …” She shook her head and ate the last couple of bites. “Aww, Scully, see? I knew you could do it.” He winked at her again and she rubbed her stomach, grimacing as she did.

“When this inevitably begins to make my stomach hurt, you’re going to hear about it,” she told him, standing up and wiping off her hand. She picked up their trash and disposed of it, walking back to their table.

He stood up and stretched, rubbing his stomach, and grabbed his jacket. They walked outside and he let her lead the way to their next adventure.

They found themselves in a park with an open air art festival and she smiled at Mulder as she raised her eyebrows. He shrugged and they continued inside. Music and food was available as well, but the scent of meat and spices made his stomach turn.

“Best not tell Scully,” he muttered under his breath. She had stopped a few feet from him watching a play some children were performing about the importance of spring.

They were singing and dancing, dressed as flowers and bees. Mulder had no idea what they were saying, his eyes only on Scully. She was smiling and laughing at the antics of the children and suddenly he saw her bleeding to death on his living room floor, the choking stench of blood overpowering. He shook his head and blinked his eyes as she awwwed at something one of the little flowers did on stage.

She’s right there. She’s not bleeding out. Touch her and see, he told himself firmly. Reaching for her elbow, he sighed when it was solid and she smiled at him in question. He shook his head and looked at the children, keeping his fingers on her elbow, needing to keep a hold on her to know for certain.

Applause rang out and he moved his hand to clap along with the crowd. She motioned for them to continue to the art and he nodded. Many different booths were set up, along with portable walls, the art hanging from them.

Children, animals, fruit, sunsets, beach scenes, and many others were depicted in drawings, paintings, and even small sculptures. Scully’s smile was ever present as she looked at everything, but one in particular he noticed she kept returning to and he stopped to watch her look at it.

It was a smallish sized painting of a house, nothing special about it, but a house that seemed to draw her eye. The sky was the golden hour of sunset when the air seemed to shine and make everything beautiful; beachgrass bent over in front of the house, as though the wind was pushing it. A rocking chair sat on the porch, a colorful quilt hanging on the back.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” Scully asked quietly. “It’s like a place where nothing bad could happen. Everyone is probably down at the beach, packing up from their day out in the warm air. The kids are tired and brown from the sun, their hair tousled, feet covered in sand. The adults are wrestling and cursing all the extremely important items they brought with them.” She sighed and smiled softly, staring at the painting.

Mulder could picture everything she described. The voices calling to one another as they walked the path to the house, tired, but the memories of the day sealed in their minds. They would not remember the exhaustion later, only the fun, and the way the sun bounced off the water.

“But what we don’t see,” he added softly, “their grandmother, who doesn’t get around as well as she used to, just left that rocking chair to check on the meal she’s been preparing. A delicious garden salad, fried chicken, and an apple pie for dessert.” She turned to him with a smile and he shrugged. “I mean, why not?” He smiled at her and she nodded, her arm looping through his, to his surprise.

“Mulder, you truly do keep unfolding like a flower,” she teased, and he chuckled softly with a nod.

They kept on, looking at the paintings, separating as they found different things that drew their eye. When they reached the end of the festival, she motioned for them to keep walking and he nodded.

“See, Mulder?” Scully said, taking off her blazer and folding it over her arm. “Isn’t this better than being in that stuffy basement office?” He shrugged and she hit his arm with a shake of her head.

“It’s nice I suppose, not very …”

“Alien?” she joked, and he shrugged again. “Mulder, not everything has to be an anomaly or unexplainable. Can’t you just enjoy a gorgeous spring day?”

“I am,” he said defensively, and she laughed. He extended his arm and she took it again as they walked through the park.

People walked past, children laughing as people picnicked on the grass and on nearby benches. Spying an empty one, she steered them toward the bench and they lay their jackets across the back before they sat down.

“Life is meant to be lived, Mulder, not only read about in a book. No matter how interesting the box scores may be.” She smiled and he leaned back, crossing his arms with his eyebrows raised.

“I never said I wouldn’t enjoy being outside, Scully, just that it tended to lack a certain … paranormal bouquet,” he said, his eyes on hers.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, smiling at him as she leaned back, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

The warm wind whipped quickly and her hair blew into her face. He reached out before she had a chance and moved it, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes opened as he did and she stared at him, her expression unreadable. Clearing his throat, he moved his hand and leaned back, his hands in his lap. Her eyes closed again and he watched her relaxing in the warm afternoon sun.

“What do you say to getting some dinner later?” she asked a little while later, both of them companionably silent. Looking at him, she smiled and he nodded. “I’d like to change first though, as being in a work suit is not my favorite thing to wear on a Saturday,” she said, rising from the bench and giving him a look.

“No one said you had to wear a suit,” he told her, standing up with her, grabbing both of their jackets. Giving him another look, he nodded, knowing that not appearing professional would not fly with her. “Okay, we’ll head back and, sure, dinner sounds good.”

Dropping her back at her car, she smiled as she drove away. He decided to go back inside and put away the books they had taken out. No reason to leave them out and hear her complaints about them come Monday.

He smiled as he began to stack the books, grimacing at the ice cream spots on the pages, hoping they would not get called out on them.

“Well, not ice cream,” he laughed, reaching to check the pages when he saw a picture that stopped him in his tracks. “Is that Arthur Dales?” Looking closer, he saw that it was. His head snapped up and made sure no one was around before he ripped the page from the book.

He grabbed his jacket and put the page in his pocket. The books were left on the desk as he walked out the door, Scully’s gasp at him defacing government property almost audible in the empty office. Closing and locking the door, he headed to Arthur’s place, the dinner plans with Scully completely forgotten.

_____________

Hours later, the story Arthur told him still filling him with bittersweet feelings, he stood in the ball field, the shirt from Arthur worn proudly on his back. The machine he rented was set up and Poorboy stood ready to pitch them out for him, a big smile on his face.

“Ten bucks an hour, Mister,” he reminded Mulder as he started to walk toward home plate.

“Sheesh kid, I know. You ain’t cheap,” he said, shaking his head and looking back at Poorboy, who grinned wider.

Walking on, he glanced around but did not see Scully. He had called her, leaving a message with her answering service. He hoped she would get it and decide to come and meet him. After that story, he wanted to share something he loved with her, as she had done with him today.

He knew Scully enjoyed nice things. Her apartment was beautifully decorated and comfortable. She liked art museums and old books, but he was not sure if she had ever hit a baseball just for the fun of it. If she had ever experienced the feeling of contact with the ball as it sailed far into the outfield.

Tonight, he was hoping to share that with her.

“All right, Poorboy,” Mulder called out, his toes digging at home plate, taking a few practice swings. “I’m ready.” A ball was placed in the machine and it shot out, flying quickly toward him. He swung and missed, digging at home plate again.

More balls flew his way and he hit and missed them equally, not caring if he did or not. He found that all he zeroed in on was the anticipation of the ball and the feeling of impact when he hit it with the bat. The sound of it was like beautiful music and he got lost in the melody, thoughts of anything else far from his mind.

“So, uh... I get this message marked "urgent" on my answering service from one Fox Mantle, telling me to come down to the park for a very special, very early or very late birthday present. And, Mulder... I don't see any nicely wrapped presents lying around, so what gives?” He heard Scully saying behind him and he smiled, happy she decided to meet him.

“You've never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?” he asked her, hitting another ball.

“No, I guess I have, uh... found more necessary things to do with my time than... slap a piece of horsehide with a stick,” she said rather condescendingly as he hit a foul ball.

“Get over here, Scully,” he said, turning to look at her over his shoulder. She uncrossed her arms and pushed from the backstop, walking toward him as he held the bat out for her. He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, holding the bat with her as she took it from him.

“This my birthday present, Mulder?” she asked him warily. “You shouldn't have.”

“This ain't cheap. I'm paying that kid ten bucks an hour to shag balls,” he said, close to her ear, gesturing to Poorboy.

“Hey, it's not a bad piece of ash, huh?” he teased, and Scully turned to give him a look, one he knew too well. “The bat- talking about the bat.” She turned back slightly and he smiled.

“Now, don't strangle it. You just want to shake hands with it. "Hello, Mr. Bat. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." "Oh, no, no, Ms. Scully. The pleasure's all mine." She laughed his name and he was thrilled by it.

“Okay, now, we want to... we want to go hips before hands, okay?” he said, moving his hand close to her hip, but careful not to touch her. “We want to stride forward and turn. That's all we're thinking about. So, we go hips... before hands, all right?” This time he did touch her hip lightly with his hand, while using his own hips to turn her body the right way.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“One more time,” he said, wanting to see if he could actually get away with being so bold. He touched her hip with more pressure and he would swear on a stack of bibles that he heard her gasp. “Hips... before hands, all right?” Her gasp ringing in his ears and causing his heart to race.

“Yeah,” she agreed again.

“What is it?” he asked, wanting to hear her say it.

“Hips before hands,” she said, and it settled in his memory.

“Right,” he said, very close to her ear. “We're going to wait on the pitch. We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going to make contact. We're not going to think. We're just going to let it fly, Scully, okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded.

“Ready?”

He tried to readjust their grip on the bat, moving his hands down to how they should be, while also messing around with her. Both of them struggling for the space and he grinned.

“I'm in the middle,” Scully said, and he did it a bit more, loving the feeling of not being them for a moment, but silly and free. She got her hands back between his and he could hear her smile and laugh

“All right, fire away, Poorboy,” he called out and a ball flew their way as they swung at it together. They made contact but it was definitely a foul.

“Ooh! That's good,” he said, hearing her laugh. “All right, what you may find is you concentrate on hitting that little ball... the rest of the world just fades away, all your everyday, nagging concerns-” Scully giggled as they got ready to hit another ball.

“The ticking of your biological clock,” he said, as they landed another hit.

“How you probably couldn't afford that nice, new suede coat on a G-Woman's salary,” he said, letting her know he had noticed her new coat, saying without words that it looked nice on her. Another crack of the bat and he felt that happiness he had earlier, but doubled now that she was there with him.

“How you threw away a promising career in medicine…” he all but whispered into her ear. “To hunt aliens with a crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner.” She turned her head and gave him another patented Scully look.

“Getting into the heart of a global conspiracy. Your obscenely overdue triple-X bill. Oh, I... I'm sorry, Scully. Those last two problems are mine, not yours,” he said, keeping it light as they hit another ball.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I'm playing baseball.” Another swing and she laughed as they hit the ball. Over and over, they did it, her laughter ringing out in the night air.

His love for baseball had been a part of him most of his life. Now he shared it with her, literally sharing a bat between them as they hit the balls into the middle of the field. He made to step back, giving her a turn on her own, but she gave him another look, and his grip tightened on the bat once again.

So much had happened recently, their lives flipped upside down, but she was there with him, laughing and enjoying herself. The feel of her in his arms made him happier than he had been in a very long time.

When the last ball had been hit and Poorboy put up his empty hands, they laughed as they dropped the bat and stepped apart. She pushed her hair out of her face, wearing a huge smile, as she turned to look at Mulder and then out to Poorboy, who was running around collecting the baseballs.

“We should help him, Mulder,” she said softly, her smile still in place. “He’s a child and that’s a lot of balls.” He grinned at her and she gave him a teasing look as she walked away, her hips swinging more than usual.

Hips before hands indeed, he thought, his eyes unable to look away until she squatted down to pick up a ball.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as he started to walk out and gather up the balls.

Back and forth they walked, depositing the balls into the basket. Once it was full, Mulder took out his wallet and handed Poorboy a twenty dollar bill. He looked at it and grinned, taking off at a run. Mulder picked up the basket and pushed the machine toward the backstop.

As they walked to home plate, Scully picked up the bat, smiling at Mulder as she did. They dropped off the machine and the basket of balls at the park office. Walking away, he took the bat from Scully and put his hand out, hoping she would take it. When she did, he smiled and locked their fingers together, his heart pounding.

They arrived at their cars and he let go of her hand to put the bat in the backseat. Turning back around, he crossed his arms and stared at her. She smiled, the one he loved most: all her teeth showing before she licked her lips. Once again, he groaned internally, imagining how they would taste.

Stepping forward, she put her hand on his arm. “Thank you for my present, Mulder,” she whispered. He nodded and stared into her eyes. She smiled again, pushing on his arms, bringing him closer to her height, her lips on his before he had a chance to think.

She stepped back and he leaned toward her, dropping his arms and stared at her. He cupped her face, leaning close to kiss her again, her hands coming up to hold onto his forearms.

Her lips were so soft, their kiss sweet, until she opened her mouth and her tongue licked his lips. He opened his mouth immediately, kissing her deeper, allowing her tongue access to explore. His hands moved to the back of her head and her waist, pulling her closer. She melted into him, holding his shirt as she fell flush against him.

Pulling back for air, she stumbled backward, and with the tight grip on his shirt, she pulled him with her, crashing into the side of her car. He kissed her again, her hands going around his back, holding him close as their tongues learned each other.

“Ohhh …” she breathed when he pulled back, staring at her as his lungs burned with the need for oxygen. “We need… we need to go. We should…” She pushed him from her and nervously smoothed her hair and clothes. “I should go. We…”

She licked her lips and he felt his jeans tighten, no longer wondering how her lips tasted. Peppermint. She tasted of the peppermint tea she drank and he ached for another taste.

“I should go,” she said, and stepped past him, fumbling with her keys.

“Scully, wait. Just…” he pleaded and she looked at him and then around the ballpark.

“We need to go. We, as in both of us,” she said forcefully. “Together.” She smiled and he realized what she was implying. “My place is closer,” she said as she got in the car. Backing up, she nodded with that same big smile, and drove away.

“Holyyyyyy shiiiiiiit,” he breathed. Standing frozen for what felt like an eternity, he took his keys from his pocket, dropped them with a curse, and picked them up again. He drove away, tires screeching as he did, seatbelt unsecured, a smile plastered on his face as he followed her home.

______________

Arriving at her place, she opened the door and, less than a second later, he had her pressed against the closing door; her arms around his neck and his tongue in her mouth.

Peppermint.

She pushed him forward, taking off her jacket when she had the space. It dropped to the floor and she reached for her top, pulling it over her head and dropping it onto the floor. He shook his head at her light pink bra that did nothing to hide her hard nipples.

She reached around to take it off and it dropped to the floor and so did he, on his knees before the goddess Dana Scully, his face pressing into her stomach, his arms around her, sitting under her ass.

“Scully,” he murmured, peppering her stomach with kisses. Looking up, he saw her looking down at him, her chest rising and falling.

“Mulder,” she whispered, arousal but also worry in her eyes. He quickly rose off his knees and kissed her, hoping to waylay any fears.

“Bedroom,” she whispered against his mouth, and grabbed the front of his shirt, bringing him along.

Once in her room, it was as though they had danced this dance thousands of time. They fumbled a bit, shoes and socks providing a giggling problem, and buttons sticking as they tried to hurry to get them open.

But when they came together, flesh to flesh, it was perfect. He leaned over her, kissing her, her tongue sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. Her skin was soft and hot under his fingers, trembling as he touched places that made her moan. He kissed her chest, his mouth worshipping her breasts, paying special attention to the rosy pink nipples begging for his tongue and teeth.

Her stomach jumped as he licked at her abdomen, the muscles clenching beneath his mouth. He felt her fingers gripping his hair and he grinned, knowing she knew where he was headed, the scent of her arousal intoxicating him.

“Mulder,” she gasped as he kissed her pubis, the hair sparse. “Oh, yes, Mulder.” She opened her legs wider, her heels on his back as he licked her and she moaned and gripped his hair tighter. “Please…”

That was the last word he heard her say as he set to work doing just that, pleasing her. Kissing, licking, sucking, he took his cues from her. The way she held his hair, arched into his mouth, and how her legs trembled. He paid attention to it all, learning the way she liked to be loved, the taste of her beyond exquisite.

“Mulderrrrrr!” she cried, holding his hair tightly, her legs closing around him as she came. “Ohhhhh…” He stayed where he was, softly kissing, until she relaxed around him.

When he felt her grip loosen, he kissed her inner thigh, finding a freckle there that he wanted to kiss forever. Following a path up, he kissed her hip bones, belly button, the rosy pink nipples, her neck, and finally her lips.

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer to her, her fingers digging into his arms as he kissed her. He positioned himself at her entrance and pulled back to watch her face as he slid inside of her.

“Oh God, Mulder,” she breathed, and he echoed her words. “Oh… my God…” she said again, staring at him until her eyes rolled back, her legs pulling him even closer to her.  

“Scully… ohhh,” He pulled out and slid back in, the feel of her all around him, enveloping him just as her body was doing.

She clawed at him, his name tumbling from her lips, her body arching into him. He fell forward, his face at her neck, her breasts pressed into his chest as he went faster, unable to take it slow, the feeling too amazing.

“Scully, Jesus, you feel so good,” he moaned and she cried out his name.

“Oh, Christ,” she moaned out in a low voice, the pitch escalating as her hips met his thrusts, crying out his name over and over, their pace hurried as they chased something they had been after for years, the goal finally in sight. He kissed her neck as her cries grew louder, and they crashed over the edge together.

“Ohhhhh Mulder,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling, arms and legs holding him close, their bodies still rocking slowly. “Mmmmmm, my God …” Her hands ran up and down his back, her nails scratching lightly.

“Scully, oh, Scully,” he said, pushing up and looking down at her. Her hair spilled across her pillow, sweat beading upon her forehead. She smiled at him, her hands reaching for his face, pushing his hair back.

“Mulder,” she whispered and he kissed her, rolling them to their sides, keeping them connected. She pulled back and stared at him, her hand on his face once again.  

“Hi,” she whispered, grinning at him as she stroked his face.

“Hi,” he answered with a matching grin, his hand on her hip. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth and closed it, words failing him.

“I know,” she whispered with a nod and a shake of her head, causing him to laugh softly. “For the record, while I had fun tonight, this kind of present is one I enjoy much more. I even got to unwrap it.” He laughed again and moved a little, shifting their bodies. “Mulder…” She stared at him and he nodded.

“I know,” he echoed her words, the humor out of her eyes, the realization of what they had done showing on her face. “Scully, stop those thoughts.” He pushed her hair back and stared at her, shaking his head. “Don’t think right now.”

“Okay,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him, and move closer. “That was… oh, Mulder.” She nuzzled into his neck and he felt her shake her head.

“A home run?” he teased, hoping to halt whatever she might be thinking. She pulled back and looked at him, a huge grin on her face and then she was laughing, her head falling to his neck.

“Yeah, I’d say it was. And a single as well,” she said, looking at him again. He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed, shaking her head. Sighing, she snuggled into him again and they were quiet, both thinking about what just happened.

“Scully,” he began, and she stopped him.

“Mulder, let’s just…” she said and he nodded, quiet as he held her, his fingers running softly across her back.

They must have dozed, as he woke some time later on his back, her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her and smiled, not wanting to wake her just yet. He got up carefully to use the bathroom, moving quietly around the room.

Standing in her doorway watching her sleep, he felt worried. Now that daylight would be breaking soon, what if she told him this was a mistake? What if she regretted this evening and wanted to go back to how things were, forgetting this ever happened? He shook his head and quietly collected his clothes, getting dressed quickly, needing time to think.

Driving away, he knew he was being a goddamn coward, but that had been a huge step and the repercussions could be astronomical. He was scared, he would admit that, but only in the confines of his car.

“Jesus Christ, man. Go back,” he muttered, but could not make his body listen.

Stopped at a red light, he hit the steering wheel, angry at himself. Looking around, he saw a bakery opening and made a quick decision. Picking up a half a dozen bagels and a container of cream cheese, he drove back to her apartment, quietly letting himself in with his key.

The cream cheese in the fridge, he set the bagels on the counter. Looking in on her once more, he knew this was the right decision. They needed space to think separately and come to terms with tonight.

Locking the door behind him, he hummed on the way to the car. He knew her, really knew her, and he would give her what she needed.

Well, more so than I did tonight, he thought, the memory of the taste of her kiss, her skin, of her making him grin. Shaking his head, he got in the car, driving home to use the computer and see if he could find the artist of the painting they saw earlier today. He had a new take on the story and he wanted to find it so he could share it with her.

The people in that house were not coming back from a day at the beach. No, they were already home. Lying in bed, sated and happy, the basket of baseballs spilled next to the bat that had been dropped on the floor in their haste to get to the bedroom. Grinning at the thought, he sped up, wanting to get home faster, needing something to occupy his mind.

He knew once she had the painting and heard the updated version of the story, she would accept it with a knowing smile.

Yeah, he thought with a smile and a nod, his foot pressing harder on the gas, this is a home run of an idea..

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

family meeting

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Sorry it took so long, I’ve been sporting a pretty bad migraine for the past couple of days. Let me know what you think! 

Summary: Can you do one where Richie has a daughter and Eddie meets her for the first time and she put up a fight to make Eddie think she’s doesn’t like him

Richie’s sudden departure flabbergasted you, more so because he didn’t give you any warning or explanation why, only that it was a friend emergency and that the only option was for him to go. The way his voice cracked down the line when you called him in a panic solidified the fact that something bad occurred. With a promise that you would take care of yourself and a final I love you, he disconnected the call, leaving you in disarray.

After two days he contacted you again, this time to inform you that he was on his way back home, and that he had a certain type of friend with him that he wanted you to meet.

You’ve been aware for a long time that your father is gay, not thanks to Richie himself, but thanks to the fact that you’re not an idiot, the context clues painting a clear enough picture that it’s obvious without him having to utter the actual words. Richie remained quiet at all times about this fact, and so you did as well. Richie refrained from bringing any girlfriend home with him, though you heard about his conquest from gossip tabloids anyway. The overabundance of ‘my girlfriend’ and ‘your mom’ jokes obviously an effort to hide his true self, even from his daughter.

A sneaked glance every once in a while led you to believe that Richie knows you know his secret, but any conversation you attempt to begin about it gets shut down faster than a blink, and so despite hating it, you started to accept that your father may never be ready to reveal every single thing of his being, always locking away that part he feels is most revolting.

That’s why it’s such a surprise that Richie reveals he’s bringing a friend along, for you perceived that the empathizes on the word friend means that said ‘friend’, is perhaps more than Richie would prefer you to understand.

A hushed conversation draws your attention, peering outside your bedroom window to spy on the first person your dad allowed you to meet. You don’t dare to draw up the curtain, to avoid getting spotted, so your view is limited, but you watch as Richie opens the door of the passengers seat, like a real gentleman he never bothered being to previous lovers.

He pauses for two seconds, then bends down to presumably say something, his hand egging the person out like a cat that gets shuffled away, until his hand is slapped and Richie retracts it with a laugh.

Richie’s laugh is loud enough to be picked up on from the second floor, holding his hands up in surrender and making way so that his friend has room to get up himself. The first thing that is noticeable, even with your obstructed vision, is that the man is sporting a scowl, so terribly annoyed and done with Richie’s shit that he is at the point that he apparently doesn’t energize enough to cover up. You can relate, since you are no exception to your dad’s ability to drive people crazy.

Luckily or unlucky depending on your point of view, such a feature is inheritable, and by god do you use it to your advantage.  

Richie slides his arm across the lower back of the man, pulling him close enough that they’re taunt against each other. The man pretends to wriggle away, but as soon as Richie loosens his grip he grabs his arm and places it neatly back where it belongs.

The angry frown lines vanish, replaced by a thoughtful look that captivates Richie, and the emotion behind the stare tells you exactly one thing, your dad and the man are absolutely smitten with one another.

Your feet tick loudly on the wooden boards on the floor as you bolster down the stairs in anticipation of your dad coming home.  

The door opens and before Richie has the opportunity to greet you, you tug him into an embrace, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt in an iron grip.

‘Hello pancake, I missed you.’ Richie says, hugging you back equally as fierce.

‘I missed you too’, you admit softly, not yet stepping out of the way and making room for his friend to come in, simply because your sole focus is on your father.

‘Don’t you ever do something like that again old man’, you threaten with a steel voice, ‘or I will shorten your curfew, don’t you try me.’

Richie chuckles, shaking his head solemnly, and lifting one hand in an oath motion, ‘I wholeheartedly swear I will never commit such a hanus crime ever again.’  He promises, a British accent coating his words in his intended way.

‘Holy shit your voices have gotten better.’

‘Told you Eds.’ Richie declares proudly as he turns to face his friend, the both of you stepping aside so his friend can walk in.

The man standing in the hallway beside your father had to be the most uncomfortable person you had ever seen. He shuffles from one leg to the other, filled with a nervous energy and no way to get rid of it.  

‘Hey, my name’s Eddie’, he says lumbersome, one of his hand tucked stiffly in his back pocket, the other doing a vague motion of a halfway wave.

You cock an eyebrow up, tilting your head slightly sideways to absorb the smaller man, watching as he looks to Richie for guidance. He’s a lot smaller than your dad is, with him barely reaching his shoulders, but from their interaction outside, you determine that he’s a fire cracker who has no problem pointing out things as they are. You like him already. You must be somehow intimidating though, he’s barely able to hold eye contact with you for over two seconds, and the figure of speech of someone shaking in their boots is no longer only figuratively.

You try hard to keep your smirk hidden at the prank that is forming in your mind, a little messing with someone has never seemed so appealing. Besides, if this man plans to date Richie, he needs to know what he’s getting himself into.

‘Hi’, you draw out, imitating the movement from the man to taunt him a little.

‘Look at you, you look just like your dad’, Eddie tries to strike up a normal conversation, pulling out all the cliches. You vaguely wonder if he spend his time reading through a parenting book on the way here.

‘I resemble a forty year old, single comedian guy? Thanks for the flattery.’ Eddie fake smile slides of his face, producing a gawky chuckle to hide the unease that’s very clearly present.

‘Okay now that’s just cruel Y/N, I am so much more than that. Try handsome, successful and courageous.’

‘Courageous? Dad, eating a rotting hot dog is not courageous but plain stupid.’

The two of you stare off, provoking the other to add another comment, but then Richie knacks the tension by lolling his tongue out, a laughable face resulting in you laughing.

‘Now that I’ve reestablished my roll as funniest in this family, this is Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti is an old friend from Derry.’

He points to Eddie, then slangs his arm around his shoulders, tapping a melody into his shoulder blade and throwing a grand smile his way.

Eddie swirls around to face him, his eyebrows drawing in close and his mouth opening in protest. ‘Don’t fucking call me that dickwad.’

A dark red color spreads across his entire face, peeking a glimpse of you from the corner of his eyes, gauging your reaction. You summon all the willpower you posses to stave off the hearty laugh bubbling up right beneath the surface, maintaining an perfectly poker face.

‘Nice’, you eventually say as it becomes clear that Eddie is flabbergasted at the way he said that right in front of you.

Richie eyes twinkle in amusement, catching up to what your intentions are. ‘I’m craving food, you want some too Eds?’

‘I-I guess I could eat’, Eddie stammers nervously, shutting his mouth with an audible click to stop the anxious word stream threatening to let loose.

‘I’ll get some food, Y/N can show you around okay?’

Richie begins his journey to the kitchen, and Eddie, only now realizing that would mean he’s left alone with you, attempts to grab Richie’s sleeve. He misses by an inch, and he dejectedly drops It back down and whips his clammy hands on his jeans.  

You smile slightly devious, the fact that Eddie throws his all in getting you to like him is pretty entertaining.

‘So childhood friends huh?’ You inquire, leaving the task of getting to know the house up to Richie. You doubt Eddie would appreciate you showing him around the house while interrogation him, at least if Richie leads him around they have an opportunity to create new memories.  

‘Yeah’, Eddie response, not elaborating further on the topic.

‘You guys weren’t very close then, he never once mentioned you, and you guys didn’t keep in touch in either?’

‘No we were best friends as kids’, Eddie defends tempestuous, though he bites his tongue and urges to hit himself over the head because of his stupid admission. He comes up blank with explanations why they forgot about each other, and there was no way in hell that he elucidates the Pennywise situation.

Thinking back to old days during which Richie and him rode their bikes in a race, or running to the edge of town to locate the beginning or end of a rainbow in hopes of finding a pot of gold triggers a protective side in him, and Eddie sets his heart out to convince you how much he appreciates all those short moments that meant nothing to them back then.

‘Richie bought me a slushie once, than after we finished it he proceeded to turn us around on a UFO ‘till we both threw up. Before we left that day he got another one anyway. The heaten deprived of self-preservation even then.’

You give him a pass and decide to forgo the subject, smiling with crinkled eyes, the first genuine one you grant him since he arrived, because that does remind you a lot of your dad.

Eddie perks up, his back straightening and allowing his hands that cramped up by his side to relax in retaliation.

‘On to the real though questions, what do you do for a living? Are you planning to sleepover a lot? Are you accepting of all his quirks.’ You fire off rapidly, acting like a parent interrogating the first partner they bring home, which may or may not be payback to the time where Richie humiliated you in front of your classmates at prom.

Eddie blanches, reforming his scattered brain and considering what questions to answer first. You add one more for the hell of it; ‘How did my dad and you reconnect?’

It’s confusing, the duality between angst and pensiveness that strikes Eddie’s face, making you wonder what the story behind all of this is.

‘Y/N, get your ass over here and help me please’, Richie calls out from the kitchen, so out of nowhere it spooks you.

You sneak a peek at Eddie, then the door frame, and wondering if you said something wrong and if you should leave Eddie alone in this state. Another yell of your name decides for you, darting out of the room and hurrying beside Richie, halfway done with peeling an orange.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ You snort, unimpressed with the obvious attempt to appear healthier than he really is.

Richie gazes up in surprise as if he didn’t call to you, but then he shrugs. ‘Eds obsessed with these, so I’m giving it a go.

‘An orange? It’s a fruit dad and not even an exotic one. Lying isn’t a good feature, I know you zeal for it as well.‘

‘Okay little miss, hid the attitude and help your old man. I aided you in changing diapers and stuff, now it’s your turn to step up.’ A squirt of orange juice trickles from the side of the tabletop, staining your dad’s shirt and leaving a spot you’re sure is not going to wash out.

Refusing to acknowledge his stupid claims, you were a baby for god sakes, you snatch another orange and strip it from it’s shell, demonstrating to your dad how it’s done without massacring the fruit.

‘Thanks, I knew there was a reason I had you. Also lay of Eds a bit, the lasted for ages and you’re scary if you set your mind to it.’, Richie expresses his gratitude by planting a kiss on your your temple leaving residue of the orange he apparently wielded with his mouth behind.

You wipe at it with the bottom of your sleeve excessively, removing as much as you can.

‘Like you don’t find it funny to mess with him.’

‘Fair,’ Richie admits’, you coming?’ He asks right before he leaves the room, holding the door open and clutching the orange and a few napkins in the remaining hand.

‘I’m going to grab my own fruit and I’ll be right there. Oh and dad?’ Richie nods, listening intently to you.

‘I love you no mater what. There’s nothing you can say, do,’ you pause to let the words really sink in, ‘or be that change that. My love for you in unwavering.’

His eyes turn wet, and he stares far off-ish taking in your words, sniffling and then swallowing past the lump in his throat.

‘Thank you’, he remarks, letting the door pound shut as he shuffles Eddie’s way.

Smiling to yourself, you pause and count to five in your head, persuading yourself that you should not snoop on your dad and his potential boyfriend, but the curiosity wins over. You stagger to the door, unlatching it from the lock, and generating a peep whole that allows you to eavesdrop.

‘Really Richie? What about a plate or something to eat this on? All the juice is going to spill on the floor and it will be disgusting and dirty and you’ll have to clean it up.

‘Relax Eds, it’s no big deal. Just be careful and I’m sure you can avoid sloshing.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Eddie challenges, ‘so you didn’t obtain that speck be peeling it?’

Richie must be debating if it’s worth it to lie or not, and concludes that lying to Eddie is never a good idea. He sighs exaggerated and stomps his feet like a petulant child.

‘Fine your majesty Spagheds, you’re lucky I love you.’

‘Don’t fucking call me that Rich.’

Instead of moving away from the door, you freeze, the words your dad uttered repeating themselves in your head. Never in a million years did you think the day was going to go like this, with your dad proclaiming adoration to a guy he forgot to hint at to you, but you’re weirdly okay with it.

Richie laughed more now then ever with someone other than you, and if Eddie pitched in Richie’s happiness, you accept him already.

The entryway unrolls, you jumping away in the nick of time before hitting you full in the face. You stare up at Richie sheepishly, twinkling at him with innocent eyes.

‘Snooping much, buttercup?’

‘I learned from the best.’

You walk back with him to the living room Eddie sits in and watch as your father hands over the plate. He’s leaning against the backrest and showing sings of tranquility, but when he notices you his posture goes rigid, nervously balling his hands up by his sights.

You snicker, deciding to put the poor man out of his misery and finally welcome him into your home.

‘Do you hate his stupid nicknames as much as I do?’ You ask him, finding common ground to strike up a conversation.

‘Yeah they’re the worst.’ Eddie admits, decomposing at the turn of events.

‘Eum I’m seated right here. Is this how it’s always gonna be? You two ganging up on me?’ Richie whines.

Peering Eddie’s way, the both of you nod excitedly.

‘Yeah it is.’

[forestwater87]

Hey! It's the one who wanted fanfiction writing advice and how to sorta join the fandom. So, I am currently writing a werewolf! au for Gwenvid, and I was wondering if I could ask you something (well, multiple somethings lol)? One, what are things you would like to see in a Gwenvid fic? Two, do you have any advice for writing a good first chapter? Mine is kind of short and not too good, but yours are super good. Three, how would Gwen react to becoming a werewolf? Scared or excited? Thanks!

Oooh, fun! I don’t know if I’m the best authority on this, but I think I have a couple followers who might also have some good insights. Let’s see . . .

Things I personally go feral for in Gwenvid fics:

That UST. Pining, longing, yearning -- whatever you wanna call it, all those little glances at each other then looking away when they get caught staring, getting distracted by a brush of skin against theirs or the other one looking amazing just out of nowhere, standing too close without realizing it and then awkwardly coughing and backing away . . . all of it. These two goobers in love with each other and completely oblivious is just . . . idk, it’s obviously personal preference, but that will-they-won’t-they dance is one of my favorite things about pre-established-relationship Gwenvid, and something I never get tired of. (Also, just saying: werewolf transformations have the distinct side effect of the werewolf waking up partially or completely naked in the forest. It’s a scenario ripe for awkward and/or hilarious situations.)

If they’re in an established relationship already, it’s all about those little domestic things. I mean, there can be domestic things even before they’re dating, because they live together for like 3-4 months out of the year so they have a routine going, but things like one of them keeping the light on for the other without thinking, making coffee/tea and leaving everything laid out just the way the other one likes it, communicating (or even arguing) with just a look, all the casual lil touches of two people so comfortable with each other that it’s automatic at this point. It’s an essential part of fluff that I sometimes feel is overlooked in favor of more dramatic hurt/comfort (which is also excellent, to be clear).

BANTER! It’s not so much a canon thing as a fanon one, but the artist formerly known as Ciphernetics basically established flirty teasing and back-and-forth as a staple of Gwenvid’s charm in their earth-shatteringly beautiful fanfiction (that I can’t link because tumblr softblocks posts with links, but if you look at my blog for like 10 seconds you’ll be able to figure out what I’m talking about), and I think everyone’s writing, including my own, needs more banter. They’re so different, after all; why not have them butt heads in a fun way?

Please please please don’t do NSFW if you’re uncomfortable with it, but there is nowhere near enough of it in Gwenvid-land. Just because we’re wholesome doesn’t mean we can’t also be kinky! (Oh man, I just realized I have no idea how old you are. Uhhhh if you’re not an adult just skip this one on by! Or if you are an adult and this ain’t it. It’s like it wasn’t ever here! Poof! I should probably just delete this, but maybe it’ll awaken a spark of inspiration in someone. Lord knows I haven’t been driving the smut train for a while, so I’m just hoping someone else will do my job for me. Plus Gwen would want me to include this suggestion, especially if there are werewolves involved.)

You know, there’s not a lot of action-hero Gwenvid out there, is there? Most of it’s relationship melodrama and domestic fluff, which I love -- obviously, I write it literally all the time -- but with a werewolf AU you have the opportunity for gratuitous violence, and both David and Gwen have proven they can kick a whole lot of ass and deal out (or take) a lot of pain. If you need two people fighting monsters -- or fighting as monsters -- you could do a lot worse than those two. It’d be a fun change of pace that’d work well with their character dynamic.

Writing a first chapter:

I don’t have a ton of advice here that isn’t pretty common, but the biggest thing is to start in the middle of action. This can range in terms of drama: a camp activity going horribly wrong, a nightmare, maybe even David discovering Gwen’s a werewolf. Your story doesn’t have to go in chronological order, after all, so if you have to backtrack in later scenes or chapters that’s not a bad thing in the slightest! 

It’s much better to start with a really exciting, gripping situation and then backfill in the information that matters than starting off with all that boring worldbuilding and exposition. Don’t get me wrong, that worldbuilding and exposition are necessary, but they’re also like . . . I dunno, salt. It’s essential to the recipe, but no one would say it’s their favorite part of a meal, and having to eat a whole pile of it before they get to the good stuff wouldn’t be enjoyable at all. It’s better sprinkled throughout to add flavor to your story as needed.

I like that metaphor! It’s kinda cliche, but I think it still gets the job done.

So yeah, start with something exciting and know it’s okay for your readers to go, “wait, what the fuck’s going on?” That’s kind of a great thing, actually; it establishes mystery and introduces higher stakes, and just gets your readers going. It’s also more fun to write, which is good! (For example, I just read a really great book call The Chill, which opened with a woman tying a bag over her head, weighting herself down with chains, and throwing herself into a river to “join the work.” Who is this person? What work? Did she know she was going to die -- it definitely doesn’t feel like a suicide, but what else did she think was going to happen?? I’m instantly on board, even if the next few scenes were focused on establishing exposition and actually kinda boring. It’s all about that hook.)

To be fair: I don’t do this all that often in my own fics. For every “starting the story with a botched assassination attempt,” we have “starting the story with waking up.” It’s important to have a first chapter that matches and sets the tone of your story; if it’s going to be a rip-roaring action/horror adventure, you’re going to want to start things off with all that stuff I mentioned before. If you’re writing cute fluff, there’s nothing wrong with your in media res chapter opening being an adorable fluffy scene. Compelling doesn’t have to mean scary or action-packed, but more serve as a teaser for what the rest of the story is going to bring. I’ve been leaning on action or thriller stuff because a werewolf AU implies some level of creature-feature monster spookiness, but any tone works as the start of a fic, as long as it’s not “here’s a laundry list of the universe’s rules,” because that’s boring and you can weave that into the rest of your story later. 

As for your other comment, short isn’t bad at all; in fact, if you want to make your first chapter a really short, compelling scene, that can be a great way to draw people in. But I also am a proponent of writing until it’s done, and couldn’t stick to a page or word count to save my life. My chapters are all over the place, and sometimes I’ll randomly chop them up if I feel like it’s going too long but usually I don’t bother. The more you write, the more you develop a feel for when the story, chapter, or scene needs to end, but as you’re starting out you might wanna snag a beta to help you find that stopping place.

Wow, this is long! Awkward! Sorry about that! I’ll make this last one short:

Gwen the werewolf:

I can’t imagine any universe in which she isn’t psyched as hell. I think she desperately wants to be more special and important than she is, and having a sexy monster superpower would only be a good thing to her, regardless of whatever its drawbacks may be. She might get tired of certain aspects of being a werewolf as the honeymoon phase wears off, but in the beginning I think she’d be excited and maybe even relieved.

Anyway, I hope that helps! It’s a lot of rambling, but I imagine you’re used to that by now. :)

[mermaidsirennikita]

What's the worst romance book(s) you've read so far? Bad writing, insufferable characters, unoriginal plot, incredibly dull, etc. etc...

Honestly, I haven't read many that are suuuuper bad, largely because I don't think I make it to the end of a lot of books that would be 1 star ratings for me.

But if we're getting real

50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James--A cliche, but it really is very bad. I don't subscribe to the "it's bad because the relationship is unhealthy" mindset, though I think the story would be a lot better if it went full dark romance and acknowledged how messed up it all is, versus trying to paint it as a healing love story. The writing is just really bad. Few romances hit for me when they're in first person, and this is a prime example of why--inner goddess shit, unsexy sex scenes, the tampon scene that frankly would have MADE the film but was really jarring to read about... Just not good.

Sea of Ruin by Pam Godwin--The story starts rough with the heroine's mom throwing herself off the CLIFFS OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA. Now, if you are not from coastal SC as I am... this would perhaps be less insane to read lol. But. A tiny bit of research. Like, a google. Would have told Pam Godwin. That South Carolina. While indeed a hub of the Golden Age of Piracy... does not have coastal cliffs. Moving on from that--this should be so good! MMF menage romance, swords literally crossing, pirates fucking. But God, the heroine sucked. I remember this scene where one of the heroes, a pirate hunter, was spanking her actual pussy (which like, can happen in a dark romance, sure) and she was like.... going on and on... when just pages before she'd been like GIMME YOUR BEST SHOT ARGH PUNCH ME IN THE FACE I CAN TAKE IT MATEY!!!! Like okay girl where did that bravado go??? Lol atrocious book, comically bad.

Overture by Skye Warren--A guardian/ward romance that reminded me of why I prefer guardian/ward in historicals, where the age difference is at least somewhat more socially acceptable at the time. This one was just kind of gross, and I thought I was down, but it turned out I was not. And if the writing had been better, maybe I would've been good? The heroine is over 18 when the actual romance takes place. But the virginity loss scene was........ woof.

Head Over Heels by Hannah Orenstein--One of those classic stories wherein you think you're getting a romance but then the romance is sexless and boring and there is no chemistry whatsoever. A bigger disappointment in that it's set against gymnastics, and I wanted it to be a From Lukov with Love situation. It wasn't just the lack of sex, but the general lack of chemistry between the leads.

The Wall of Winnipeg and Me by Mariana Zapata--I really do enjoy Lukov, but I think Zapata and I aren't MFEO. This one is HORRENDOUS. It's like, marriage of convenience/fake dating situation but the heroine is remarkably childish and just likes sitting around marathoning cartoons, and she doesn't do anything or become anything, and the hero is similarly stagnant and just eats quinoa, and Zapata only does one big sex scene at the end of every book it feels like, and they're not THAT GREAT, so for all that fucking page time you get this guy kind of like rocking into her at the end in bed, BARELY ANY EFFORT, while Zapata describes his "mushroom head" in what I can only describe as sickening detail.

In the Unlikely Event by L.J. Shen--This author is generally shady and as a result I haven't read anything else by her, but this book was horrible first impression. Whiny, mean, gross hero. Who, based on the summary, I thought was meant to be a Hozier ripoff. Hozier would never.

You Deserve Each Other by Sarah Hogle--Bizarre story of two people just irritating each other and the reader for no reason, because frankly in a modern world there was no reason for these two to not just break up. Again, passionless. Again, a big reason why I find contemporaries difficult to trust.

Generally speaking, I also find Sarah J. Maas to be really disappointing to read. So much potential, so little payoff.

[sunsetinmyvein]

CLOSED (for now)

All right, all right, ALL RIGHT. PEOPLE. For the first time, I am taking requestsssss (so, let’s see if this goes well or not lol). @aphxsia‘s taking requests, @dot-writes is taking requests, everyone is taking them and I just felt a tad left out, y’know? I’ve chopped up a bunch of other prompt lists to throw together this lovely prompt list below at the suggestion of Dot. My general idea is: send me a character, and one prompt from the “dialogue” side as well as one prompt from the “context” side (or more if you have more that fit together in an idea, I suppose. But I need one of each to get a VibeTM) and Iiiiii’ll do my best to make it work within a character x OFC/Reader sorta thing. Oh, and send me an album era for added flair, if you’d like. Deets below the cut.

 I’ll write for:

-          The boys of Fall Out Boy

-          The boys of Panic! At the Disco (we’re talkin’ Ryan and Jon days)

-          The boys of The 1975

-          And, if you’re incredibly ambitious, also willing to give Alex Gaskarth of All Time Low a whirl

 Rules:

-          Can’t do smut (sorry, it’s just awkward and clunky for me to write and nobody wants that)

-          Won’t write characters under 18

-          Won’t write slash

-          I just kind of reserve the right to be like “I dunno what to do with this, sorry” (But I’ve curated this prompt list, so I should be okay lol)

-          I’ll get around to them when I get around to them - I’ll be writing them around The Radio Station being posted as well, so you won’t be starved for content.

  Dialogue:

·         “You’re not in love with them, are you?”

·         “I could literally strangle you right now and no one would stop me.”

·         “It’s not as bad as it looks.” - “You’re not very convincing.”

·         “You need to relax.” - “Relaxing is for the weak.”

·         “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” - “A week?”

·         “How the fuck are you still alive?” - “It’s a special talent of mine.”

·         “Can you please just listen to me for once?”

·         “I think this is a bad idea.” - “You think all of my plans are bad ideas.”

·         “You should really listen to me more.”

·         “Do I even want to know?”

·         “You have the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.”

·         “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

·         “Please don’t use cheesy pickup lines on me.”

·         “I like it when you’re romantic.”

·         “I’m going to be pissed if we get murdered.”

·         “How could I resist?”

·         “I’m sorry, I don’t speak dumbass.” - “Real mature.”

·         “You’re worth every scratch.”

·         “I could name about 110 things I love about you.” - “That’s oddly specific.”

·         “We can raise hell together.”

·         “Partners?”

·         “Don’t get too cocky now.”

·         “Fuck me.” - “Really?” - “No.”

·         “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

·         “Do you trust me?” - “Should I?”

·         “Do you have any idea on how frustrating you can really be?”

·         “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

·         “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” - “You think so?”

·         “I don’t think that cancels out.” - “It does in my book.”

·         “You’re being dramatic.” - “I’m not being shit!”

·         “Take a break.” - “I don’t need it.” - “You look like a fucking zombie.”

·         “Then we’ll leave. Just you and me.”

·         “Do you need help? - “No… yes.”

·         “I hate you.” - “I love you too.”

·         “You have something in your hair, umm… Do you want me to get it out?”

·         “It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”

·         “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

·         “Would it be too cliche if we matched clothes a little?”

·         “My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk about how sometimes.”

·         “Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”

·         “Quit smiling at me, I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

·         “What are you smiling about?”

·         “What’s in it for me?”

·         “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.”

·         “You’re an idiot.” “But you love me.”

·         “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

·         “You come here often?” “Well considering I work here, yes.”

·         “Are you blushing?”

·         “Your hair is really soft.”

·         “You’re really warm.”

·         “You owe me.” “Fine, whatever you like.”

·         “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 

·         “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I loved you.”

·         “It’s pouring rain why are you here?”

·         “Is that blood?” “Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

·         “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” “You drink to everything.” “Cheers!”

·         “Why is there a deer in the room?” 

·         “Is that vodka? At 7 in the morning?”

·         “Wake me up when it’s over.” 

·         “Why is arson always your first answer?”

·         “Are you flirting with me?”

·         “Are they really ‘just a friend’?”

·         “Is there a reason you never say my first name?”

·         “Shh… listen… that’s the sound of me falling in love with you.”

·         “I have to tell you something really important and if I don’t tell you now, I won’t get the chance.”

·         “Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying!”

·         “I play a mean air guitar, if that’s what you’re asking.”

·         “I thought you knew?”

·         “We can, y’know, go together? If that’s a thing you’d like.”

 Context:

·         I remembered it was Valentine’s Day late on my way from work and the only place still open was McDonald’s, is bringing you a cheeseburger acceptable?

·         I accidentally punched you in the face when I was too overexcited about something

·         The library’s pretty empty save for you and me and, OH that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere

·         You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking you the fuck down

·         You give me a different fake name every time you come into this coffee shop and I just want to know your real name because you’re cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino

·         We live in the same block of flats but haven’t ever talked and Sunday morning we were both doing the walk of shame and had to stand in the lift together

·         “My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)”

·         You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you

·         It’s my high school reunion and I need a hot date so I can rub it in the faces of the people who hated me

·         There’s a person who won’t stop bugging me will you pretend to be my partner so that they’ll fuck off?

·         I wanted to go on the Ferris wheel but there has to be two people to a cart come on random person let’s go – oh, wait, are we stuck at the top? Fuck

·         It started to snow and I’m the only one of our friends who would go outside with you – I soon found out why none of the others would go out in the snow with you when you shoved a handful of snow down my back and declared snow war

·         It’s nowhere near Christmas it’s literally still November would you calm down about Christmas wait no why are you getting the tree out – no, stop, please stop

·         You were waving at your friend behind me but I got confused and waved back at you and now I’m dying of embarrassment but you think it’s cute

·         I’m a waiter at this wedding and you’re a drunk guest who will not stop hitting on me please I’m trying to work no I can’t dance with you omg let me find you some water

·         You’re pretending to be your friend’s lover for the sake of the friend’s family. But, I’m their sibling. And I know you’re not dating.

·         You had an assigned seat next to them at a wedding for a mutual friend.

·         You accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you opened the lid the wrong way.

·         They mistook your bowling ball for theirs in the shared ball return.

·         They caught you when you slipped on ice and nearly fell over.

·         Accidentally stepping on their heel in a crowded room.

·         Tripping while getting into your seat in the theatre and spilling your popcorn on them.

·         Accidentally opening a door on their face.

·         They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase.

·         They see your ice cream drop to the ground and buy you a new one.

·         You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

·         Sharing an umbrella at a bus stop as it rains.

·         You help catch their dog when the leash slips from their hand.

·         Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

·         Getting paired up on an amusement park that requires even numbered riders.

·         A friend of a friend needs a place to crash because they got evicted

·         You’re so sunburnt you can’t even more, do you need help?

·         I admit that sleeping on the beach wasn’t the smartest idea but someone buried me in sand please help me

·         I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3am and when I asked you what the hell you were doing, you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet. Fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now. What the fuck is your name.

·         I always see you eat breakfast on the train and you always offer me some

·         I’m waiting for the train and the only open seat is on a bench next to you. Okay, sure, I’ll sit down next to the very cute person and I JUST SPILLED MY DRINK ALL OVER YOU I’M SO SORRY.

·         I don’t know you, but I fall asleep on the train every ride home and you always wake me up because we have the same stop, but we’ve never actually talked. Then one day you’re the one falling asleep and I got so excited for my comeuppance I made us get off at the wrong stop.

·         My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.

·         We’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad. Let me look after you

·         Did you actually just blue shell me on our date you fucker

·         I beat you at Mario Kart and now I’ve been banished to the couch for the night

·         I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. I mean… sure? I guess you can come down here but- okay…

·         I asked a staff member and they said you’ve been coming to the pound every day to play with the dog I’m taking home today and that’s why you’re getting weirdly emotional

·         It’s my turn to open up the café today and you were sleeping under one of the tables when I came in, and I don’t know what to say so I’m just awkwardly sweeping around you

·         I’m drunk on public transport and you’re high and we both keep looking at each other knowingly.

·         You’re mowing your lawn at 5am and that is completely unacceptable and I’m going over to your house to yell at you about how unacceptable that is.

·         It’s like 3am and my roommate locked me out of the house and I forgot my keys and I’m really drunk and please take pity on me and let me crash at your place for the night o’neighbour of mine

·         We decided it would be fun to go camping and now it’s raining and we can’t figure out how to set up the tent.

·         I know it’s probably poor taste to ask you out during your relative’s funeral but I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so…

·         It’s raining. I’m walking home in this downpour and have no umbrella. I’ve taken shelter on a random porch in the hopes that the rain will let up, but the door behind me had just opened

·         You’ve got a big, lush pool and I overheard you say you were going out of town, so I snuck over to use it but you came home early

·         You’re having a BBQ in your backyard and it smelled really good so I crashed the party

·         Not trying to make a scene here, but you took the last pool floatie and I want it

·         This is a big beach, why do you have to build that sandcastle right next to me?

·         You tried to grab the exact Halloween costume I want and it’s the last one and I want it.

·         I pranked the wrong person on accident, I’m so sorry I thought this was my friend’s car.

·         We just wanted to do one of these awful, fake ghost hunting shows but now shit is happening and we don’t know what to do.

·         I tried to take a shortcut and ended up stuck in this damn fence and you just happen to pass by and after poking fun at me for a million years you finally help me.

·         Two strangers locked inside the store at 3am together.

·         I accidentally broke your nose in a moshpit, sorry.

·         You’re the bastard who keeps parking in my spot so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me

·         This is a long plane ride. You’re stuck next to me, and apparently afraid of flying.

[iheardarumorxxx]

Midnight Sun, Chapter 9 - Port Angeles

Right. I remember this chapter from Twilight. I also have heard quite a bit about this chapter. This is gonna be a ride. 

Eddie starts off this chapter saying that he used to be the ‘responsible’ one. I would like to remind everyone that Edward Anthony Masen Cullen spent a few years eating people he percieved to be horrible criminals because he didn’t like animal blood and was being a whiny baby. But go off, Eddie.

SM is still trying to paint Jessica as a rude bitch and I still don’t buy it. It is extremely clear to anyone with eyeballs that Mike has a thing for Bella, and it is pretty obvious that this date he’s going on with Jessica is because Bella said no. So her thoughts come off as insecure. She’s a teenage girl, so I think insecure is a pretty standard thing. Not always, but SM has painted these kids as the stereotypical teens, so.

Basically, I still don’t buy the attempt to make Jessica seem evil.

Bella has wandered off to go get that book she wanted, and Eddie is simply freaking out because he let his daughter out of his sight for one minute and she wandered off. He’s about half a second away from considering getting a leash to put on her. Seriously, though, that’s how this reads. A parent frantic because they lost their child in a crowded store or park. We all know she’s gonna get a serious scolding for this one. Maybe even grounded.

a volly of snarls erupted from my throat

Okay, we’re still not to the big rant about vampire instincts in this universe, yet, but I want you guys to remember this for later. It absolutely aides in the point I plan to make there. Also a ‘volly’ of snarls. That sounds so forced and I genuinely laughed out loud when I read it. Anyway, Eddie has found Bella and she is with the Evil Bad Guys Who Have Ill Intentions. 

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the pray. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

Technically a spoiler because it hasn’t happened yet in this book, but not because we’ve seen it in Twilight. Eddie literally does not do anything to this Lanny guy or his friends. He gets out of the car, makes a mean face at them, and then gets back in the car and drives off. Maybe SM has Eddie go back out and hunt them later after he drops Bella off, but that doesn’t fit in with his squeaky clean good boy persona that Daddy Carlisle puts on him, so I doubt it. The scene as we know it comes off as very ‘man, if my girlfriend wasn’t here I’d kick your ass’. Because Eddie is a lot of bloated, puffed up talk.

When SM uses dialogue tags like ‘ordered’ to describe how Eddie says things, it just really hammers home that point I’ve been making about red flags. Even if it’s practical, like him telling Bella to put on a seat belt, especially since Pires bend the will of cars to their inane and idotic physics.

We went on a tangent about one of Eddie’s kills from his Vampire Batman days, and like honestly? I watch a lot of Criminal Minds. I see a lot of this kind of stuff, and it is absolutely awful that people like that exist in the world. I’m not saying that they shouldn’t be stopped. HOWEVER, this idea Eddie has that he was playing a good guy by taking justice into his own hands, I don’t jive with that. Now, I am aware of how faulty the criminal justice system is, especially with victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. I’ve lived that, myself. But if Eddie is so comfortable taking another life, no matter how he tries to justify it, he is no better than the people who he’s deciding to kill for their crimes.

a highly justifiable murder

See, this. This is why I don’t buy that SM’s Cullens are the paragons of good that she is constantly trying to say they are. There is no such thing as a justifiable murder, no matter what. Solving heinous acts with heinous acts simply perpetuates a cycle of heinous acts. 

I wasn’t giving her a chance to say no.

This is a trend that will continue throughout the entire series. I will point you to all of the times that Edward never gave Bella a choice in a matter, including leaving her in New Moon, and DISMANTLING HER CAR ENGINE IN ECLIPSE SO THAT SHE COULDN’T GO SEE HER FRIEND. That one in particular rubs me the wrong way for reasons, but we won’t do that here. Just know that Edward never actually lets Bella make a choice in this series, and even when he pretends to, he does everything in his power to make the outcome go his way.

And now we’re at the restaruant. I’ve heard some stuff about this scene and god, can I not WAIT, but for now, let’s just talk about the one off waitress character. She is clearly only here to be a rival to Bella for this scene. Brief, unimportant, underdeveloped. And honestly? One off characters don’t actually need that development, not really, but what I can’t stand about this one is that she is literally only here, both in this book and in Twilight, so that SM can puff up how clearly Bella is so much better than she is. Because, you see, Eddie doesn’t find the pretty hostess attractive, he only has eyes for Bella. Her entire point is so that Edward can look at Bella, and therefore, the audience as Bella is their SI for this world, and go on about how much better and prettier and more perfect she is than this woman. It’s just gross.

“Do I dazzle you?”

This is still, in my personal opinion, the best and most iconic line in a series full of iconic lines. Eddie the Dazzle Machine. Charming the pants off people when he’s trying to scare the shit out of them. It’s hilarious, and so fuckin’ romance novel cliche, and I love it.

This restaurant is apparently a real place in the real Port Angeles. And from what I understand, at least when the Twilight craze was in full swing back in 2008, they got a lot of extra business and a lot more people ordering the mushroom ravioli. Even put something about Twilight on their menu. Good for them, taking advantage of that free marketing. I have never been to Port Angeles, and am allergic to mushrooms, so I can’t say I’ve experienced the dish, but if any of you have, please let me know if it’s worth the hype.

Its so funny that right now, Eddie is worried about Bella being cold and going into shock, while Bella is over there huffing the fumes off his jacket like it’s a paint can, and he can’t even tell that that’s what she’s doing. The girl is doing everything short of just shoving her whole face in it and inhaling, but he’s too thick to get it. 

And here we are folks. The meat and potatoes of this chapter. The big comparison. The reason the cover has a pomegranete on it. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen has the absolute GALL to compare Bella, the boring, walking video game avatar to Persephone. Lets break down Persephone for a second here. There’s a lot to break down, but let’s stick to the basics, for fear that this rant gets wickedly out of hand before I can stop it. Persephone radiates optimism and hope. Persephone is soft, sweet, but has a temper that could kill a man. Persephone is sympathetic. When in the ever loving FUCK has Isabella Swan ever shown any of those characteristics? She is NEVER optimistic about anything. She fucking exists in a constant cloud of negative thought and assuming the worst. She isn’t hopeful about ANYTHING, not even her future with her PRECIOUS Eddie because she’s always questioning his intentions and feelings for her. She is not sympathetic in the slightest, no matter what SM tries to shove down my throat. She treats her friends like shit, she manipulates and lies her way through conversations so she doesn’t have to deal with them, she compares Mike to a FUCKING DOG. Bella is not comparable to Persephone, and it’s fucking beyond ham-fisted, it’s fucking EGREGIOUS to try to make that comparison. 

I could see more of an argument for comparing Eddie to Hades, since, ya know, Hades fucking stole Persephone to be his wife and most stories about Hades paint him as kind of a moody, brooding dickbag, but I’m still calling fucking foul on this attempt at comparison, SM. No dice.

Moving on.

Eddie describing Bella’s skin as ‘velvety’ gives me war flashbacks to those grocery store checkout novels with Fabio on the cover that my mom used to read. Eghhh.

So, Bella touches Eddie’s hand and it’s described in a way that gives me very G-rated sex vibes. Which just makes me wanna tell them to get a room because they’re in public right now, and also don’t do that in front of Bella’s salad ravioli.

Eddie is still being super controling and weird about Bella eating, and honestly, I super wish that Bella had had the good sense to get the hell out of there with Jess and Angela. Or that she would have the good sense now to excuse herself, find someone on staff, ask to borrow a phone, and call her dad. Because this guy is literally throwing out every red flag that exists. I know I say this a lot, but if Bella were a normal girl, she would not be charmed by this guy, she would be freaking creeped out and trying to get away from him. He isn’t even subtle about his creep factor or charming enough to play it off.

Edward thinking he has any edge at all is like white bread thinking it’s the right kind of bread for a hamburger.

Anyway, chapter ends with Eddie paying the bill and the pair getting in the car to head home. And the drama chord of the last sentence that’s supposed to play in your head when you read it falls flat. They’re on the way back to Forks and Eddie is chomping at the bit to hear Bella’s latest theory that we know from Twilight isn’t actually a theory so much as she heard a story from Jacob and then did some searching on some shitty Angelfire website. Or Geocities. Either way. And then she just went ahead and had a big old prophetic dream about it. 

Next time, we get the awkward car ride home and more. Thanks for hanging around guys. As always, feel free to message me (though, please note to anyone who has sent me anon messages that are rude or angry because I’m making fun of this book, I’m gonna ignore you.), recommend what books I should put on my list for my next recap series, and feel free to buy me a snack using the CashApp tag in my bio.

See you next time, babes.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Don't know it I've posted this before but it's one I found in my old phone, apparently written before svs

~~~

Deceit rubbed his scales. They were burning slightly, as they did when he was newly shed. He sneered. Shedding. It was disgusting. Strings of snakeskin clung in clumps to the walls of his stone room making it grosser than it was already. At least he wasn’t nearly blind in one eye anymore from the cloudy layer of dead cells. His scales were tender and any form of friction felt like rubbing on sunburn. He spread ointment over his face and hips, soothing the burn slightly. He hated his scales. More than anything. They caused him problem after problem, but overall they were disgusting. They were hard and cold to the touch, and made him look just like the monster he made himself out to be. There was a knock at the door.

“Dee? Dinnertime kiddo!” Deceit sighed. Patton was kind to him, but he knew it was only out of his nature. And pity. Fear or pity was the only way he got any sort of care. He hated dinner, especially considering he only ate once weekly and every other time he was sat awkwardly with the others, trying to disappear. But Patton wanted him to be included, and no matter how evil nobody would dare hurt Patton’s feelings. He shoved himself out of bed and pulled the bun out of his hair, ruffling it up and combing it back. He pulled on his shirt and jacket and opened the door.

Patton grinned and grabbed his hand. “I made steak and potatoes, your favorite!” Deceit sighed.

“I already ate Monday.” This was a lie, of course, but he didn’t feel like eating. He’d lost his appetite.

"Aw... can’t you eat a little more? I’m sorry, I should have remembered...” Patton cast down his big blue puppy dog eyes. Deceit sighed.

"Seared?” Patton smiled.

“Course! I know what you like!” Deceit paused.

“Fine. I’ll eat.”

"Yaaaay!” Patton sunk out, probably to set the table. Deceit took a breath and sunk as well, appearing in the dining room. Logan was already there, his elbows on the table, reading an advanced physics textbook. VERY interesting. Virgil was at his seat with his head in his arms. He peered up at Deceit.

"Why is HE here again?” Patton gave Virgil a Dad Look.

“He comes twice a week, we agreed on that. He needs to be social.” Deceit hissed to himself. There was the pity.

"Why can’t he eat with the other Darks?”

"I eat with them on Mondays.” He lied like a liar. “Besides, I could ask you the same.” Virgil growled.

"Hey, be nice you two!” Patton set Deceit’s meal in front of him and looked at each of them sternly. “Logan, no reading at the table.” Logan groaned and shut his book, grabbing a napkin to stuff it in as a bookmark. He dropped it next to him.

“Oh! Deceit! When did you get here?” "Three years ago. You’ve been wrapped in that book for too long. Come back to us Logan, the mind has been a mess.” Deceit sawed off a piece of meat.

“Ha ha.” Logan shoveled a bite of potato into his mouth. Roman burst in.

"Hello to those I like and those I hate, you know who you are!” Roman had figured out a way to insult the others without Patton being able to yell at him. He sat and dug in, and all the sides began to talk about daily activities Deceit hadn’t taken any part in. He ate quietly, feeling the others eyes boring into him once in a while, judging. He growled.

"Thanks for the dinner Patton. I really do feel appreciated.” He lifted his plate. “But I think I’ll take this elsewhere.” Patton looked up from his food.

“What? No! Are the others being too mean? Stop being mean you guys!” He grabbed Deceits arm. Deceit yanked it away.

"Thanks. But no thanks.” He stalked away. He could hear Patton’s stern mumbling behind him and took solace in the idea of the others being scolded. But being pitied and protected only made him feel weaker. He made his way through the kitchen, headed to his room.

"Hey! Snake Boy!” He looked up. Two sides he’d never met we’re sat at a small table in the kitchen. He’d always wondered what that table was for. He raised a brow. He couldn’t for the life of him tell what type of side they were supposed to be. And why weren’t they at the dining room table?

"What?” He decided to indulge the side with the sunglasses which made oh so much sense to be wearing indoors at night.

"You’re the new one huh? What’s with the scales?” He swirled his coffee cup. “Remy, be nice.” The second spoke up. He straightened his bubblegum pink tie. “You’re Deceit, aren’t you?” Deceit blinked.

“Um... no...” The cardigan-clad side beamed.

“I KNEW it! Where you going?”

"Away. My room.” Deceit contemplated making a run for it.

"Um, no, you’re sitting with us!” He patted the chair next to him excitedly. Deceit raised a brow.

“Let it go Em, he doesn’t want to have to deal with you.” The side who he assumed was called Em huffed.

“Don’t be rude, I was offering, if he doesn’t want to-“

"Sure.” Deceit sat down. It felt odd sitting with people he didn’t know, but he was intrigued. And he had to prove that Remy didn’t already know him. Em squealed happily. "Fun!” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Emile, Emile Picani, and this is Remington!” "Remy, Em, it’s REMY.” Deceit chuckled.

“Deceit. Though you seem to know who I am already...?”

"Well duh, you’re the new dark side, you were in the last two episodes!” "Episodes...?” Deceit blinked. This Emile Picani must be insane.

"Don’t worry about it, I just want to get to know you!” Deceits heart skipped. Get to know him? But he had some questions first.

"Wait, first, who are you two? I’ve never seen you, are you Sides?”

"Oh, heavens no!” Emile giggled. “He’s sleep, and I’m an OC!”

"An OC...?”

"Yeah, were expecting more non-side extras at some point but for now it’s just us. At least, we’re the most accepted by the fandom.”

"What the ever loving f*ck are you talking about?”

"Oh!” Emile gasped. “You can censor yourself, that’s so neat!” He ignored the question.

“Sometimes in media a sharp beep can be more effective in conveying a swear than the swear itself, while still being deemed more appropriate.”

"Uh huh...” Deceit was lost. But he didn’t quite mind. The guy was charming, in a confusing sort of way.

“Why don’t you eat at the dining room table?”

"Well that’s for the sides.” Emile shrugged. Remy nodded. Deceit furrowed his brows.

"Do they not let you sit with them?”

"Oh, no no no, they’re perfectly kind to us. But usually they talk about Thomas’ problems, their jobs, things we really have no part in or fascination with.” Deceit nodded. “Now your turn to talk. What’s your story...?” Deceit picked at his fingernails.

“My story?”

"What’s your character? Your internal conflict? Why should I like Deceit Sanders? What does he add to the show? What are his quirks?” Deceit looked between the two not-sides. They stared at him in anticipation.

“Well... I’m the bad guy. I lie. I show up and ruin things.” Emile chuckled. "What’s so funny?!” Deceit glared at him.

"Oh, sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because you remind me of another certain dark side I used to talk with quite a lot.”

"...Virgil?” His heart sank. “You talked with Virgil?”

"Well someone likes killing the suspense.” Emile smiled. “Yeah, I talked with everyone’s favorite worry wart. He said a lot of the same things.”

"Really?”

"Um, have you even WATCHED Accepting Anxiety?”

"I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay... way to be honest.” Emile smiled. “But like Virgil, I’m gonna have to ask you to go a little deeper. Don’t tell me what you are to everyone else, tell me how YOU feel. YOUR story.” Deceit bit his lip. “There’s not much to tell...”

“I don’t mind.” Emile’s warm periwinkle eyes egged him on. His heart swelled in his chest. Nobody had ever shown such a deep interest in him. He sighed.

"Maybe... maybe I feel a little... gross. Sometimes. And being born a ‘dark side’...with this monster face... it feels easier to act how other people expect me to rather than trying to be anything else.” He looked up. Emile was staring, and Remy had stopped eating. He could see the edges of hot pink irises side eying him from behind his sunglasses. An awkward tension hung in the air.

“Kidding!” Deceit grinned far too wide. “I’m Deceit for f*cks sake, I’m a dark side, a villain made to be feared, not pitied! And I LOVE IT!” Emile’s expression didn’t change.

“Deceit. Calm down. I’m a therapist, I can tell when you’re lying.” Deceit’s grin faltered and faded. He sunk into his chair and put his head in his arms.

“I’m not ly-ying...” his voice hitched. He wasn’t about to cry in front of two people he just met.

“It’s okay. Talk it out. Breathe.” He felt Emile put a reassuring hand on his back. “This is common in a character arc. Denial followed by an explosion followed by an acceptance. It’s how these things go.”

"I’m not a character in one of your stupid shows...” Deceit shrugged Emile off him. “I’m a freak and I’ll always be a freak.”

“A common cliche.”

"I’m NOT CLICHE!!!” Deceit shot up and banged his fists on the table. Emile caught his arm.

"Remy, can you give us a moment?” Remy tossed his hair to the side.

“Go nuts girl, I’m done anyways.” He set his plate on the counter and sank out. Deceit watched him. They were alone.

“I know you’re not cliche. But this arc of a villain has common components. And always, ALWAYS, it works out in the end. Beauty and the Beast, Nick from Zootopia, I’ll leave it at that to spare you from a long long list.” Deceit huffed.

“This isn’t a cutesy animated Disney film.” "Sure it’s not. But it applies to your situation. And I think, despite what you say, you’ll turn out fine. Just use a little elbow grease. Break through the expectations of others and show them who you really are, be who you wanna be.” “It’s not that easy...” Deceit rubbed his scales. Picani took his chin and turned his head so they were looking into each other’s eyes.

"I know. Not much in life is. I’m not throwing some empty phrases at you like ‘be yourself’, ‘follow your dreams’, ‘believe in yourself’, now THOSE are cliche. I’m saying you have the ability to be who you feel is the real you. All you need to do is show it. It’ll be hard. I know it will. But keep at it and it can and will be okay.” Deceit blushed and looked away. “Everyone already hates me. How do I take that back...?”

"Apologize, show them you’re a good guy.”

"I don’t look or feel like a good guy... my scales-“ He freezes when Picani gently runs a finger down his scaled cheek.

“I like your scales. They’re fascinating. They’re pretty but they make you look badass, don’t worry about them, they’re great.” Deceit flushed bright yellow.

“I-i... really?”

"Really really! Everyone loves the villain, and a reformed villain retaining their quirks can be even more fun! But remember: Nobody likes a flat character. Show your colors, your conflict, drop the textbook villain act and don’t be afraid to get messy to show people the real you. Understand?” Deceit smiled slightly.

"I think I might.”

[devourer--of--books]

Remember that one time I wrote a Tangled AU?

Context

During 2016, I submitted a few stories for Tagatha Ship Week. Not my best work, but some of my most known works nonetheless. Amongst those, I had a Tangled AU that was originally meant to be a one shot (which has been deleted because sweet lord that was bad), then turned into a draft for a multichapter story and then turned into this cursed WIP I completely forgot about, which you can find on both Ao3 and FF.net  under the name of ‘blinking in the starlight’.

Every once in a while someone comes across it, as it was the case with ‘if you’re not the bride’ and it would remind me of its existence. But unlike IYNTB, I have no interest in rewriting it or continuing this story. 

A few weeks ago I found the original draft for ‘blinking in the starlight’ in my dad’s old computer, so I thought I might do a post no one asked for (some people did, you guys are great, humoring me like that) on what the plot was supposed to be.

But after sitting with it I wasn’t fully satisfied (as usual, fml). So, like the clown that I am, I decided that since we are already here, might as well make it into an actual AU post, mind my language, I’m frustrated.

Blinking In The Starlight: Tangled AU

Okay, so I’m gonna presume that you read the WIP, so if you didn’t, maybe check that out first and then come back to this post. Or don’t, it’s not like it’s a very complex narrative anyway.

Many, many years before this story starts, there was a cruel sorcerer named Rafal.

He tormented the Endless Woods for centuries, extorting kingdoms and stuff, you know, very much a two-dimensional character whose motivations I definitely did not think through. Being evil I guess?

No one could defeat him, because he always somehow ended up knowing the traps were coming and was two steps ahead. No one knew how, so they just like, presumed it was because he was psychic or something.

Until one day, a young vain prince named Arthur of Camelot decides to order a hunt to the big blue falcons, to get their feathers as a present to the girl he was courting, one Lady Guinevere.

Would you believe those birds were Rafal’s spies? Now that everyone was hunting them, they could no longer listen in as easily.

So when Prince Arthur campaigns against Rafal’s evilness and challenges him to a duel in which he tricks the sorcerer and defeats him, stripping him of most his powers (and therefore his immortality), everyone was shook 

Don’t ask me how he did it, I honestly do not know

But instead of killing Rafal, Arthur agrees to spare his mortal life as long as he gives him a powerful love potion for Guinevere and never shows his face around Camelot ever again.

Rafal is pissed, but says sure why not, because he knew  Arthur would be crushed once the potion effects wore off and Guinevere left him anyway

So yeah, they became King and Queen, everyone thinks Rafal is dead, Camelot became known as the guardian kingdom of the Endless Woods alliance, yada yada.

Meanwhile, Rafal, now mortal and still pissed af, looks for a way to get his immortality back, because he is now old and tired all the time.He goes to one of his oldest allies and they tell him a rumor about a woman named Vanessa who found a way to stay young forever using a bird.

It takes a few years for him to track her down, but when he does, he tries to convince her to show him the bird. Vanessa is like that sounds like a you problem, so he threatens her and she tells him she ate it to save her life during her pregnancy (do not ask me how this works, why she couldn’t have healed herself like usual, I don’t know okay)

Rafal is pissed again, because Vanessa was still looking young, so either she lied or she was omitting something and decides you know what, screw you and murders everyone, trying to find the damned bird.

But then he hears soft singing from the closet. A little girl named Sophie, who apparently had inherited the bird’s ability to restore youth. 

First, he thinks of raising her as his daughter. But then, one day she’d try to leave him for a boy, so he decides to trick her into thinking he was that boy, so she’d never want to leave him.

He sells her this bullshit story about everything being a fairytale like the ones her books, makes himself look like a teenager and tells her he is now going to take care of her because they are true loves and whatnot

Using the money from his previous evilness (why am I like this), he builds a tower and gaslights the hell out of her telling her is was to keep the danger outside, when actually he was caging her in. Her guards are all mercenaries and her maids are kidnaped slaves so, hm, that’s nice

He keeps visiting her to restore his youth, but he needs the macguffin Arthur used to take away his immortality (I didn’t specify what it was in my draft, so let’s say its Excalibur, for the sake of storytelling) to restore his full greatness, so he starts a long-long-plan to overthrow Camelot once he gets him hands on the sword.

However, Sophie is a person of her own, even being manipulated and gaslighted. She wants to go outside and see the world. Obviously Rafal won’t let her, and even gives her a ring to summon him and stuff, so she won’t think about going anywhere out of his sight.

But she ends up doing it anyway because she’s Sophie

Now hold on a minute.

Back in Camelot, Arthur has already died, Guinevere ran off with Lancelot and Tedros is a brat, walking around with Excalibur (not knowing how powerful it actually is) playing glorified police officer for the royal guard as a way to prove he’ll be a good king someday.

Festival season is approaching and prince Teddy is on a man-hunt (woman-hunt?) for the thief that has been ambushing noble carriages.

They have some good banter, but the thief always manages to distract him and get away.

Guess who is the thief

It’s Agatha, leave me alone, I was 15 and loved cliches, shut up

Yes, I know I’m now almost 19 and still love cliches, moving on

Agatha is stealing money from the rich like a robin hood pro, because festival season is expensive and poor people need to eat okay

But prince-holier-than-thou keeps showing up so she decides to be petty and steal directly from him. Girl just wanted some gold, but ends up with Excalibur because Tedros is an idiot

So he chases her through the woods for days on end, hot on her trail, and Aric gets caught on the crossfire between them. Agatha presumes from his uniform that there is a castle near and decides to hide there.

Tagatha ends up in Sophie’s tower, and she hides Excalibur to bargain with them.

She strikes a deal with Tedros to show her the festival in exchange for Excalibur. 

Agatha is just f this shit im out, she didn’t want the sword in the first place and last thing she needs is going to Camelot with a pseudo-police-officer.

But then Tedros realizes he doesn't know how to go back to Camelot and Sophie makes him promise not to turn Agatha in. Agatha is still skeptical, so he promises to lift taxes for the lower classes and she agrees to be their unofficial guide back to Camelot.

Princes can't break promises, don’t ask

The three of them escape the tower. 

Shenanigans ensue.

There’s a scene of Agatha helping people in a tavern and Tedros is like???? she nice????

Sophie finding out that the old wizard from her story was the guy King Arthur supposedly killed and doubting Rafal’s lies.

There’s Tedros explaining his need to be just and abide by the laws all the time due to the pressure of his father’s rep after the three of them nearly die of hypothermia (?)

Sophie telling them about her talent.

Very wholesome really.

Meanwhile tho, Aric finally manages to alert Rafal that Sophie left, and Rafal summons his birds to look for her, figuring out that she had Excalibur (how? Idk)

When the trio reaches Camelot, it’s still a few days before the festival. Agatha says she is done and needs to be on her way, but Tedros (softly, may I add) asks her to stay, at least until the lantern scene/day/tradition/thingy

Their unspoken feelings are all over the place and Sophie decides to play matchmaker.

They stay in an inn (why did Tedros not sneak them into the castle, you ask? I don’t know, don’t ask) and Sophie makes the guy tell them there is only two rooms. She then makes up some balloney about wanting to be by herself, so Agatha and Tedros share a room.

Yeah, you know what I’m doing, don’t you: there’s only one bed.

Some other tropes for a very fluffy chapter equivalent of the score of Kingdom Dance, which is my favorite song in the Tangled Soundtrack, fight me, is such a good ‘falling in love montage’ song

But the fluff doesn’t last long, because the very night of the festival, just as you can almost hear Tagatha singing ‘and at last I see the light’, Rafal’s birds find Sophie and take off her ring by force.

Rafal crashes the festival, stealing Excalibur from Sophie and unleashing his coupe against Camelot, back to being immortal and super over-powered.

He throws Sophie back in her tower, and when she doesn't comply and asks him to stop we have a ‘I never loved you’ ‘you were always just a bird to me, a dumb bird’ moment and Sophie is just destroyed because aside from her new friends (whom she believed were dead) Rafal is all she has.

Back in Camelot, complete mayhem is being wrecked, bloodshed and stuff. Agatha manages to rescue Tedros before his execution and they figure out that they need to rescue Sophie and get Excalibur to kill Rafal for good.

“Insert part one of TLEA here”, bitch, I kid you not, that’s exactly what I wrote wtf even is this draft

Somehow it all leads into this big confrontation, in which Sophie strips Rafal of his immortality using the sword but can’t bring herself to kill him. So she asks Tedros to do it, so he can prove himself to his kingdom.

I do not know where Agatha is during this, but I’m pretty sure she’s like, fatally wounded or something

Rafal reveals to Tedros why Arthur spared his life the first time and offers him a potion to make Agatha return his (already mutual, you idiot) feelings. 

Tedros is like, nah, I’m gonna kill you, and Rafal is like are you sure she won’t just ride off and leave you like your mama?

And Tedros is just, honestly, man, I’m not, but I’m not gonna force her. Then some analogy about caging birds and Rafal is dead.

Yey, happy ending.

So Tedros and Agatha are left in this limbo, because she poor and she a criminal and he a prince. 

Tedros decides to have Agatha take the glory of killing Rafal to redeem her in the public eye, grants her a title, she makes Sophie her lady-in-waiting and they all live happily ever after the end.

[skyerana]

tagged by @ashipwreckcoast​ for a question thinger. I’m bored out of my skull and I like these questions so here you go. You should do it. Yes, you. Why? Because? I don’t have real reazons.

Putting this under a cut because its long and I don’t want to clog up your dash.\

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? Black, specifically Pilot G2 pens. But really? I like a good dark dark green. My dog ate my favorite pen and I haven’t been able to find one in that color since.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? I’ve sort of done both. I love living in a city, with all the vibrancy and life that it entails. There’s public transit, arts and culture, so many kinds of food, interesting people and always something going on. But for the last few years, I’ve been wanting to get back to something like where I went to school, where I lived for 7 months on a lake and the next closest people (besides us 9) were 5 miles away (the road up to the field station was 2 miles by itself and we got snowed in and flooded in on more than one occasion). I miss being close to deep nature and the peace that comes from being alone.

So which do I prefer? I don’t really know. I’ve been living back in a city for the past eight years but I’m feeling like its time for a change. I don’t think I’ll leave cities forever though. I like people and diversity too much.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? For fun, I’d want to pick up leatherworking, blacksmithing, and/or woodworking. I’m currently not set up well to do any of them though. For practicality though, I’d want to learn general house maintenance.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Depends on the tea, but often yes. Coffee gets an obscene amount of hazelnut creamer because I hate coffee but I love caffeine.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? The Hobbit. My dad and step-dad both read it to me at different points of my childhood and my dad gave me his copy (The Hobbit or There and Back Again, 1977 Illustrated edition)

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers. Baths are well and good if you have a big enough one (which I don’t) and you don’t stay in so long it gets cold (I don’t).

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Upon reading this question, every single mythical creature that I’d ever read about immediately vanished from my memory. I’m going to have to come back to this one.

I came back to this one and I still don’t know. I like the idea of flying. But I don’t really want to be hunted out to extinction.

8. Paper or electronic books? I love paper books, but I read much better via ebook. I still haven’t read Gideon the Ninths because the pages are so soft I just sit and pet them instead of read.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? BOXERS! Or rather, boxer-briefs. I know this sounds weird but bear with me. For some reason, when I started transitioning, it did not occur to me to buy mens underwear. When I finally did, It Was Amazing. I looked great. I felt great. I finally understood why so many people had “fun” underwear that they liked. Before, I had like one or two that had patterns/stuff on them. Now? I’ve got Star Wars and Captain Marvel and Deadpool and mountains and mushrooms and one with boxers that makes me laugh because there’s boxers on boxers!! And I can wear them whenever the fuck I want! So I always have something fun on, even (especially) if other folks can’t see it. Switching to boxers was such a weirdly affirming thing for my gender and I love it.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? This is complicated. I like my legal name, sure, but its not me, not really. I did get the spelling updated on it legally when I was 16 so I could actually get my driver’s license. I haven’t had a chance to change my legal name since transitioning (between the election and COVID, I don’t know that I’d get through all of the legal rigmarole in time to vote in November), but I really like my chosen name and an altered version of my legal name will be my new middle name.

11. Who is a mentor to you? I’ve had so many over the years. I learn so much from people, but I had so many great mentors when I worked at the museum. Timshel stands out. If I can be half the mentor she is to someone, I’ll have put some real solid good into the world. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No. Not in the everyone knows you sense. That’s not my jam. I wouldn’t mind having fame more in the sense of within a tiny field, being well known and respected.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Yes... to the point where I’m seeing a sleep specialist in a month to sort it out.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Very much so. But there’s so many different ways to be romantic.

15. Which element best represents you? I hate these questions. I see bits of myself in all of the elements. People often associate me with air or water though.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? Distance wise, my family in California. I come from a bunch of very close knit families and so having folks on the other side of the country that I’m super close with is ihard.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? “Everyone. Being solitary by choice as opposed to demand is a big difference.” I’m just going to leave @ashipwreckcoast​‘s response here because it fits. I’m very lucky that I am still working in a (relatively) safe environment, but we’re all missing out on things like throwing a housewarming party for one of my closest friends/coworkers. Even though we see each other almost daily, we’re still missing out on a lot that we’d normally do. That’s even worse for folks I’m not seeing at all because of COVID.

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I legit thought I was a wolf and would howl at the neighbors when mom packed me into the wagon to go do laundry at the laundromat. The neighbors, being good people, howled back.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? There have been a few times where I wasn’t sure what I was eating. One was at a wedding with 10 or 12 courses (I lost count) and some of them were foods I’d never seen before. I know jellyfish was on that list but there was a bunch of other stuff that I don’t know what it was. The few times I’ve been out of the country, I ate stuff I couldn’t identify (often due to language barriers). The seafood soup at the one place was just whatever they caught that day and it had a lot in it. I remember being disappointed in my fellow grad students when some of them turned it down. You don’t turn down food when you’re a guest unless you have a medical reason for doing so. But the thing is, none of these are strange, except by the US standards. So if that’s true, then the deep fried dragonfly should also be on this list. 

20. What are you most thankful for? Most? That’s so hard to quantify. If I really think about it, it’s things like having a loving partner and a home and food and the ability to pay my bills, I guess.

21. Do you like spicy food? I do not like capsaisin related spices but I love horseradish type spices. I do liked well spiced, but not necessarily spicy, foods.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? A few times. Sometimes at the museum (worked with some of them). Sometimes at special events, like attending lectures.

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? Generally no. I do sometimes get the urge to write and reflect on stuff, so I’ll do that when the mood strikes.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? I’ve been trained to use pens for everything (I work in a chem lab). Pencils are fine, but you need the right kind for the satisfying scratchiness. I cannot abide scratchiness in my pens.

25. What is your star sign? Cancer. Why is this important?

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Not super soggy but not straight out of the box crunchy. Does that make sense?

27. What would you want your legacy to be? I  want my legacy to be built on kindness and helping others. I know that’s cheesy and cliche, but I have so much privilege that I want to use to benefit others.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love reading. I’m on book 30 for the year. The last one I finished was Starsight by Brandon Sanderson, which is book 2 of 3 of the Skyward series and HE HASN’T STARTED BOOK 3 YET!! I read Skyward and Starsight in four days total.

29. How do you show someone you love them? I often cook for them.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only for certain things. I don’t mind drinking most drinks at room temperature and ice waters stuff down. It’s good for iced tea though, but only if you need to cool it.

31. What are you afraid of? This isn’t a fair question. I’m afraid of being abandoned or fucking things up. I’m also afraid of spiders and the milk in my fridge expiring. I’m afraid of filling out forms (forms are really hard and make me extremely anxious). I’m afraid of phone calls, but I’m good at them. I’m afraid of public speaking, but you’d never know it unless I told you. I’m afraid of losing the people I love, of dying without having put some good into the world. I’m afraid for my neighbors, for my brothers and sister, for my niece. The world is overwhelmingly scary right now.

32. What is your favourite scent? Campfires, the smell of a fresh spring rain, leather, the weird musky scent of my kitten, of garlic and onions cooking low and slow. There’s too many.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? Depends on who and in what context I know them.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I’d travel a lot more. I’d donate to a lot of things. Museums, arts, individuals. I’d love to just go on to gofundme and just straight up fund folks to their goals plus a bit extra. And then go figure out where the systematic failures were that lead to them not being able to afford it in the first place.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Ocean. Absolutely. But this is also lake and river erasure.

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I guess exchange it for USD.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Yeah. They’re magical every time.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? Be kind. To yourself and others.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I’ve got several I want. I was supposed to get an anchor with an octopus chilling on it on my inner forearm for my one year anniversary on testosterone but then COVID hit and well... who know when I‘ll get it.

40. What can you hear now? Mostly just the AC and the tack of the keys on the keyboard. Occasionally a particularly loud vehicle makes itself known.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Curled up with my partner and dog.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? Probs my anxiety.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

44. What is your most used emoji? The crying laughing one. I survive on sending stupid memes and shit back and forth with too many people. After that, the heart.

45. Describe yourself using one word. Oof

46. What do you regret the most? Not trusting myself when I figured out I was trans back in undergrad. That whole decade of burying it all and internalizing a lot of transphobia really did a number on myself.

47. Last movie you saw? I think it was Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn

48. Last tv show you watched? Rewatching Avatar with my partner right now. We just finished She-Ra.

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I just... I don’t know. I’m a Webster. I just compile what other people say in a book.

[therisingsun777]

Book One; Chapter Six: Logic V Conformity

I stood in a room with thirty men, all seated at a round table with a hollow middle. I had been led into the middle of the round table, and was now standing at the judgement of all thirty men. Upon my neck, sat the pendant I had found last night, and all of the men were whispering in hushed tones.

For my part, I tried my best to calm the steady beating in my chest, that was slowly tempting itself to get louder. Almost all of the men in the room were staring at me, and it was hard to control the temptation to shoot out of the room. I breathed, looking down at the pendant that I had been given, studying the eye full of color. All I needed to do was not look into their eyes, and soon enough, a decision would be made.

Irashi had told me that there was no need to be afraid, that it was only a decision of council. Yet, with so many here, surrounding and staring towards me, I simply could not ignore the feeling that one of the men within here, would stand up, and claim that I was a fake, and that my dream had a been a lie, based off of some prior knowledge that I had no access to.

That, did not happen, however. What happened instead, was that some of the men stood up, and lifted their hands towards the sky, twirling into a turn, and then aiming their hands towards me.

Air swished around my body virulently. I got picked up in the great swarm of air, that slowly twisted into a tornado beneath my feet. To my utter surprise, I was lifted high into the sky by the tribe of airbenders, all who began to chant.

“The avatar has returned!” They said, cries so strangely filled with joy and wonder.

I looked down in a marvel, as my feet lifted into the sky. I made it halfway up to the ceiling, before I was carefully descended back down by the men.

When I fell back to the ground, the men were smiling towards me.

“We are happy to welcome you, young avatar,” He said kindly, “Now...As the Avatar, you have a choice as to who you shall learn under. It can be any in this room, or perhaps any of the masters outside of the room. Do you have one in mind?”

I almost said Irashi, but, that wouldn’t have been right. He might’ve been the airmaster, but from the looks of it, he had no intentions of taking in an apprentice, and I didn’t want to intrude upon his work. So instead, I looked around the room, and tried to find a face that I could relate with. Someone who looked at least mildly like the person I would want to learn under.

The doors to the chamber burst open, and a man walked in. Faces around the room scowled as he walked through with a lean ease. He looked towards me with cold, brown eyes, as he sat in a chair to my right.

“You are late.” One of the men said.

“Yes, you should presume I would’ve noticed that myself. There is no need to point it out.” The man said.

The one who had spoken began to speak out. I, however, spoke above him.

“Are you a scholar of sorts?” I asked, noticing a scroll in his hands, it seemed old, almost decadent and falling apart.

“Hardly. I scavenge through old texts and readings to find airbending techniques that I believe useful to me. I focus less on the art, and more on the practicality.”

That was intriguing. It was obviously a sales pitch of sorts, which meant that even as he answered, he was thinking of a way to sound more appealing to a young member.

“Now, young avatar, I do not think you shou-”

But the man cut him off, “Are you attempting to tell him that he should not choose me as his master? Am I not equal to everyone else in this room?” His voice was cold, calculative, careful.

I looked towards the others in the room. There was something about him that these other benders did not like. But what exactly was it? The phrase that he had just said, before the interjecture of the one man’s talking, was about using bending for practical usages. Which meant….Which meant the others took a more spiritual path to it. 

When standing in front of them, I had talked about my walk into the spirit realm, however, I had left out the part of it being a parallel universe to ours, purely out of the suspicion that they would not take it well. This new man, however, the one who had just barged into the realm, seemed like the only one who might believe me. That...That almost made it entirely obvious.

“What is your name?” I asked him.

“Arashi.” The man answered.

“Irashi?” I replied, confused.

“No, that is my brother. I am Arashi, with an ‘A’ to begin the name.” I blinked. That was, surprising. So the brother of the airmaster was an elder, and hated by all of the elders in the room. Within itself, that was a rather interesting dynamic. To have one brother hated, and to have the other be a leader of the tribe itself was...That was a pattern, wasn’t it? It was a pattern, I realized. It was an almost cliche pattern from some stories, where one brother would play the role of the hero, and the other would play the role of the villain. But, in this case, it was more along the lines that one brother would play the role of the tribes, and the other wouldn’t.

“Well, what is your decision young airbender?” The kindly man at the front asked.

I smiled. They were expecting me not to choose the man who seemed rather apt to teach me the best. All of the others that I could’ve chosen, would’ve decided to take a more spiritual approach, which quite simply was not of interest to me. Their religion could wait until I wanted to read philosophy books.

“Arashi.” I said, with a small, almost threatening smile, “I think I’ll choose him.”

Almost immediately, there was a small murmur moving around the room. The men whispered towards one another, and the person who had been about to tell me not to go with him, looked rather dismayed. However, after that dismay, came a face to show he was thinking.

“Arashi…” The man said, in an almost growling voice, “Do you promise to teach this boy our customs, instead of spouting the nonse-” “I promise no such things.” Arashi said with a cold calm, “And you can not overturn the boy’s decision, as it is his right to choose who will be his teacher.” His eyes were glaring, as he looked towards the old man, “Now, if you would excuse me, my apprentice here has much that he needs to catch up on.”

I nodded, and then, after a moment of thought, executed a semi formal bow, before leaving with the man. He stopped as we left through the entrance, and breathed in a small sigh, almost as if to himself.

“Those men would do best to learn that their customs are outdated. They will not help if a war breaks out, and they will most certainly only end up in yet another great massacre if they keep preaching pacifism as the only eligible answer.” The man then turned towards me, “Now, would you rather begin learning right away, or after a short break? I myself would love to have a stew after listening to the idiocy spouted by those men.” I hadn’t thought myself to hate them as much, but...When they had tried to make my own decision for me, it had set me off to some extent. I decided, that I would rather have something to eat. I looked towards the man, and told him as such. He smiled, and we walked towards a small restaurant on a corner.

The inside was a dull green, with slight reflections against certain parts of the room. There was a man, and only around three tables, one of which was occupied.

“I will have the house meal. My friend here will have the same.” He said.

“Well I mean, what else do they have?” “Oh, only minor variations of the same. This place is dedicated to making the same meal.”

“Why?”

“For people such as myself, who would rather have one thing to eat, so that they might get lost in their thoughts.”

“Huh…” I drawled, walking with him to a small table.

The man, as we sat, got straight into business, “Am I to assume that you know barely anything of your own element?” He asked.

“Um...I know some things. I can, apparently, create an incomplete version of Master Aang’s invented technique.”

“Ah, the Air ball. I believe it has an official name, but I cannot place it. And what does that incomplete version look like?” “Oh, it’s a disk. It requires a lot of energy to hold. A little bit less if I’m moving, but it still drains me rather quickly.” “A disk? So you are holding all of your weight upon a circular platform?” “Yeah, Irashi already pointed that out to me.” The man chuckled, “Have you ever thought of attack implementation with that ability?”

“Attack implementation?”

Arashi waved a hand, “We will get into that later. For now, let me point out the fundamentals of air for you. The first, as is with every element, is control. Every small bit of control counts, this includes your ability to mitigate air levels within one part of the technique you are preforming. You want the energy output of the entire foundation to be exactly the same, or else your technique could backfire, and perhaps harm people that you do not intend it to harm. The second…” He paused, as our food was placed in front of us, and then continued, “The second, is mastery. You do not use a complicated technique unless you are sure you have mastered it, this includes upon yourself. The pure basics, like moving a rock into the air, and throwing it, to not require such in-depth mastery. However, if you were to say, make a metal glove, and try to use it to traverse the environment, without in-depth mastery of the air and complications that might occur, you could either harm yourself or die. The only exception to this rule, of course, is if you are in a situation where such a thing might occur either way.” He stopped for a moment, as we ate our food. When he still didn’t continue for a moment after, I spoke up.

“Are there any others?”

“Yes,” He replied, “Although this third one, is of my own personal belief, and should not reflect upon you, if you yourself don’t believe it.” “What is it?”

“If you are to ever attack an opponent, you should attack not to harm, but to kill.”