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reneesi · 4 years

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i never would have thought // CH.01

CH.01 II a bit of a predicament

WRITTEN PORTION

A/N: Just for clarification the Written Portion is just extra content. If you don’t feel like reading and are only here for the SM crack the WP can always be skipped since it is additional content that is not vital for following along with the story. Anyways, enjoy :)!

(Y/n)’s breath caught, watching in quiet agony as her phone screen flickered off which indicated the end of her device’s battery. The warm summer air enveloped her in a state of weary comfort as (Y/n) sighed, looking up at the lightly clouded night sky. The stars shone in bright patches of half constellations, and in an attempt to gather her bearings (Y/n) had come to a halt and began to study the night sky. She cursed inwardly as she began to walk once more, finally realizing that maybe she should have taken Shoyo’s help, but also noting that it was a little late for such things as her phone was now dead and she was still very very lost.

Coming to another four way intersection (Y/n) shrugged and took a right, deciding that if it turned out to be another dead end she would simply lay down on the concrete and pass away quietly. Slowly, (Y/n) made her way through the narrow street keeping alert while also stifling her paranoia in an effort to stay calm. This however didn’t last, since as soon as the tall wall of neat white bricks came into view (Y/n) had no choice but to let lout a loud, exasperated groan. Dragging her feet in disappointment, she walked up to the cursed Wall of Shame and pressed her forehead into its hardened surface, staring down at the ground beneath her.

“What am i gonna do..” She mumbled, the dread of facing the team after this embarrassing little adventure of “individuality” and “freedom” filling her chest. I mean sure it’s not like they were gonna yell at her, hell she’d be surprised if anyone even reprimanded her given that they generally just tried protecting her for the most part but still. (Y/n) had still gotten lost, she was still irresponsible, irrational and now if she tried to explain how her so desired independence was well deserved no one was going to believe her... Given that she couldn’t even be trusted to walk herself from point a to point b. In her defense she was new to the area but not that new if she was being honest and-

“Boo.”

(Y/n) screamed. And not just a little scream, more of a “I’m about to be killed by an ax murderer with a bloody mask” kind of scream. In other words she almost peed herself. Turning with a clumsy thrash, (Y/n) pushed whatever the fuck had just placed a hand on her shoulder away, pressing her back against the cursed Wall of Shame and thankfully placing a couple feet between herself and the attacker.

Clutching onto her bravery, (Y/n) opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the darkness of the alleyway that had previously been behind her. She hadn’t noticed before but due to the buildings and houses the moonlight was only able to shine down at the end of the alleyway and onto the cursed Wall of Shame, somehow managing to avoid the rest of the creepy path leading to its end where she now stood. She raised her fists as if to fight.

“Who’s there? What do you want?” She barked, squinting at the tall figure that was slowly coming into focus...

“T..TsukISHIMA?” She screamed, not as loud as the first time but loud none the less. Said Tsukishima stepped forward coming into the light with a shit eating grin spread from ear to ear. He looked down at the horrified and confused (Y/n) and did the only thing Tsukishima would do after scaring the shit out of Hinata Shoyo’s cousin, he burst into a fit of laughter.

(Y/n)’s expression fell as the realization that she had just gotten “pranked” by Tsukishima set in. She scowled up at him, throwing a punch at his arm as she pushed her way past him.

“You are such an aSSHOLE, Tsukishima!” (Y/n) growled, continuing her tread forward. She could hear Tsukishima‘s laughter die down into silence as he followed her out of the alley way, keeping his distance at least two feet behind.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk alone at night?” He asked, sounding almost annoyed. (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

“For your information i’m pretty sure i’m old enough to walk by myself. At ANY time of day.”

“Why do you have to be stubborn all the time?” Tsukishima sighed, boredom seeping through his words

“How can you even say that, it’s not like you’ve ever talked to me long enough to know that about me.” (Y/n) turned her head, throwing back a glare. Tsukishima only shrugged in response

“Dunno, it’s just pretty easy to tell.”

“Whatever... Why are you still following me?” (Y/n) stopped, turning to face Tsukishima.

“Because your phone is dead and you have no idea where you are...” Tsukishima’s eyes stayed glued to the sky as he spoke, head leaned back into his palms which where being held up behind his head in a sort of laid back stretch. “And also because if i show up to dinner without you Daichi might actually kill me.”

Tsukishima made brief eye contact as he delivered his final sentence, catching (Y/n) off guard as she’d been unknowingly staring up at him the entire time he’d been speaking. Both teens quickly looked away, matching hues of red and pink barley coating their cheeks.

(Y/n) considered denying his offer, thinking of the dignity she had yet to sacrifice. Maybe she was close? And maybe if she just kept going a little longer she’d still be able to make it on her own! (Y/n) looked around again, trying to pick up something remotely familiar, but failed.. for the hundredth time that night.

“Fine. I’ll let you lead the way..” (Y/n) mumbled, crossing her arms across her chest “But only if you promise not to tell them how ABSOLUTELY lost i was.”

Tsukishima had already turned and was walking the same way they’d come, hands now shoved into his pockets. He paused, still looking ahead.

“I’ll think about it.” (Y/n) couldn’t see his smirk, but goddamn it she knew it was there

“God, can’t you just do one nice thing for me one time!”

“And why would i do that?”

Because i’m asking you to!”

“Only if you say pretty please.”

“Are you fucKING KIDDIN-“

“Don’t be so loud, we’re in a neighborhood and people are trying to sleep.” Taukishima yawned, taking a right with the same calm easy steps.

“I’m already embarrassed enough..” (Y/n) growled “i don’t want EVERYONE thinking i’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

“No one thinks that, we just worry because...” Tsukishima paused. Had she heard him right? Did (Y/n) really just hear tHE Tsukishima Kei, the boy who never had even bothered to say a simple hello or pay her a moments glance just say he worried about HER? Had he been paying attention this whole time? I mean sure he liked to pick on her and mess with her from time to time but that was just his nature, it’s not like they’d shared a single moment of friendliness during the 3 months that (Y/n) had been at Karasuno..

“They care about you.” Tsukishima finished, clearing his throat. (Y/n) stared at the back of his head unsure what to make of the (maybe?) friendly words he’d shared, and even more confused by the sinking feeling of disappointment plaguing her stomach. Tsukishima had said “they” cared for her, himself not included.

The restaurants light gleamed in the distance, signaling the end of (Y/n)’s first, and so far only, one on one conversation with Tsukishima and somehow, she was disappointed. It’s not like she actually hated him, and sure maybe they didn’t particularly get along but (Y/n) still wanted to be friends. Maybe not best friends but being rejected by the people closest to her had definitely left an endless hole that craved the approval of everyone she met. Unfortunately, Tsukishima was no exception. (Y/n)’s gaze had fallen to her feet, and as she recounted the last 15 minutes the shame only deepened her stare.

“Sorry for getting so aggressive, i was just mad at myself for getting lost and defensive and i shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” (Y/n) muttered, keeping her voice low as to maintain a steady tone.

Tsukishima stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden apology, but he didn’t reply. At least not right away. The two walked for another couple minutes, heavy silence wedging itself into the already existing physical gap that separated the two. But, once they finally reached the entrance of the restaurant that space evaporated as (Y/n) caught up, moving to stand behind Tsukishima who was blocking the door. He had paused, hesitating to walk inside.

“I’ll keep your secret.” Tsukishima finally said, tone stiff and unfamiliar. With that he ducked inside, followed by a somewhat surprised somewhat relived (Y/n). Both were met by a sea of screaming team mates, but only (Y/n) was tackled. Nishinoya and Tanaka clung to her on either side blubbering on about how worried they’d been for their “baby girl.”

(Y/n) giggled

“Guys guys come one, it’s not like i almost died.”

“YoU ALMOST DIED?!!” Hinata Shoyo, who had just returned from the restroom, stood only a couple feet away gaping at his cousin.

“God this is why i CaNT TRUST YOU TO BE BY YOURSELF! SuGAWARA TELL (Y/N) sHEs gRoUNDED FOR A MONTH!” Shoyo screamed, shaking Sugawara by the shoulders

“Hey that’s not fair!” (Y/n) argued, prying herself from the clutches of her upperclassmen and approaching the table. She took her seat and continued to argue, yelling across the table and recounting the last hour or so with a couple of fudged details. Within minutes her team mates had joined along and were pulled into a full blown discussion over the validity of (Y/n)’s story, laughing along as the Hinata’s pulled at either side of Suga, begging him to take a side. After some time the conversation shifted to the upcoming training camp and exited chatter filled the air as the team recounted old memories and cracked a couple jokes. (Y/n) smiled, looking around the table and suddenly remembered Tsukishima’s kind gesture. She glanced over at him, and caught him mid chuckle as he watched Hinata tell one of his loud sound effect stories. Her heart surged, finally after all this time (Y/n) was starting to feel like maybe she could actually belong.

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365days365movies · 4 years

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February 24, 2021: Annie Hall (1977) (Part 1)

Well...Woody Allen.

I, uh...OK, look, I could get into the whole Woody Allen thing, but INSTEAD of me doing that, I’ll just say this: look into it. Because there is a LOT on this subject, and it’s controversial as HELL. At the end of the day, I’ll recommend this upcoming series on HBO, and just recommend that you look into it.

Because, uh...yeah, it’s not great. That’s all I’m gonna say, because I need to educate myself on it more as well. Instead, let’s talk for a few seconds about divorcing the art from the artist. But ONLY for a few seconds.

I understand why some of you might be surprised I’m doing this one. Because, again...Woody Allen. But, yeah, I always try to do my best to divorce the art from the artist. Because some people suck, but they still make nice things, or at the very least, things that should be open to interpretation and appreciation.

“Superfreak” is a classic song of 1981, and everybody’s heard at least some of it, but Rick James fuckin’ kidnapped two women and kept them in his basement, WHERE HE TORTURED THEM. Edgar Degas made beautiful paintings of ballet dancers, and was also A MASSIVE ANTI-SEMITE. And before he was (RIGHTFULLY AND JUSTIFIABLY) outed as a roofie-ing piece-o-shit...I grew up with - and genuinely enjoyed - this guy’s comedy.

And you can judge me for this, but...I still think his stand-up was and is genuinely funny, and I still appreciate the cultural impact that The Cosby Show had on society’s perception of African-American families, divorced from the stereotype of the ghetto. Fact of the matter is, works themselves deserve to be separated from the artist who made them. That’s my philosophy, and I’m sticking with it Entirely fine to disagree with me, by the way, I get it.

But in that spirit, I’m watching Annie Hall, despite its creators likely transgressions. After all, this is technically his magnum opus, and it’s a good look into the man himself. And so, with that in mind: Annie Hall! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

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Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) is talking directly to us about his outlook on life, and his view on the potential future. He tells half of a joke, then an amusing anecdote, and a bit more until telling us that he’s broke up with Annie, and he’s still thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. He goes back to the beginning, which is punctuated with flashbacks.

He grew up in Brooklyn in World War II, and a young Alvy (Jonathan Munk) is with his mother (Joan Newman) at the doctor’s. He’s depressed after learning that the universe will one day end after a period of expansion, and is having his first real existential crisis. I had mine around the same age, actually, went I learned that the Earth will one day get swallowed by the sun. And THEN came the realization that I’d be dead by that point. AND THEN came the realization that I’d die one day, and that was a WHOLE NEW crisis to...anyway.

He grew up under the Coney Island rollercoaster according to him (although his analyst says that he exaggerates), and that’s what he blames for his “nervous personality. He’s also got an active imagination, often blurring fantasy and reality. His Dad ran the bumper cars on Coney Island (a place that I’ve never been, but desperately want to go).

He continues on talking about his former schoolmates, and not really that well. While in class, young Alvy kisses a...little girl...ahem. And then, when reprimanded by the teacher, current Alvy notes that he was always...like that...and he also says this to the little girl, and they talk about Freud’s latency period, and Alvy said he never...had...one...that’s uh...that’s fuckin’ SOMETHING, now isn’t it?

OK, well, shoving that forcefully aside as hard as I can, Alvy wonders aloud on where his classmates now, and one of them says this:

This also involves a little girl saying she’s “into leather,” which is...awkward as FUCK, but WE’RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON. Alvy recounts his paranoia, and was so even after he became a famous comedian (which we say after a VERY good joke about qualifying for the army as a hostage). He speaks to a friend, Rob (Tony Roberts) about potential anti-Semitism from a person in a passersby meeting, then heads to meet Annie.

Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) arrives at a movie theater, late and in a bad mood. The two are late to their intended film, argue briefly, then head to another film that they’ve already seen, The Sorrow and the Pity. In line, they’re in front of a man loudly soliloquizing on film, much to Alvy’s annoyance.

Annie and Alvy continue to argue a bit, while Alvy openly berates the casual film critic. In the middle, he talks to the audience about it, only to be followed by the crtiic himself, who also acknowledges the audience! Huh! Anyway, he’s a professor at Columbia, and starts continuing his line speech, this time on the work of Marshall McLuhan, one of the most important early media theorists ever. And then, Alvy brings out Marshall McLuhan (Marshall McLuhan) to debate him on it, only for Alvy to turn to the audience and wish aloud that life could really be like this!

I’m beginning to understand why people like this film. It’s metacontextual before metacontextuality was really a thing in film. It’s a fourth-wall breaking movie in some fantastic ways. But will it still hold its muster after breaking the fourth wall’s become so commonplace? we’ll see, I guess.

After a showing of the film, the two return home, and Alvy tries to initiate sex. But Annie’s not really into it at the moment, and Alvy complains that they used to have sex all the time, and it’s been a while since. So, I guess that retroactively awkward scene at the school was meant to foreshadow Alvy’s high libido, that will probably cause some conflict in the film. Anyway, Annie notes that Alvy once went through something similar with Allison, his first wife. Who’s Allison? Flashback!

Allison Portchnik (Carol Kane) is a graduate student in political science, working for a campaign that Alvy’s about to perform for. He’s nervous, as he’s going on after another comedian. She comforts him by saying that she thought he was cute, and he does well. But we flash-forward to a night after they’re married, shortly after the death of JFK, which Alvy’s obsessing over, entertaining various conspiracy theories.

However, Allison rightly points out that his obsession is simply a way for him to avoid having sex with her, which mirrors the present-day situation him him and Annie. Flash forward TO Alvy and Annie, and there are just lobsters...everywhere, on the floor in their kitchen. After that commotion, they talk about Annie’s past romances.

And by talk about, I mean they LITERALLY WALK THROUGH her memories. And I gotta say...I fuckin’ love this method of storytelling. One of her previous boyfriends is an actor (John Glover), and his over-dramatic prose sickens Alvy. We see a second marriage of Alvy’s to New Yorker writer Robin (Janet Margolin), who’s dragged him to a stuffy high society party of intellectuals that he has no interest in going to. Same her, Alvy. I bet the caviar’s canned.

He tries to initiate sex with her - in the middle of the party, mind you - and she turns him down. later, when they get to it in their apartment, she’s unable to, uh...reach satisfaction. From there, we flash-forward after that marriage ends to a tennis match with Rob, where he meets one of his mutual friends: Annie Hall.

And for the record, Annie’s pretty obviously got a crush on him, and she’s adorable as fuck. Also, that outfit, real talk...that outfit rules. She offers to give Alvy a list, during which he’s quite worried about her driving, but the two still get along well enough. Annie’s an amateur photographer, during a time period where photography is considered a relatively new art form. The two go to her apartment, and share familial anecdotes and personal stories about themselves. And as they talk, we also see a set of subtitles on top of each of them that betray their inner feelings and thoughts.

I do genuinely like the stylings of the movie, goddamn. This conversation leads to Alvy asking her out on a date, although they end up scheduling it after Annie auditions at a nightclub as a singer. And while it doesn’t go great, Alvy tells her she was fantastic, and they share a kiss before they head to dinner. They head to her place afterwards, and we cut to later that night, post-coitus.

And then, we get a flash-forward back to the next day, where the two are at a bookstore, and Alvy speaks on his personal philosophy of life.

I'm obsessed with uh, with death, I think. Big - big subject with me, yeah. I have a very pessimistic view of life. You should know this about me if we're gonna go out. You know, I - I feel that life is - is divided up into the horrible and the miserable. Those are the two categories, you know. The - the horrible would be like, um, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. You know, and the miserable is everyone else. That's - that's - so - so - when you go through life - you should be thankful that you're miserable because you're very lucky to be miserable.

Iiiiinteresting.

Shortly into their relationship, they admit they’re in love (or “lurve”, as Alvy says). She moves in with Alvy, which he initially isn’t the biggest fan of, having been burned in two previous marriages And already, their relationship is showing a few bumps. Alvy’s also always trying to push her to take college classes, while she uses mariuana whenever they have sex, which Alvy doesn’t agree with.

But as they have sex one night, without the marijuana at Alvy’s urging, Annie’s mind wanders - LITERALLY.

This film...this film has a VERY unique style of visual storytelling, and I am HERE for it! Seriously, I genuinely love this method of storytelling and comedy, it’s extremely engaging to me.

Soon enough, Alvy gets an interview to write for a talk show host, which he ABSOLUTELY despises. But in doing so, he decides to go into stand-up for himself, and is actually quite successful at it! But before we get to that, we’re at the halfway point! See you in Part 2!

#annie hall #woody allen #diane keaton #tony roberts #carol kane #paul simon #shelley duvall #christopher walken #romance february #romance movie #romcom #romantic comedy #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year

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flyandfamousblackgirls · 5 years

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6 Things Intersex Folks Need to Know About How We Perpetuate Anti-Black Racism

1. The Segregation in Our Intersex Movement Is Real

The intersex movement has been mostly white since day one. Consequently, it’s necessary to ask ourselves if we’ve inadvertently created an atmosphere that urges Black intersex people to put aside their Blackness — and the oppression linked to it — in order to focus on our collective goals.

In creating this type of environment, it appears our community hasn’t yet been able to connect the dots between Black and intersex people’s oppression — which Saifa reminded me are both rooted in state violence — and our liberation.

Black intersex folks who’ve lived in isolation and have dealt with segregation in their daily lives shouldn’t have to contend with similar experiences once they’ve finally found, and entered our community.

I’m not talking about highly visible institutionalized segregation like the Jim Crow era when Saifa’s uncle, who was also intersex, was forced to sleep outside on the porch of his hospital after a surgery.

I’m talking about the low-key, harder to detect, segregation.

The kind that just takes for granted that the majority of people in the room will always be white. The type that may have a few Black and Brown faces sprinkled here and there, but on a vanilla frosted cake. Is there a path forward?

Sean Saifa Wall, a Black trans intersex activist and collage artist based in Atlanta, reflected on this question by looking back on his time spent as the former board president of an intersex non-profit. Saifa captured why increasing representation shouldn’t be the endgame.

“I think I made the mistake of thinking we need more people of color… but what does institutionalized white supremacy do? It brings in Black or Brown faces who won’t challenge white supremacy — and that’s how white supremacy perpetuates itself. You don’t need white folks to perpetuate it, you just need folks who are invested in white supremacy.”

When I was younger and mistakenly believing that whiteness was the norm to strive towards, I ended up internalizing racist ideologies and, as a result, never fully connected on a truly deep BFF level with my Black friends. Perhaps our movement, and its longstanding quest for acceptance, has created a similar divide.

The global intersex activist network consists, to my knowledge, of less than only 5 Black intersex activists. One of them is Saifa.

2. One’s Race and Intersex Identity Overlap

Born amidst racist flames that attempted to level his neighborhood, Saifa was brought up whilst his borough, The Bronx, was attempting to rebuild itself.

“When I was younger,” Saifa recounted, “I realized I had a different body. Then, due to interactions with NYPD, I was made to know that I was different in another way as well.”

As he got older, Saifa came out as queer, intersex, and trans to a mother — and a world — who wasn’t always ready or eager to respect his intersecting identities. Regardless, his Blackness, sexuality, and intersex identity were always interwoven.

“I cannot separate my intersex identity from my Black identity,” Saifa said. And he shouldn’t have to.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid our community hasn’t figured out ways yet to allow people to show up as their whole selves.

For instance, on the international level, it’s become a known issue that intersex activists from African countries don’t get similar amounts of representation, or speaking time at gatherings. And nationally, our support group meetings rarely, if ever, have been led by Black intersex folks or had sessions dedicated solely for Black intersex community members to come together.

It’s only in the past few years that single Black folks are sitting on boards, or in staff positions of our organizations. There’s also never been, to my knowledge, any Black clinicians present at our Continuing Medical Education (CME) sessions that happen before our support group conferences each year.

Race, especially as it relates to anti-blackness, feels as though it’s at times an elephant in the room.

For me, this elephant peeped its head out when I realized it had become a tradition for one of our non-Black community members, who I love and cherish dearly, to sing Macy Gray’s “I Try” — in Gray’s uniquely raspy voice — at the annual talent show, which is supposed to provide a fun contrast to the rest of the conference.

The audience, if it’s a diverse year, might have a handful of Black folks. This year, there was only one person. I can’t imagine how isolating that experience might have been for them.

And this bring me back to the story I shared at the beginning, about the person who had Obama on a hit list.

Often, racism perpetuates itself by wearing the mask of a “joke” or “fun,” but racism is never a joke and the mask just presents one more hurdle in calling racism out.

It’s time us non-Black intersex people become more aware of our whiteness problem.

We need to keep having difficult conversations about race and oppression every step of the way.

Most importantly, we need to show up the few Black intersex people we do have in our small community, and check in with them to see if there’s anything else we could be doing to have their back.

We can challenge white supremacy in our movement just by asking Black intersex folks in our community what they need to feel safer in our collective spaces.

For our movement to be successful, it’s imperative that Black intersex folks feels they can participate as whole persons.

3. We’ve All Been Dehumanized

The list of atrocities against people of color, especially Black folks, carried out by the medical industrial complex and other agents includes: “the father of gynecology” using enslaved Black people as surgical research subjects, being disproportionately targeted by the US’s eugenic sterilization program that served as a catalyst for Nazi Germany’s and today’s “population control”policies, and the shackling of pregnant women inmates — who are disproportionately Black — in labor delivering children whom they most likely will be immediately separated from.

Likewise, intersex people have been rendered hermaphrodites and featured in freak shows, gawked at as monsters to at on TV, disproportionately put up for adoption, pumped with artificial hormones, robbed of their reproductive organs and genitalia, selectively aborted, raped, and brutally murdered.

Lynnell, a Black intersex lesbian activist, was born intersex but raised male by a single mother in a low-income household. She grew up in Chicago’s mostly Black, hypersegregated, South Side where her family — unlike mine on the North Side — was forced to deal with the effects of the city’s racist public policy and divestment responsible for the destruction of local economies, public schools and affordable housing.

Hyde Park, a pocket of wealth and whiteness on the South Side and home to the University of Chicago (UofC) Hospital, is where Lynnell’s mother took her as a child for doctor appointments.

Lynnell shared memories of that time stating, “My mom wasn’t given the tools she needed to make informed decisions.” As Lynnell grew older, she also “wasn’t taken seriously at first by [her doctors] either.”

Low-income and single mothers of color, labelled unfit by society, experience discrimination. Lynnell’s mother went to U of C seeking care, not charity, for her child. Seeing a golden opportunity, Lynnell’s doctors manipulated her mother’s financial status and turned the situation into a charity case anyway.

“They told my mom they were doing her a favor because they weren’t charging her.” In the doctor’s mind, they were participating in an equal trade with Lynnell and her mother.

To Lynnell, it was torture. “For eight years, every summer, for at least a month, I was put on different drugs, experimented on, given unnecessary procedures and manipulated.”

Exploitation of marginalized people by the MIC for their gains, especially in teaching environments, has been well-documented. Exploitation specific to Black intersex patients has yet to be researched. Lynnell’s doctors, I imagine, took one look at Lynnell’s mother and decided a poor Black woman wasn’t powerful enough stop what they had in store for Lynnell.

“I don’t know many white people that were used as guinea pigs like me,” Lynnell said.

4. Doctor’s Aren’t the Only People Attempting to Erase ‘Difference’

Intersex people are pretty familiar with secrecy, shame and stigma thanks to the pathologization of our bodies. As such, it’s important we have spaces to process our stories with each other. Yet, it’s important to note that as oppressed people, we are still capable of participating in the oppressing others.

The few times I’ve witnessed our community attempt to break down white supremacy and talk about racism, white intersex people successfully shifted the conversation, almost immediately, back to a conversation that centers them and their experience with intersex oppression.

Spaces where intersex people get together and talk are rare, so it makes sense why someone would want to relate and process, but in doing so, we are inadvertently preventing Black intersex folks in our community from expressing their unique experiences.

Saifa recounted a time when he “was trying to bring up the topics of anti-oppression, racism, etc., in the movement and people lost their damn minds. People were like, ‘we cannot hear it.’”

He also shared, “Anti-black racism showed up when I went to South Carolina on behalf of the MC case [a lawsuit involving the parents of a young Black intersex boy and his doctors] and one of the lawyers was condescending, talking down to me as the only Black person in the room. I was constantly pushing back against his patriarchy and racism.”

He continued, “I feel like people don’t care about issues related to anti-black racism in the intersex community.

“I think there’s some intersex people who really see those intersections, who really are affirming of people of color, but for the large part I feel that the level of anti-black racism awareness ranges from hostility to apathy.”

I asked if people ever seemed to care and he replied, “When funding is involved. That’s when people start to care more. Or, when a group wants some representation of diversity—but I found they wanted a Black face, but weren’t necessarily committed to issues around anti-Black racism.”

As a movement, we can’t only focus on these issues when funding dollars are at stake. That tokenizes Black folks.

Instead, we have to stitch anti-Black racism training, and education around white supremacy, into the fabric of our work together.

Saifa pointed out, “In the world, I’m confronted with anti-Blackness, and it’s par for the course, but it’s particularly more devastating when it’s from intersex people. Why? Because I think, ‘Oh, you understand.’

“Or at least I think they understand, until they say or do things that’s really racist and are unapologetic about their racism.”

5. We Need an Intersectional Analysis to Combat Racist Stereotypes

One of the white people present at Lynnell’s first intersex support group meeting recently told her that she was “afraid” of her at first, “because [Lynnell] had on leather and dark sunglasses.”

I asked Lynnell why she entered that support group meeting dressed in leather, sunglasses, and the rest of her leather daddy alter ego outfit. She responded, “Because I was the only Black intersex person there.”

Lynnell shouldn’t have to feel the need to protect herself like that in a room that was supposed to feel like home, a room where she was supposed to be able to let her guard down amongst people with similar experiences.

Unfortunately, this is the type of thing that can happen when a community doesn’t have a firm commitment to operating with an intersectional lens — one that places its most marginalized folks at the center.

Lynnell needed to protect herself at a support group, and in doing so, made a white person feel afraid, circles back to my main point.

We need to place Black intersex folks and their particular needs, struggles and desires at the front and center of our intersex activism.

If we don’t, we risk ostracizing Black intersex folks, again, within spaces meant to be a reprieve from shame and stigma.

6. Confronting White Supremacy Means Confronting Disembodiment

Disembodiment, or feeling detached from your body, often happens as a coping mechanism in response to intense trauma. Intersex activist, Mani Mitchell, once described it as feeling like a “floating head tugging around a body.”

Saifa, someone I admire for their commitment to somatic healing work, believes that white supremacy is rooted in disembodiment “because you have to be disembodied in order to not allow your self to be impacted by the inequity or suffering of others.”

Regardless, Saifa thinks it’s “imperative that white intersex activists feel their feelings regarding any shame they may have as they interrogate white supremacy and its brutal history.”

“It’s only fair that white intersex activists start to acknowledge, as much as their embodiment can hold, the shameful and disgusting emotions that come up after hearing the bitter truth and realities of Black folks and people of color.”

“Doing this work is difficult,” he acknowledged, “and it can bring up things we’d rather not have to face about ourselves.”

Still, non-Black intersex folks need to “confront those feelings and allow themselves to be impacted, then hopefully they can be motivated to action, and allow that empowerment to impact others.”

In taking Saifa’s advice, we can create positive ripple effects throughout our whole community. Doing the work to steer our movement towards becoming an intersectional, anti-racist, intersex movement is a win-win for everyone involved!

#Intersex #intersex black women

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monsterlovinghours · 5 years

Note

Hi this is definitely not Gaia but imagine if captain scarabee decked you out in gold and jewels and took you dancing at some big underground gala where you met the other conglomerate captains

The moon shone like a pearl, set with stars like diamonds in the velvet expanse of the night sky. Out of nerves, your hand went to your throat, where an emerald pendant set in gold rested against your skin, dangling between your collarbones. Your ears felt heavy, weighed down with solid gold earrings, bangles and baubles dripping from your arms and hands; Scarabee had even insisted on fastening a delicate gold chain with a tiny bell on it around your ankle. "So I can find you it we get separated, cherie," he said with a wink.

There was some sort of gala tonight, a gathering that was more political than frivolous, and he had covered you in glittering finery for the occasion, insistent on showing you off. You felt clumsy, off-balance in your heeled shoes, your range of motion limited by the absurd gown he had laced you into. But he had given you a wolfish grin when he was finished rolling you up, nearly licking his chops as he eyed you hungrily. "No one will be able to their eyes off you, ma belle petite. Least of all me."

Deep breath. Your ribs strained against the boning of the corset, painted lips pursed on the exhale as he led you inside. The ballroom was buzzing with quiet chatter, thankfully not terribly crowded. You snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip, hoping for courage, and at your side, you heard Bee exclaim.

"Ah, my friends! Cherie, you must meet my associates." He steered you to a group of four men, who turned to face you at your arrival, and you suddenly felt as if you were being skewered by four separate piercing gazes. One was tall, with a scar running across his eye. Another dressed lavishly, gloved fingers curled around the head of an expensive-looking walking stick. The amber eyes of a third seemed to gleam as brightly as his silver teeth as he grinned at you, smoothing back his hair. The fourth was the shortest, his hair fashionably long and loose against his shoulders, nursing a glass of amber liquid. Scarabee proudly introduced you, practically glowing, then introduced his associates by name. The tall one was Zhuk, the regal one Scarafaggio, the grinning one Escarabajo, and the shortest was Ciarog. As each name was said, its owner took your hand, lifting it to their lips for a kiss; you told yourself it was nerves that caused the feeling of an electric current running up your skin with each press of their lips.

"Gentlemen," you said, dipping until a shallow curtsey, "it's an honor."

"The honor is ours, dear lady." Zhuk smiled, turning his gaze to Bee. "You've been hiding her from us, moy drug. Where did you find such an enchanting creature?"

They struck up a conversation, discussing trading and territorial disputes; who knew piracy could be so dull? You let your gaze wander, not truly paying any attention, until you heard a voice cut through the chatter.

"Honestly, can't you see you're boring the lady to death? If you insist on talking business, will you allow me to entertain her with a dance?"

You smiled gratefully at Scarafaggio, accepting his request before Bee could interject and letting him take your arm. He led you out onto the floor, placing his hand on your back and folding your hand in his, smoothly stepping into the waltz without missing a beat. "You dance beautifully, signore."

He laughs. "No need to be so formal, piccola, you may call me Gio. Most of my associates do." Over the music, he kept an engaging conversation, until there was a tap on his shoulder. There stood Zhuk, that gentle smile back on his face.

"May I cut in?"

Gio laughed, kissing your hand once more before placing it in his colleague's. "You may need to lead, my dear, this man has two left feet and no sense of rhythm."

Zhuk shot his back a withering look, then turned back to you, folding your much smaller hand in his as the band took on a slower melody. Scarafaggio hadn’t been entirely wrong, his movements weren’t as fluid or graceful, and he did seem a bit off tempo, but his gentle hold and captivating stare kept your focus away from his sub-par ballroom skill. “Tell me, roza, how is it that a scoundrel like Scarabee ends up with such a lovely flower on his arm?”

You can feel your cheeks turn pink, and you recount how you met the captain, sneaking your way onto his ship to steal ammunition only to be caught. He had been impressed with your stealth and your skill at hand to hand combat, and had decided to employ you on his crew. Naturally, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of you for long, and Zhuk chuckled good-naturedly as you admitted that you had more than once pointed a dagger at Bee’s nethers before giving in and letting him take you to bed. The Russian’s eyes only left yours to dart down to your lips, and the pink didn’t leave your cheeks the entire time he had you in his arms, the chatter of the ballroom seeming far away, unimportant.

This song was shorter than the last, and when it ended, another of the group appeared to take Zhuk’s place; the long-haired one, Ciarog, his scotch long gone but his grin still firmly in place. Zhuk surrendered you with another kiss to your hand, the shorter captain gleefully pulling you close; you had to admit, it was nice to be eye to eye with your dance partner, instead of having to crane your neck. “M’afraid my dancin’ skills are more suited to jigs than a waltz, but I hope I’ll be satisfactory to ye, lass.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re doing just fine. Ciarog, right?”

He beamed as you remembered his name and its correct pronunciation. “You got it, darlin’. But you can just call me Cia, if ye like.” His dancing was more energetic than the previous two, more enthusiasm than form, but it was refreshing, the band seeming to follow his lead, beginning a more upbeat number. The soft lilt of his voce relaxed you, his jokes put you at ease, made you toss your head back and laugh; perhaps this gala wouldn’t be so boring after all. Especially not with such handsome dancing partners.

The last chord of the song had barely begun to fade when the last of the group approached, silver teeth flashing as he sent a suggestive look your way. “I believe it’s my turn with the lady, mi amigo.” Ciarog huffed and rolled his eyes, but placed your hand in his, giving his friend a good-natured jab with his elbow. You noticed right away that this one was more forward than his compatriots, pulling you flush to his body, his hand straying toward your waist as his eyes bored down into yours. “I’ve been waiting to have you in my arms all evening, mariposa. Shame on Scarabee for not bringing you along with him before; we could have met that much sooner.”

Your cheeks turned red, your stomach twisting, trying hard to concentrate on the steps so you wouldn’t tread on your partner’s foot. “I...well, I haven’t been a part of the crew for long…”

“And such a pretty thing, to be running with pirates.” He grinned, and your heart stuttered in your chest when you saw the flick of his tongue against one silver tooth. “You seem like the type of woman to chase the thrill of adventure, querida. Perhaps sometime you and I could-”

A silk-gloved hand interrupted him, smacking the back of his head as you looked over Escarabajo’s shoulder to find Bee, his eyes narrowed. “If you want to keep your tongue inside your head, mon ami, you’ll stop that thought right there and unhand her.”

The Spaniard rolled his eyes, but stepped back from you, his fingers lingering in the dip of your waist. “If you ever feel the need for a change of scenery, mariposa, you just call for Bajo. I’m at your beck and call.” He tipped you a wink, sending Bee a rather smug look as he sauntered away, and Bee muttered something venomous in French at his retreating back.

He gathered you into his arms and ushered you off the dance floor, sighing as his fingers traced your cheek. “I’m sorry to be away from you for so long, cherie. Those scoundrels weren’t too boorish, I hope?”

You smiled, leaning into his hand. “Not at all, I’m having a wonderful time. Your friends are...very kind.” Bee raised a brow at that; there were many things you could call his associates, but kind was rarely one of them. He noted the blush on your cheeks, and the way your eyes seemed to shine. The others had certainly seemed smitten with you, and a slight, lopsided grin touched his mouth at the thought; it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, to share you among the five. If you were amenable to it, that is. After all, they shared nearly everything else. Perhaps tomorrow, he’d discuss it with you. Tonight, he planned to keep you all to himself.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #the conglomerate

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serenitystored-a · 4 years

Text

a drabble of adalet & rohesia, their first kiss as teens ! / @heartsaked

The summers in Khidia had always been hot and this year was no exception, so warm that the locals believed their goddess had left her palace in the sky and decided to walk among them, leaving a lingering heat with every footstep and swish of her sleeve.

But for Adalet the heat on her cheeks and in her stomach came from elsewhere.

The princess made her way down a narrowed cobblestone path, turning right at a vine of honeysuckles, further down the path that turns slowly from stone to grass. The path disappears, spread into a circular grass garden. To its left, a round table and set of chairs made of limestone, the chairs adorned with pale cushions.

To the right, a low curved wall, the moon’s cycle etched from one end to the other, the image of the full moon disrupted by the familiar brown leather boots dangling in front of it.

Rohesia – her best friend – was waiting for her. The two had known each other since they were young, a princess and her lady-in-waiting, though their friendship had surpassed the expectations of their title, it was something stronger. They had been joined at the hip but only a few months ago, barely fifteen, Rohesia had declared her dream to join the royal guard, passing the exam with flying colours.

It had changed the amount of time they spent together – separated by classrooms and training grounds, this spot had become their haven, a way to catch up without formality or disruption.

Adalet keeps her presence hidden for a moment, takes the time to watch the way Ro acted when she was alone. Staring up at the sky, swinging her feet, recounting the rules a knight must follow, fingers tapping out a tune she swore she detested.

Something had changed the day her friend had gone from lady-in-waiting to knight-in-training. And it was not just her haircut either. Whatever it was, Adalet could not put her finger on it, but she liked it.

“Khidia wouldn’t be happy if she saw you covering the moon up like that.” Adalet says, making her presence finally known, laughing at the startled noise that came the other.

“if she loves it so much then why does her palace float in the sky and not in space?” Rohesia grumbles back.

Embarrassed. She only ever grumbled when she got embarrassed.

“Because the Moon is its own being entirely, or have you forgotten my grandmother’s stories?” teases the princess, earning her an eyeroll.

Crossing the space between them, Adalet makes it to the wall where Rohesia waits with her hands out. Adalet takes them and with a practiced push of foot against wall, she sits herself at Rohesia’s side.

A moment’s silence. Then they make eye contact and they fall into conversation – Rohesia, about her training ( “you should’ve seen it. He was so annoyed that I bested him at archery that he almost popped a vein.” ), and Adalet about her classes ( “I don’t think battle magic is for me, my tutor agrees, but grandma says it’s important.” ), and then snippets of everything in between. It is when Rohesia jokes about the love affair between her superiors that Adalet, like she’s been splashed with cold water, remembers why she asked Rohesia to meet her that night.

“Ro?”

“Mm?”

“I…” Adalet’s words disappear before they can be formed. Fingers fiddle with the locket that hangs around her neck.

“Addy? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Ro.” Shoulders slump. “I think that something in me has changed. I – oh, keep this secret, will you, until I am sure? – but I think that my heart’s affection belongs to women, like Khidia and her ages old lover, Utaria. But I cannot be sure. I have never…I feel so confused.”

“I think it’s only normal to be confused,” is Rohesia’s reply – so fiercely confident that Adalet can only look at her in surprise, “You have my full trust and confidence. And I will do what I can to help you. I’d, I’d even hold your hand or kiss you if it meant your thoughts and heart could be clearer.”

“Ro, that is – “

“I - forgive me, Addy, I got a little too -” Rohesia’s hands wave in a gesture that replace the word me “about it. I just wanted you to know that I care. You are my princess, my best friend, I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

The princess stares and stares and stares, and then she laughs, the kind of fond laugh reserved only for her closest friend, and she pulls the other girl into a hug, cheek smushing cheek, only laughing harder at their protest. Hugs were very much Adalet’s thing, not Rohesia’s.

Cheeks still pressed together, Adalet sighs. “Thank you, Ro.”

“N-no problem.” Rohesia mumbles. The same moment, Adalet registers the warmth of hands seeping through the material of her dress. It felt…nice. Oh.

“Ro?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean it, that you would kiss me, to help me?”

“I…” throat is cleared, and the squire leans away, shoulders straightening, hands settling – firm, but gently – on both of Adalet’s arms, above the crook of her elbow. “I did.”

“Then, then would you? Oh, but only if you want to, not out of some obligation for our positions in – “

Rohesia’s lips are warm against hers, chapped from the summer heat, and Adalet melts as if she were ice cream left out for too long. It is easy to ignore the way their bodies awkwardly meet, the bruise (no doubt forming) from the bump of foreheads, because the kiss and its all-encompassing warmth is distraction enough.

When they part, both are flushed, gazes shy.

Princess!

A far away cry that breaks the spell they find themselves under.

“I – “

“Go.” Rohesia cuts, expression turning into one of amusement. “You know how Darlene is when you make her wait too long.”

“Of course, uhm, thank you. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“We have baklava for dessert for tomorrow, no way I’d miss that.” They grin.

“I’ll make sure the chef prepares triple the usual amount.” Adalet laughs, hopping off the wall.

A shared wave and then the princess runs from the wall. Pausing at the threshold of the garden path, Adalet turns to catch one last glimpse of Rohesia. The barely there moonlight makes brown eyes shine.

The clock in her heart strikes twelve – it is not that Rohesia had changed, the princess realises, but the way I saw her.

Fingers brush just-kissed lips and her cheeks burn. Turning away, Adalet runs off in the direction of Darlene, the clock in her heart starting to move once again, a new day in the time of realisation.

#adalet & rohesia / heartsaked #adalet / worldbuilding #i suppose that tag counts sdghdfhg #long post tw #for the mobile folks

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Not Nineteen Forever (2) (Branjie/Scyvie)- Ortega

a/n: first off thank you to everyone who’s liked, reblogged, put something cute in their tags, dm’d or sent feedback to me/to AQ about this! it completely warms my heart and motivates me SO MUCH so thank you. in this chapter Scarlet gets a shock, someone gets a new groupchat nickname, and things are revealed during pres. as always send lovely things here or to my blog @artificialortega, and enjoy the quick updates while i’m still not at work!

Trigger Warning: alcohol. standard procedure xo

Summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

***

Scarlet stood in the street, silent, breathing heavily, and absolutely frozen to the spot. She had felt the coin drop from her hand and hit the pavement, but whether that had been seconds ago or minutes ago she couldn’t tell. All that was running through her mind was one single thought, one single number, and no matter how much her eyes darted across the small rectangle of paper it didn’t seem to change.

Five thousand.

She looked again- top left hand corner, top middle, dead middle.

Five thousand.

Scarlet took one deep breath in then held it tightly in her chest before releasing it. Selfishly, she reminded herself that it wasn’t that much money, in the grand scheme of things. Some people would get paid that a month eventually in life. But Scarlet was a student- a philosophy student at that, who wouldn’t get paid shit when she graduated and had absolutely zero job prospects.

Five thousand was big.

She never bought scratchcards. It was a whimsical purchase, along with a granola bar and a bottle of chocolate milk on her way to a lecture, but there was no fucking way that was happening now, not while she had a card in her hand that entitled her to be the proud owner of five thousand whole pounds.

Part of her panicked. Part of her didn’t know what the hell to do with all this money. She completely and utterly was not in any way used to it. She was still thinking and in a complete daze when she walked back into the shop and handed the shopkeeper the card wordlessly. Confused, the man looked at it for a moment then laughed.

“I can’t cash that here,” he chuckled, handing it back to Scarlet. “Can only give you up to one hundred. You need to phone them.”

“Oh,” she laughed, uncomfortable and embarrassed, thanking the man as she took the card and left. Once outside, she turned it over, found the phone number she needed to call, and in a matter of minutes, her NatWest banking app now read: £4985.55 (she had previously been in her overdraft).

So what the hell did she do now?

As if on cue, her phone hummed in her jacket pocket. Bringing it out to look at, she saw the group chat already exploding with messages.

Dave the Laugh: anyone down for lunch near the lib in 5?

Cananana Canadada hey hey hey bingo: Yes please. Can we go Liezen?

Kim Kardashian-West: i’m eating the most disappointing sandwich of my life in a staffroom where no other teacher is talking to me! i <3 placement!

Plastique Bague: Nina :(

Plastique Bague: I’d be down for Liezen in 5! Me n Brooke will be there after this lecture

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: Biiiiiitch so sad i’m missing this!!!!!! don’t have too much fun without me xo

Scarlet paused for a moment, her thumbs hovering over the phone screen. It would probably make her feel better, going to see the girls, and Yvie would be there too. Her heart gave a little jolt as she typed her own reply.

used Tampon: Can I come too??

There was a small pause in the chat, as if everybody was looking at each other with concern despite all being in separate places. Squeezing her eyes shut, Scarlet tried to push out the spiral of her thoughts to a secret, Scarlet-less group chat the girls had without her. It wasn’t that she felt insecure in her friendship group, it was just that sometimes she felt like the odd one out, that sometimes they were only friends with her for pity, that they secretly joked about her behind her back.

That was insecurity. She’d just defined insecurity.

Sighing, she looked down at her phone again and her heart soared.

Cananana Canadada hey hey hey bingo: No sorry it’s a No Scarlet Allowed event xo

Dave the Laugh: Brooke i’m evicting u

Dave the Laugh: ofc u can join, u don’t need to ask bitch!!

Brooke’s comment completely ignored, Scarlet cheerfully made her way through the park that separated all the city’s student-land flats and the main campus, where the cafe they visited so often lay just on the outside of. She didn’t care even if the others hadn’t wanted her to join- Yvie had, and that was what mattered.

Scarlet had a weird relationship with Yvie, different to ones that she had with the rest of her friends. Whenever she saw her, she always felt like she needed to look her best or be acting nonchalant and cool, despite the fact Scarlet couldn’t be either of those things to save herself. If Yvie’s body was having a rough day and was being particularly unkind to her, Scarlet would worry and fuss, and ask Yvie if she needed anything to the point where the other girl sometimes got annoyed at her. She couldn’t help herself- the thought of Yvie being in pain was so horrible to her, cutting through her and making her fret. Sometimes Scarlet felt she couldn’t respond to or take part in any of the friendly shade or roastings that Yvie threw her way, because maybe Yvie would see that as flirting, and that would be weird. They were just friends, after all, Scarlet reminded herself with a nod. It was just…a different type of friendship than the ones she had with the others. But it was still a friendship.

Arriving at the cafe, she scanned the room and found Yvie, Plastique and Brooke Lynn sitting around a booth. Scarlet found her heart giving a jump when she saw the seat next to Yvie was free and she walked towards the table happily, sliding into the free seat and greeting everyone.

“Hey, boo,” Yvie smiled, scooting up so that Scarlet had more room.

“Oh she’s here, guys. We need to stop talking about her now,” Brooke said dryly and sipped her coffee, her tone of voice giving absolutely nothing away. Scarlet’s mouth fell open, confused.

Plastique burst out laughing as Brooke winced in pain, Scarlet feeling the motion of a leg kicking out from beside her.

“She’s fucking with you, Scarlet, don’t worry,” Plastique smiled sweetly, Scarlet grateful for the sympathy. Brooke and Yvie appeared to be locked in an aggressive staring contest, so Scarlet spoke in an effort to break it.

“How’ve your days all been?” she asked lightly, picking up the menu and giving it a flippant scan before deciding she’d order what she always did.

“Boring. I got up and went to the gym, we had a 9am-” Plastique gestured between herself and Brooke. “- and then a tutorial, and now we’re here. We made a really good effort to get some work done in the library though. We spent a whole…what was it, ten? Five minutes in there?”

“Um sorry, I would’ve happily stayed and done work but Miss I-Need-Food-Or-I’ll-Die dragged me out here,” Brooke cast an incredulous glance at her friend. Plastique shrugged.

“Guilty,” she said, before sipping at an orange juice she had in front of her.

“How’s your day been, Scarlet?” Yvie asked, her head leaning on her hand in an effort to face her.

Scarlet considered her options as quickly as she could in the two second time gap she had in which to answer. She could tell the girls about the scratchcard, or she could just…not. As mean as it sounded, she’d heard about people’s friends changing when they’d had a lottery win, and not necessarily for the better. Okay, it was only five thousand (only? ONLY?) but it was still probably more money than any of them had ever had at uni, and Scarlet still didn’t really know what she was going to do with it all. Looking in Yvie’s eyes, she was struck with a pang of guilt for what she was about to say.

“Uh, alright. I got up kinda late. I’m actually supposed to have a lecture just now, but I blew it off. Balsamic tomatoes were calling me,” she shrugged, pleased when both Yvie and Brooke laughed. As the waiter arrived to take their order, Scarlet let out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she’d been holding. She hadn’t known lying would come this easily to her. Well- technically she hadn’t lied. She hadn’t not told them about the scratchcard. She just…happened to omit it from the recount of her day.

As the waiter moved away from their table, the conversation turned to a night out that Vanessa’s flat was apparently hosting pres for this evening. Scarlet felt a pang of envy. She wished she had the sort of flatmates that were all so close and hosted things together, but instead she was stuck in a two bed with a girl she’d found on SpareRooms who inexplicably hated her. She longed to be the flat that everyone would come to for chilled times, like Brooke, Yvie and Nina, or the flat that hosted crazy parties like Vanessa, Silky and Akeria. At the very least, she wished she had Plastique’s excuse to not host anything- her incredibly rich and successful Mum had simply bought her a beautiful flat in the nicest part of town, which she shared with her friend from school. Scarlet’s mouse-infested two bed was a million miles away.

“I don’t know, Yvie, we’ve only got three weeks until showcase,” Brooke sighed, hands around her cup of coffee. Yvie waved a dismissive hand.

“Shut up with these excuses already. Plastique, you’ll come because you can’t stop yourself from drinking anything with an alcohol content higher than 3% and Brooke, you’ll come because it’s Vanjie.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brooke asked pointedly, fixing her gaze on Yvie. The other girl laughed.

“It means you want to bone,” Yvie explained, scrunching up her face with a laugh as she made a snipping motion with her fingers.

“BOOOOOOONE?!” Plastique impersonated, causing Scarlet and Yvie to burst out laughing.

“Fuck you all. It’s not like that at all,” Brooke rolled her eyes, unamused. Scarlet felt for the girl. In the time she’d been part of the friendship group, she knew that Brooke pined for Vanessa but also that Vanessa crushed on Brooke with exactly the same intensity, Vanessa often confiding things to Scarlet in the Philosophy lectures they were in together. Scarlet had told Yvie all of this, and Yvie, naturally, told Brooke time and time again how much Vanessa liked her, but never told Brooke how she knew (a gesture, Scarlet always thought, that was sweet of her as it protected her from any fallout of Vanessa finding out that Scarlet had told Yvie).

“I think it’s sweet,” Scarlet chimed in, her stomach spasming as Brooke fixed her with an unimpressed gaze. “You know. That you’re waiting to tell her until you’re sure she likes you too. I feel like I would do the same.”

To Scarlet’s relief, Brooke pulled a smug smile and gestured across the table to Scarlet. “See? She knows.”

Yvie frowned at Scarlet, drumming her fingers against the table. “So you would wait as long as she has to tell someone you liked them?”

Scarlet found her words catching in her throat. For some reason, Brooke laughed.

“Girl. Shut up.”

“What?!” Yvie exclaimed. “It’s just interesting!”

“Interesting in what way?” Plastique asked, her face expressionless and a quick knowing look passing between her and Brooke before the waiter arrived with their food (scrambled eggs, avocado and tomatoes with balsamic on sourdough for Scarlet, bacon roll for Yvie, raisin granola with strawberry jam for Plastique and a chocolate and hazelnut croissant for Brooke) and the conversation was forgotten about. The chat then turned into uni moaning, deadline stressing and tutor bitching, something Scarlet was glad about. She’d just completed her first Philosophy essay of the year and she desperately wanted to impress her tutor after achieving good marks last year, so she vented to the girls about her worries.

“None of you will believe the conversation we had with Silky when we were at the pub the other night,” Yvie began, Scarlet already laughing as she’d heard this story before. “So she got this essay back and her tutor gave her like…52 or fifty something, it was a low mark at least. And Silk starts going off like ‘Well! I know it was a good essay! It don’t matter! I’ll just do another one!’. Like…! I had to be like 'Well it kinda does matter, bitch, it’s your whole fucking degree!’”

The girls at the table howled with laughter, glad of a cautionary tale and a distraction from their own performance at uni.

“I worry about Silky sometimes,” Brooke frowned, peeling off a small bit of her croissant and eating it.

“Silky will be fine,” Plastique reassured her through her last mouthful of granola. “At the very least she’ll get a job for a local paper and she’ll get paid to write controversial opinion pieces all day.”

“Ugh, let’s not talk about grad jobs,” Scarlet sighed, the thought of having to find something to do once she finished uni making her heart palpitate. Yvie smiled, reaching out and taking Scarlet’s hand.

“You’ll be fine. It’s these two you’ve gotta worry about.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Brooke Lynn folded her arms together and narrowed her eyes at her flatmate.

“Well. More Brooke than Plastique. She’s always got the option of living at home and getting spoiled for the rest of her life.”

“Getting suffocated, you mean,” Plastique pouted, leaning back in her seat.

“What are you going to do after you graduate?” Scarlet asked Yvie, at once interested. Yvie tilted her head and thought.

“Forensics. Or actually, I’d quite like to work at a mortuary. Something with dead bodies,” she shrugged, Plastique wrinkling her nose.

“You’re a spooky bitch,” she recoiled, Yvie laughing in that deep, Disney-Villan way that Scarlet secretly loved.

“And what, bitch? And what? Anyway,” she took a sip of her diet coke. “I don’t need to worry about jobs yet. That goes for all of us. We don’t need to think about that shit til January.”

“It’s already October!” Scarlet cried, her eyes wide and fearful. Yvie, she noted, had still not let go of her hand, as she gave it a squeeze and laughed.

“Guys, let’s not be dramatic, we will all be fine,” Brooke shook her head, finishing the last of her croissant. Her comment stung Scarlet a little and she shrank back in her chair, suddenly inhibited and self-conscious.

“Well, this was lovely but we’d better get to the lib,” Plastique shrugged, pulling out her purse. Scarlet had a sudden thought. Maybe the others would start to warm up to her if she took care of the financial aspect of friendship every now and then. A lunch here, a round of drinks there. If she started to show some generosity, then maybe the girls would start to like her more.

“Hey, I’ll treat us!” she smiled, causing all three girls to whip round and stare at Scarlet as if she had sprouted an extra head. She immediately regretted her decision. Was this too suspicious? She gave a fake laugh. “My Mum sent me some money earlier this week and said to treat me and some friends to dinner. It’s not dinner, but it’s close enough?”

To her relief, Brooke and Plastique raised their eyebrows and shrugged. Brooke sent her a warm smile from across the table. “Well lucky us! Thanks, Scarlet. That’s cute.”

Scarlet cast a glance to the girl beside her and saw Yvie looking at her with intrigue, her face deep in thought. Buoyed by Plastique and Brooke’s kindness, she stuck her tongue out at her.

“Well am I going halfers with you, then?”

Yvie relaxed, giving a laugh and pushing Scarlet a little. “Oh my God, no, I’ll take what I can get of course. Thanks, baby.”

Scarlet’s heart gave a little explosion. This was a pet name she hadn’t heard from Yvie before, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t make her skin prickle and her blood feel hot in her veins. She wished she could stop smiling, but found herself unable to.

Scarlet paid and the girls all filed out of the cafe, saying goodbye with tight hugs and cheek kisses and promises to see each other later at the pres that Vanjie was hosting. When Brooke and Plastique said goodbye to her, Scarlet could have sworn their smiles were wider than usual, and she was sure that Yvie had hugged her extra tight. Scarlet was so happy that she headed straight into town, treating herself to a new outfit for the night ahead from a shop she would never usually even set foot into. She was in the changing rooms trying it on when the group chat went off again.

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: Mine tonight, who’s coming!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: EXCUSE ME

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: OURS

Kim Kardashian-West: Me!!!!!! #tgif

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: they know wtf i mean

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: sorry i have other plans with more important friends who i don’t live with

Cananana Canadada hey hey hey bingo: My God your…so unfunny…it pains me physically

Kim Kardashian-West: *you’re

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: *you’re

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: *YOU’RE

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: IM DYING

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: *you’re

Plastique Bague: i’m coming

Cananana Canadada hey hey hey bingo: I’m not coming any mose

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: PLASTIQUE!!!!!! you ruined it lmao

Plastique Bague: fuck u too Brooke

Plastique Bague: oh lol sorry

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Who’s mose.

Kim Kardashian-West: Tell me why I find mose so funny

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: MOSE ADDFGGHLL

Plastique Bague: oh my god mose

Cananana Canadada hey hey hey bingo: guys oh my god a bitch makes a typo!!

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: MOSE I CANT BREATHE

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE set the nickname for Brooke Lynn Hytes to mose.

mose: I hate you all so much

Plastique Bague: IM DYING

Kim Kardashian-West: VANJIE AHAHAHAHAHAAHAH

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: actually fuck this has killed me off

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: VANJIE IM HAVING AN ASTHMA ATTACK!!!!!! MOSE!!!!!!

Dave the Laugh: mose lmao

Dave the Laugh: anyway i’m coming tonight

Dave the Laugh: Scarlet said she was coming at lunch

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Omg. does this mean we have a full squad?

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: this NEVER happens

mose: I’m still not coming

mose: I’m being cyberbullied

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: you are so coming bitchhhh

Scarlet noted the plethora of heart emojis Vanessa tacked on to the end of her message to Brooke before sending hers, still confident from her lunch with the girls and the short, gold dress she was looking at herself in the mirror in.

used Tampon: I’m coming so we OFFICIALLY have a full squad ladies!!

used Tampon: Well. If mose is coming xo

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: SCARLET HAHAHAHA

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Scarlet i swear that’s the funniest uv ever been

Plastique Bague: Ahahahaha WOOO!! Yaaaas to full squad!!

Kim Kardashian-West: Mose will be there if i have to drag her there!! Yay Scarlet!!!

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: Brooky if u come i’ll give you a big cuddle!

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Anna ou-

mose: I don’t like that threat

mose: See you all later, I’ll be their

Plastique Bague: *there

used Tampon: *there

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: *there

Kim Kardashian-West: *there

mose: FUCK YOU ALL!!!!!!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: *THERE

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: *there assddffghjkkl love u Brooke xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

After a little shopping trip, a nap, a small, solo getting-ready party and absolutely no uni work, Scarlet found herself in a taxi on her way to Vanessa’s flat, fiddling with the hem of her new dress that popped out from under her parka and wondering to herself if it was too short. She had bought the biggest bottle of gin she could find in the supermarket, not thinking twice about dropping £40 on it, and a small half bottle of tequila. Tonight would be a big one if she had anything to do with it. Scarlet was excited- she hated always being that person that had to borrow money for the entry fee, the only person who couldn’t buy drinks for everyone in the club, the person that got bought pity shots because she couldn’t afford a drink. Tonight, things would be different.

She arrived at the girls’ flat and pressed the buzzer, the music from Akeria’s room pouring out of the second-floor window already. Scarlet wasn’t that late- Vanessa had said 9 and it was only half past, but already she could hear the girls upstairs drunkenly singing along to Pitbull. There was suddenly a loud buzz from the intercom and Scarlet found the front door swinging open. She jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time in her white trainers, and was greeted with a tight hug from Akeria, whose eyes were already considerably glassy. Scarlet was led through to Akeria’s huge, fairy-lights-and-mirrors covered room, where a huge cheer went up from the girls inside at her arrival. Plastique, Nina and Brooke Lynn were all sat on the edge of Akeria’s huge bed, and Silky and Vanessa were on the worn, purple carpet beside them, making a semicircle. Yvie was sat on the small sofa opposite the bed, dressed in a black lace jumpsuit that caused Scarlet’s pulse to race. Smiling and raising up the bottle of gin from her bag, Scarlet laughed as another cheer exploded in the room. She stepped carefully over the dwindling pack of cards that formed a circle around a pint glass full of a liquid that looked absolutely vile, and sat on the sofa beside Yvie, shrugging her jacket off.

“Hey,” Yvie smiled, flipping her septum piercing in and out of her nose absent-mindedly. “You look nice. I like this.”

Scarlet felt her cheeks heat up as Yvie momentarily touched her bare thigh, fiddling with the material at the hem of Scarlet’s dress. Scarlet rolled her shoulders back and flipped some of her hair over one. “Thanks! Just got it today. You look so good!”

“God, this old thing?” Yvie put a hand to her chest and laughed, Scarlet joining in until Akeria squashed herself down on the sofa beside her.

“Thanks for stealing my space,” she said unamused and giving Scarlet a quick once-over with her eyes. “Here, I got you a glass.”

Scarlet thanked her and poured herself out a measure of gin and lemonade which was approximately 40% gin and 60% mixer. She watched as Vanjie pulled out a card from the deck and a huge roar went up from the girls, a King staring back at the girl’s disappointed face.

“Aw, fuck my life!”

“Get it down, girl!” Yvie laughed, delighting in the other girl’s anguish.

“Vanjie, I’ll drink half if you really don’t want to,” came Brooke’s voice, the groans of objection from the other girls almost making Scarlet miss the grateful smile that Vanjie shot Brooke’s way.

“Um, no the fuck you won’t, bitch!” Yvie piped up again, outraged.

“Yeah this ain’t fuckin’ I’m A Celebrity, drink the damn thing!” Silky all but screamed, the girls chanting as Vanjie raised the glass to her lips and tilted it, some of whatever was in it dripping down her chin and spilling onto her black vinyl skirt. In under ten seconds, the glass was empty and the room was cheering, Vanjie giving a triumphant smile and wiping at her mouth with a somewhat flailing arm.

“Okay, next game!” Plastique demanded, thumping her knees.

“Question game,” Nina said instantly in a monotone voice, some girls cheering and some girls groaning. Scarlet’s heart dropped.

“Noo, please! Last time we played this I got my chat nickname, and it’s fucking horrific.”

“What, when you had to tell everyone that you were the one who left the used tampon in our toilet?” Yvie laughed, and Scarlet felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.

“It wouldn’t flush!! And I wasn’t about to leave it lying at the top of your bin, was I?!” she cried, Yvie laughing and pulling her into her side for a hug. Scarlet supposed the embarrassment was worth it.

“Okay, no tampon-themed questions, guys,” Akeria laughed, the others muttering a laugh around her. “Remember, if you stumble, you answer and drink, if it’s a shit question, you answer and drink-”

“Akeria! We’re in third year! We know how the fuck the game works!” Brooke exclaimed, the other girl narrowing her eyes at her.

“I’m out to get you now, bitch,” she said forebodingly, Yvie “oooooh”-ing spookily beside Scarlet and making her laugh. “Who’s starting?”

“Me!” Silky yelled, and launched into her first question before anyone could object. “Akeria, who was the last person you fucked?”

“Nina, have you ever got with a stranger in the club?” she immediately fired across the room, the other girl’s face dropping in surprise.

“Vanjie, where’s the worst place you’ve had sex?”

“Plastique, would you ever go there with Ariel?” she yelled, her face relaxing in relief that the heat was off her. Plastique, who had been taking a drink at the time, choked, and a chorus of cheers went up as the girls realised she’d have to answer. Scarlet felt for Plastique as a red prickly heat began to spread across her chest and neck.

“I mean,” she began, her voice suddenly quiet. “I guess? Like maybe it would be weird but…whatever. Yes. It’d be fun, and we wouldn’t be awkward about it the next day. And I wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame. I’d just go across the hall to my own room. So it’s convenient.“

“So the fact that she’s hot just doesn’t come into it?” Brooke deadpanned, a bomb of laughter exploding in the room and Brooke receiving an elbow in the ribs for her trouble. Scarlet could relax for the small amount of time the game wasn’t being played. She always lived in terrible fear that someone would bring up the weird sort of relationship that she and Yvie had, and she really didn’t want to have to address it. Finishing her drink, Plastique began again.

“Nina, what’s the biggest dick you’ve ever taken?”

“Brooke, anal: thoughts?”

Brooke laughed as she attempted to get her question out. “Scarlet, have you ever had inappropriate thoughts about someone in this room?”

FUCK. “Akeria, what’s the youngest you’d ever go?”

“Plastique, have you ever done speed?”

“Yvie, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever masturbated with?”

“The hell?” Yvie scrunched up her face and laughed, before moving on quickly. “Brooke, if you could fuck anyone in this room, who would it be?”

Scarlet’s mouth dropped open as she watched Brooke’s face turn white. “Silky, um…uh…oh, fuck! I had one!”

The room descended into chaos as everyone realised Brooke would have to answer the question. Scarlet jumped as she suddenly felt Yvie lean in to her side and whisper in her ear.

“How many times do we have to play this game at pres before Brooke answers with Vanessa? She has to at some point, right?”

Scarlet laughed and sat forward eagerly to hear Brooke’s answer, noticing Vanjie looking at her intently out of the corner of her eye.

“Um…” Brooke began, then laughed and took Nina’s hand. “I’m going to say Nina. Because she would make you a cup of tea afterwards and breakfast in the morning, and really what more would you want?”

Scarlet didn’t miss the way Vanjie’s smile turned into a fake one and something shut down behind her eyes. With a pang of empathy, she narrowed her eyes at Brooke and shook her head. “Shit answer!”

Brooke and Nina fixed their surprised gazes on Scarlet as the other girls laughed and some of them agreed. Nina raised her eyebrows in mock-offence. “Scarlet, I’m offended! Are you saying I would be a shit fuck!”

Scarlet felt panic rise in her chest. “No, I-”

Nina burst out laughing. “I’m only kidding, you’re right, it was a shit answer.”

Scarlet joined in with the laughter and shouts that filled the room, confidence spiking again. Brooke soon started the game once more. As things progressed, the girls got more and more drunk and more and more loud, and Scarlet’s gin and tequila got passed around the room, everyone appreciative of free alcohol. As they drank more, Scarlet felt herself and Yvie grow closer together on the sofa until she was practically in the other girl’s lap. The only problem was, as everyone drank more, they all became less on the ball with coming up with questions rapidly.

“Akeria, how do you really feel about Silky?”

“Plastique, what’s your net worth?”

“Scarlet, gaaah, have you ever had a sexy dream about someone in this room?”

“Silky, have you ever farted in bed?”

“Oh my God, y'all nasty! Yvie, have you ever fantasised about anyone in this room?”

“Nina, where was the last time that you…I mean, when was the last place…god damn it!” Yvie exclaimed, jeers filling the room as Yvie blushed uncharacteristically. Scarlet’s interest was piqued. With a small jab of annoyance, she’d wished that Silky had asked who Yvie had fantasised about, but then she’d maybe get an answer she didn’t want to hear.

“Um. Yeah. Obviously! I mean, haven’t we all?” Yvie shrugged, trying to play the question off casually. Scarlet felt her heart speed up in her chest. Akeria raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the arm of the sofa.

“Haven’t we all imagined ourselves in a sexual situation with one of our friends? I don’t think you’re gonna like the answer to that,” she chuckled, Plastique howling with laughter.

“Unless your name’s Brooke or Vanessa,” Yvie shrugged, the girls all descending into screeches of laughter, Silky’s being the loudest as she got up from the floor and started jumping on an unimpressed Akeria’s bed. Scarlet looked at Brooke, who was eyeing Yvie darkly with a tight smile on her face. Yvie cleared her throat beside Scarlet, her eyes expressing regret as if she’d gone too far. Changing the subject, she asked the next question. “Uh, Akeria, what’s your body count?”

“Nina, what’s going on with you and Monet from your course?”

“Ah, oh, um,” Nina began, flustered. She shut her eyes tightly. “Brooke, what’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent?”

“Plastique, how many nudes have you sent?”

“Vanjie, who’s the most fuckable person in this room?”

Vanjie screwed up her face and gestured in disbelief. “Shit question, bitch.”

Shouts of objection filled the room. Vanessa put her hands out in front of herself in protest.

“Now, now, now, wait a damn minute! It’s only shit because there’s an obvious answer,” she shrugged, taking a sip of Scarlet’s gin that she’d mixed with her Fanta. As everybody waited with baited breath, she rolled her eyes. “Brooke Lynn. Duh.”

As if it was Wembley Stadium at full time, the room exploded with cheers and roars, and Scarlet doubled over giggling. Brooke was laughing but her face had gone beetroot red, and Vanjie was smiling, pleased she’d elicited such a reaction. Scarlet felt herself fall into Yvie’s side as she laughed. This was great! She was having such a good time!

There was a sudden three bangs on the front door out in the hall, silencing the room and making Scarlet jump. Many of the girls giggled anxiously as Akeria threw her hands up and shook her head.

“Nope! No, I got the last three, I am not getting this one as well.”

“Bitch! Lemme at ‘em,” Silky exclaimed, getting up from her position on the floor. There was silence in which some of the girls (mostly Plastique) made inappropriate comments to try and get everyone to laugh, while they listened through the door to Silky, Vanessa and Akeria’s upstairs neighbour rant and rave about how he had work in the morning, and how this was the fourth time in two weeks, and how next time it would be the police that would get called. As she giggled, Scarlet felt Yvie take her hand and squeeze it, the other girl laughing evilly under her breath and making her laugh even more.

Fuck. Scarlet was beginning to realise her friendship with Yvie wasn’t strictly a friendship anymore.

The bang from the front door caused everyone to jump, and Silky was back in the room almost as quickly as she’d left.

“RIGHT bitches, c’mon, you heard the man, drink up, move, move, move!”

And with that, Scarlet tugged Yvie up from her position on the sofa, ready for the night that lay ahead and all the regrets and consequences that could accompany it.

#rpdr fanfiction

133 notes · View notes

gastricpierrot · 5 years

Text

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[Chapter 3]

“Get on, Lio. We’re gonna go have lunch with the boys.”

Is the first thing Galo says when Lio walks up to him. Lio fails to suppress a smile at his wording.

“Galo, what the heck,” he says, accepting the helmet Galo passes to him nonetheless. Galo straps on his gear as he explains.

“Gueira and Meis have been going on and on about treating you to something nice once you’re out so,” he seats himself, “lunch’s on them today. They should be waiting for us when we get there since it’s closer to their place.”

“I see.” Lio climbs on after Galo, putting his arms around his waist and interlocking his fingers. Galo starts up the engine and goes over the usual routines with habitual ease, then glances over his shoulder when he notices Lio slipping into silence.

“You okay?” his voice comes through a hidden speaker built in his helmet. And honestly? Lio isn’t quite sure himself. Everything still feels a bit unreal. The silence, the blue skies, the fact that he’s right here now and not at the site doing the labor that’s become a usual for him. Even the fact that he’s now speaking to someone else so freely without a time limit looming over them—Lio seems to have yet to process them all.

“Just a little tired,” Lio replies, which he guesses pretty much sums it up too.

“What, you’re that excited about today that you couldn’t sleep?” Galo teases, to which Lio only hums ambiguously because he’s not wrong but he doesn’t quite want to give him the satisfaction of being correct. “It’ll take a bit of time for us to get there so feel free to lean against me and get some rest. Just don’t forget to keep holding on, though—wouldn’t want you falling off halfway.”

And Lio only hums to that again, seizing the chance to get comfortable yet not too much so before Galo starts on their way to the diner.

It’s...been a while since he had such close contact with another person, it eventually dawns Lio as they cruise through the roads of the city. Galo’s so much different from the pillow he’s hugged for comfort on nights where his chest feels hollow enough to hurt. He's warmer, solid. Alive. There, with him.

Lio holds Galo just a little tighter, leaning against his back as he’s offered. Just until the sudden wave of something in his chest goes away, just until the sounds of traffic around them and the rush of cool air against his skin could distract him again.

The pizza diner is a quaint little place in the middle of a lively district decorated with colorful banners and flowery bushes along the sidewalks. It looks like there’s either going to be a festival soon, or one has just passed. Galo manages to find a parking right outside the restaurant, and Lio has just climbed off and barely removed his helmet when he hears a couple of enthusiastic, familiar voices calling for their Boss.

He manages to put the helmet away just before Gueira and Meis sprint over and envelop him in a crushing three-person hug.

Everything about them screams familiarity: their touch, scent, warmth. It finally begins to sink in. How long Lio has actually been away, how long he’s been separated from the people he considers his family. They might have developed the habit of calling him their Boss, but Gueira and Meis have always been more like his older brothers, his caretakers when he’s not out there presenting himself as the leader of Mad Burnish. They respected him, no doubt, but they also loved him as their own. Always supporting him in the wild things he does, always knowing when to make sure he doesn’t go overboard and hurt himself.

Lio misses them. He misses his brothers so much.

“You guys,” he swallows the lump in his throat, holding them closer, “it’s so good to see you again.”

“Bosssssssssssss!” Gueira proceeds to wail, almost overlapping with Meis’ demands of “Why did you suddenly run off and do that all by yourself!!!”

Lio does his best to calm them, promising he’ll tell them in a bit so why don’t they just go grab a bite first? The two are quick to start enthusiastically listing out recommendations as they start heading towards the diner, and part of Lio still can’t seem to get over how...unchanged they seem. It feels like home, with them. Safe, accepting, anchoring.

He turns around to prompt Galo to come along, too, and sees the fond smile he’s wearing while he watches them.

“Galo,” Lio feels himself returning the smile as he beckons him over, “let’s go.”

Meis has already made a reservation beforehand, so they’re immediately led to a table by the window once the staff confirms the details. Lio easily gets coaxed into being squished between his brothers on one side while Galo takes the other alone. Lio assures them he’s fine with anything when asked for any preferences, and in no time their orders are placed (with specific requests to exclude onions, of course; they still remember how much Lio dislikes them) and they finally have time to themselves.

Gueira and Meis are quick to resume their questions; Lio can’t blame them. He'd made that drastic, spontaneous decision all by himself back then, after all. Of course they’d still be in the dark with a lot of details. Gueira recounts how he’d actually decked Galo when he found out Lio had been arrested, thinking he had let it all happen despite having just teamed up with him to save the world (“Sorry ‘bout that, bro.” “I told you already, it’s cool bro.”) Meis apparently had even almost gone as far as planning to break into the detention center itself to get Lio out of there. It was a mess. It’d taken Burning Rescue a lot of yelling and reasoning to get the agitated Burnish to calm down and listen.

“We really thought they were going to lock you up for life, Boss,” Meis admits, staring at his own clasped hands on the table. “And I'm sure if it weren’t for the firefighters and that team of researchers, they would have.”

“I know we haven’t thanked you properly for all you’ve done for us and the Boss,” Gueira adds, then grimly faces Galo without a shred of hesitation. “So thanks, Galo. For all your help.”

“No, no need to thank me in particular! It’s all team effort!” Galo is, in true Galo fashion, instantly dismissive. “We couldn’t possibly have just left all of you by yourselves after all that. The Burnish had gone through enough as it was.”

“But what you have done,” Lio reminds him, “is keep me company through those five years. And that alone has saved me more than you can imagine.” He looks up to meet Galo’s gaze. “So thank you. Take credit for at least that.”

“It’s nothing, really!!” Galo insists, face turning slightly red from all the sudden gratitude directed at him. When he realizes this, he covers his face with his hands and just lets out a meaningful “AaaaaAAaaa!!”

“Just accept it, Thymos, because from now on we’d probably die for you.” Gueira says like it isn’t even a joke. “Right, Boss?”

“Please cherish your own lives and don’t do that,” Galo pleads. The pizzas arrive in that moment, giving him the chance to steer the conversation another direction. “A-Anyway, enough of all the serious stuff now that food is here! Let’s eat while it’s still fresh!”

And so they do. Lio pulls out a slice of pizza, still steaming hot and dripping with cheese. He's somewhat gotten used to the feeling of heat on his fingers now, though on some days it’d still feel so foreign and unfathomable. On some days he’s still inexplicably tempted to find out how far he can go before it’s unbearable, before his skin blisters and burns when he’s been immune to injuries like those almost half his life.

Lio takes his first bite, and immediately has to take a deep breath. He's gotten too used to the bland food of the detention center, he realizes. The richness of the cheese and the tomato paste and the olive oil simultaneously assaults his taste buds, and he’s almost overwhelmed.

Meis is the first to notice his lack of enthusiasm and quickly offers, “Boss, if you don’t like it we can—”

Lio raises a hand and shakes his head, stifling a burp. “It’s not that I don’t like it, Meis. I’m just...not used to it yet. I’m sure it’ll get better in a few minutes.”

“Just don’t force yourself if you really can’t have it, yeah?” Gueira insists, brow furrowed. “We can always get something easier to stomach for you, like garlic bread or something.”

“No need.” Lio is just as adamant. “You guys are sharing something you like with me. I can do at least this.”

He tries his best, with many sips of water in between. Their conversation eventually picks up again, and Lio lets himself to be distracted enough to ignore a portion of the pizza’s richness that’s making him sick. He encourages Meis and Gueira to share all about what they’ve been up to and they do; they’ve started out mostly acting as representatives of the former Burnish, aiding Heris and her team in their efforts by providing detailed testimonials of the terrors they had witnessed and experienced. Once that was mostly settled and they found they could not be much use anywhere else, they’d started looking for jobs, knowing they can never rely too much on provisions from an unstable government. Many other adult Burnish must’ve thought the same, gradually finding the courage to put themselves out there again when Heris’s campaign began gaining more momentum.

In Gueira and Meis’ case, there had been no question. Galo had told them about Lio’s community service and involvement in restoring destroyed infrastructure during his detention. They couldn’t let him carry such burden all by himself. So they’d found a company that couldn’t care less about them being past fire-wielding hooligans as long as they could do a good job and, like Lio, had learnt to rebuild instead of destroy.

Lio’s already heard about some of what they’ve been doing from Galo as soon as they got the job. It is his first time, however, hearing their motivations. If they couldn’t be close to Lio in person, they’d do it in spirit. They could indirectly share similar experiences, similar aches, even similar doubts and frustrations. He’s not alone. They refuse to let him be, even if he doesn’t realize it.

“You’d be dumb to think we’ll let you go off on your own so easily after everything.” Gueira ends his recollection with a grin, slinging an arm across Lio’s shoulders. “We’ll always be here for you, Boss. No matter what.”

And of all the times Lio has had the sudden, unexplainable urge to cry that day, this is the first where he fails to keep the tears back. Those five years...he’d been lonely. So ridiculously much so. He might’ve gotten used to being by himself, but that didn’t stop the invisible weight from pressing down on his chest, didn’t stop him from feeling like he’s so disconnected and isolated despite Galo’s fleeting presence. It all comes crashing over him like a tidal wave. The past five years hadn’t been extremely hard on him physically; he could bear with the soreness, the harassment, the other petty less-than-ideal things even in his standards. But it had been so unbearably lonesome.

No one makes a fuss when he cries. His brothers hold him, offering support in silence. Galo averts his gaze to give him some privacy, though if Lio had been looking he’d see how misty his eyes are, too.

Lio feels like a child again. It’s been so long since he’s had such a privilege; to just bask in their unwavering presence, their scent, their warmth, their affection—without having to worry about how weak he might look, how unreliable he’d seem to others if he ever bared the cracks in his being. Lio cries; he cries until his throat hurts and the cheese on the pizza tastes even worse than before.

And once it’s all over, once the knot in his chest has finally faded away, he laughs. And he admits he can’t stomach the pizza anymore.

“So what do you plan to do after this?” Galo asks a little later when Lio’s munching on the tuna sandwiches they ordered for him after he’s calmed down. Lio sniffs and takes a moment to think it over, not quite sure himself what’s going to happen next.

“Is there anyone who are still in the shelters? Maybe I could just drop by and see how they’re doing.” He decides that could be a good place to begin.

Meis and Gueira exchange a look at that. “As far as we know, most of us have already found our own places to stay,” Meis tells him, “the ones who remain are mostly those who aren’t willing to leave because they still get free provisions.”

Lio hums in more thought before deciding it’s still worth a try. “I want to have an idea of how it was for you guys when I was gone, anyway. Plus I'll need somewhere to stay at in the meantime, so I might as well.”

“You could always just stay with us, Boss! It’s really not a problem!” Gueira’s quick to offer, but Lio’s already made up his mind.

“You and Meis are both busy, and I'm sure you guys need your privacy too. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

They bicker back and forth about that for a bit; they’re understandably stubborn about not leaving Lio by himself. He’s been away for such a long while and all he’s got with him are the clothes on his back. They're the only people he has contact with, and the only people he can directly count on at the moment. Lio’s silly to still insist on trying to handle everything himself and refusing to rely on the only people he can, he knows. It’s just something he thinks he’s got to do, some rite of passage he thinks he must go through before he earns the right to ask for help.

“Lio, listen.”

Amongst the bickering, Galo eventually speaks up. He waits until they’ve quieted down, until Lio meets his gaze before he continues.

“Burning Rescue accepts recruits a few times a year, the next being in about a month,” he tells him. “There’s not much prior qualifications needed for the job as long as your physically fit and you’d get to stay in a dorm during the training period. If it’s something you want to try out, I can ask the Captain to throw in a recommendation for you.”

He then looks at the other two. “Meis, Gueira—this is still open to you guys, too.”

There he goes again, doing...this. Butting into people’s lives, needlessly trying to help even in the littlest ways.

“You don’t have to decide so quickly, though!” Galo hurriedly waves his hands in front of himself and adds when the others lapse into a minute of thoughtful silence. “Just know that if you have nowhere else to go, you guys are always welcomed in the FDPP.”

“That’s very reassuring.” Lio genuinely means it. “Thanks, Galo.”

Galo grins, and Lio is once again reminded of how fortunate he is to have him by his side. He’s always been there for them, always been ready to help without expecting anything in return. Lio’s hit by the sudden, overwhelming urge to give back to him; ten-fold, a thousand-fold. He isn’t sure how and if that’d even be possible in his lifetime, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to try.

If it’s for Galo, surely he’d be able to do anything at all.

xXx

They spend the next few hours more just talking about everything and anything, just sharing laughter and anecdotes. Just like every other group of close friends.

And then it’s time for Meis and Gueira to prepare for their shift in the evening, and they have to leave. Galo again offers Lio a ride since the shelter is a little out of the other two’s way to work. Though, it might be a little more accurate to say he’d insisted to do so, refusing to listen to even a syllable of argument from Lio about being a bother to him. It's been five years, and Lio still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with this childishly stubborn side of him.

“Lio.”

But there’s one thing he’s learnt, and that there’s always so much more of Galo under his daily boisterous façade. Lio once again catches of a glimpse of it when Galo calls his name a little while after he’s begun driving.

“It didn’t feel right for me to say this in front of the guys just now,” Galo starts, his voice calm and quiet through the speaker, “but you can always stay at my place too next time if you want. It’s pretty big and I live alone so it’s cool even if another person comes over.”

Galo doesn’t stop trying to keep giving and giving, especially to him. Part of Lio still can’t quite comprehend why he’s willing to go such lengths for his sake when he’s got nothing to gain from it. Doesn’t it grow tiring at some point? Isn't it enough that his entire career is based on the idea of helping others in need? Doesn’t it grow exhausting when he lets it extend to even personal matters like this?

“Galo,” Lio’s asking before he can even properly sort out his thoughts, “why are you so kind to me?”

“Mmm, isn’t that obvious?” Galo sounds genuinely confused that Lio doesn’t understand something so simple. “It’s because you’re my friend!”

Lio frowns. “That doesn’t mean you have to do so many things for my sake.”

“Lio, I don’t have to do it,” Galo says, patiently, “I want to do it. Also, don’t get so full of yourself—a lot of it is for my own sake too, y’know. I’m much more selfish than you might think.”

“That’s truly a surprise,” Lio can’t help but snark to that last bit, and it prompts a playful protest from Galo that leads to some laughter shared.

“Nah, but really,” Galo says once the mirth has faded away, voice taking that quiet, gentle tone once more. “I don’t get it all myself, but I just feel like the way our paths crossed, the way coincidences somehow brought us together to literally save the world—” he takes a breath— “don’t you think it feels a bit like destiny?”

Lio blinks, trying to process the actual words that’d just come out of Galo’s mouth. Destiny? It’s such a fantastical concept, something out of the fairy tales Lio had read when he was a little child. It’s something Lio doesn’t expect to hear in this day and age, yet it doesn’t sound too far-fetched to have come from Galo. Galo, who constantly boasts of other fantastical things like his burning spirit and blazing heart and being the best firefighter in the universe.

“Galo Thymos,” Lio observes, amused, “you’re a surprisingly romantic man.”

“Anything wrong with that?” The pout is evident in Galo’s response even though Lio can’t see it. He sighs, smiles.

“None at all.” You’re amazing the way you are, he manages to stop himself from adding despite truly believing so. He isn’t quite prepared to face the embarrassment of telling him that just yet. Perhaps the day will come when he is, perhaps it will never. Lio doesn’t bother mulling over it.

They soon slip into a comfortable silence, content with simply sharing the space, the moment. Galo must’ve heard Lio yawning at some point, pulling over to shrug off his jacket and tie its sleeves around both their waists. Lio figures it’s to help prevent him from falling off as easily if he passes out, and the comfort of knowing so eventually adds to the effects from his full belly and fading adrenaline. His eyelids grow heavier by the minute, and he finds himself nodding off.

And the next thing he knows, Galo waking him and telling him they’ve arrived at the shelter.

It’s not a very big place, though Lio understands that they’ve gradually downsized the premise as more and more people left. There’s a small reception space at the front, then a hallway that leads to a canteen, shower stalls, and the toilets. The sleeping quarters are further back, in what looks like a small hall with cement floors and large windows at intervals across the walls. There are some used blankets and mattresses strewn across the back corners of the hall, rubbish and dirty laundry littering the space around them. Compared to the rest of the place that’s maintained so perfectly, those areas seem like dumpsters.

“You sure you want to be here?” Galo asks one last time as Lio begins filling the paperwork, frowning in obvious disapproval at whoever’s been hanging around.

“I’m an ex-terrorist who's been in detention, Galo. I know how to take care of myself.” Lio assures as he finishes up and hands the documents back to the receptionist. He tries to ignore the uncomfortable stare he gets from him—maybe he shouldn’t have said that first bit out loud. Oops.

The pout in Galo’s frown intensifies as he tries to come up with more reasons to argue, but he ends up giving in this time. He instead asks for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling down some things before handing it to Lio.

"Here’s Gueira and Meis’ numbers,” he says, shoving the note into Lio’s hands and folding his fingers over it. “Mine’s there, too. Call us anytime if you need us, alright? Use this place’s landline or a payphone or something since you don’t have a cellphone yet.”

He can be so overprotective at times, Lio muses. “Will you be dropping by every night again?”

He'd meant it mostly as a joke, but Galo’s serious when he answers, “If I can!”

“Please don’t,” Lio pleads, though he knows it’s mostly impossible to change his mind at this point.

“There’s no way for us to reach you if you suddenly up and disappear, Lio!” Galo’s a little more agitated than necessary when he reminds him. “What if something happens!!”

“It won’t,” Lio soothes, gesturing for him to lower his voice. “I’ll be fine, Galo. You’ve worried enough about me.”

“And you can’t expect me to stop now.” Galo crosses his arms across his chest.

Lio gives him a look, like really, what am I going to do with you. “Just go, Galo. It’s been a day for the both of us. I want to wind down soon too.”

“I’ll try to come here after work tomorrow—maybe around seven? We can have dinner together or something?” Galo asks as he lets Lio steer him around and gently push him towards the exit.

“Just do what you like.”

“It’s settled then!” Lio walks right into him when he suddenly plants his feet on the ground and stops to turn around and face him again. “Be careful if you’re going to go out wandering later, yeah?”

“Yes, yes.” Lio smiles crookedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Galo.”

Tomorrow. Yet another tomorrow with Galo to look forward to. Yet another thing that Lio’s glad remains unchanged.

#promare #galolio #liogalo #lio fotia #galo thymos #here it is everyone sorry for the late update!!#new job fucked me up good oof #ive been working on this for so long that theres a shortcut for the onedrive link i have it on now hhhhhh #the flow in the first drafts was SO WEIRD it just took so much time trying to figure out what was wrong #even now im not sure if its much better but mannnn i really hope its at least tolerable #to everyone reading thanks so much for sticking with me #ill keep trying my best for the next chapters!!#fanfiction

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kumkaniudaku · 6 years

Text

Couples Therapy: Rough Patch

ROUGH PATCH: ONE | ROUGH PATCH: THREE

Word Count: 1798

Fifteen days.

Two separate bedrooms, a wall of relative silence, no affection, and fifteen days of painful separation settled over the Boseman household in a thick, heavy fog.

Chadwick and Tasha sat a cushion apart in the quaint downtown Los Angeles office wrapped in their individual thoughts, recounting the last two weeks and some change and wondering where the newlywed bliss turned into constant quarreling.

Maybe it was when Chadwick went back to work sooner than anticipated, effectively cutting their alone time to a measly few minutes of conversation as Tasha rushed out of the door for work or before bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he shared some salty snack with her while they discussed each other’s day.

Tasha was sure the relationship went left when her old friend insecurity came to visit. She still struggled to understand why he chose her of all the women he had access to. And why did he wait so long? She often wondered if this was a pity relationship or one of convenience because, lately, their union didn’t feel like it was built on a foundation of love.

The soft click-click of the Newton’s Cradle resting on Dr. Barea’s coffee table became larger than life in the quiet room until the click and close of the wooden door introduced a third party.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite dating duo turned married couple,” Dr. Barea greeted as she took her seat in front of them. She took a moment to observe their unusual body language and tilted her head. “I’m assuming there’s more going on at home than the need for a baggage dump today. Which of you wants to start?”

Uneasy glances at each other yielded no results from the couple, prompting their therapist to take initiative.

“Okay, no one wants to volunteer, so I’ll choose. Tasha, how about you start us off.”

In her mind, Tasha had laid out the issues she wanted to discuss over and over. When she forwarded Chadwick the appointment confirmation days prior, she took her lunch break to type out a list of concerns and demands that she needed to get off of her chest. But now, with the opportunity to finally release what had been bothering her in an eloquent soliloquy, words she hadn’t planned to say came tumbling out in a rush she couldn’t control.

“Why? We spent years together before this, faking the funk and sharing feelings that platonic friends don’t share and you never, ever made a move to solidify us earlier. Why? Because I really need to know if I’m what you want or simply what you had left.”

“I told you when I proposed. I couldn’t give you what I thought you deserved.”

“Mmm, see, I don’t buy that. I don’t,” CoCo answered, half laughing while she shook her head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Oh, now it’s bullshit. Everything is bullshit when it isn’t what you wanna hear, T.”

“Chad, don’t start that. Ju-”

“Tasha,” Dr. Barea interrupted to stop the rant boiling to the surface. “Do you want him to give you an answer or not?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Chadwick and Dr. Barea watched Tasha fold her arms and turn her body like a petulant child.

When the young therapist opened her mouth to speak, Chadwick lifted his hand to stop whatever she had to say. It was time for husband and wife to have a heart to heart with no interference.

“Ever since we were kids you have been damn near perfect. You got better grades, larger accomplishments, and the better job when we were done with school. I could not compete, and to be honest, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to be part of your world.”

Dr. Barea could see tension leaving Tasha’s body though she refused to turn and face Chadwick. Her small nod in his direction encouraged Chadwick to continue.

“Do you remember when you broke up with that guy you dated for like six weeks? When I asked you about it, you told me that he didn’t deserve you because he ‘didn’t have a pot to piss in or window to throw it out of’. And I laughed and agreed, but when you left, I stood in my rundown apartment knowing that I would probably never have the chance to have you.”

“Aaron, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, but you said it,” he said, the hurt still apparent in his tone.

“I waited. I waited until I was doing well for myself and could afford to piss in a hundred pots and choose a window to throw it out of, only for you to be with someone else. Then I fought for you against the wishes of almost everyone around me because I knew you were the only person that would make this worth it. So, please, don’t ever question if you’re what I want. You are all I want.”

Chadwick’s attention had shifted from the back of Tasha’s head to the ground beneath him, robbing him of the chance to see his wife turn to look at him with sympathetic eyes. Fighting the voice in the back of her head that told her it wasn’t a good idea, she reached across the empty cushion to place her palm on his forearm.

“Please...don’t pee in our pots.” For the first time in weeks, Chadwick cracked a tiny smile in Tasha’s direction to earn a similar smile from his wife.

“That was progress. Do you feel satisfied with the answer you received, Tasha?”

She peeled her eyes from her husband to give the woman and answer, “I do. I feel like a bitch for even questioning him.”

“You’re not a bitch, T. Don’t say that.”

“I might not be a bitch, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I hurt you. I’m so-”

“Why do you do that?” The sliver of warmth in Chadwick’s eyes returned to a cold, dark stare as flashbacks of their last argument played in his mind.

“Do what? What did I do?”

“Every single time I make an observation or I tell you something, you have a rebuttal! Why do you feel the need to have the last word?”

Tasha felt the wind being knocked from her lungs as she took time to seriously contemplate the answer to Chadwick’s question. She mentally recounted all of the instances of her unnecessary commentary or when she cut him off in the middle of a sentence and felt smaller the more they began to stack up.

“I think...I think I’m used to being around people that need my input and guidance every second of every work day. I mean I work with a lot of incompetent people!”

CoCo’s attempt at a joke fell flat, earning blank stares from the other two people in the room.

“So you think Chadwick is incompetent and needs guidance?”

“No! Not at all,” she exclaimed in an attempt to gather her words.

“I think you should tell him that.”

Chadwick’s expectant and sad eyes bore into Tasha’s waiting for even half of the soul sharing he awarded her.

“I do a terrible job compartmentalizing,” she admitted more to herself than to Chadwick. “I’ve always felt the need to interject because I’ve always had to. You know the dynamic between my mom and me, and at work, I’m always the go-to person to keep the ship afloat. I have to remember that you are just as capable if not more than me to make decisions. You’re a breath of fresh air, not a repeat of the outside world.”

In the midst of the emotional moment came a slow round of applause that shifted the couple’s attention from each other to their trusted practitioner.

“I think that is a first for you two since we’ve started this process.”

“Us ending a baggage dump without tears,” Chadwick questioned as he finally tore his eyes away from his wife.

“No. Tasha finally admitted she does things the wrong way every once in a while.” Dr. Barea’s joke added levity to the tense atmosphere in the way that she intended, pulling hearty laughs from her favorite newlyweds. “Here’s my homework.”

“Please, Andrea, no homework this time. Let’s end on a high note.”

“When you become the therapist, you can make those decisions, Mrs. Boseman,” she smiled, earning a playful eye roll. “I want you two to spend some time together. I’m not saying jump back into newlywed bliss, but I do want some uninterrupted, private time between you. Spend the day in each other’s presence with no outside interference.”

“Sounds easy enough. I need a break from writing anyway.”

“And Lord knows I need a reason to stay out of the office on the weekends.”

“You say that now, but here’s the challenge,” Andrea laughed. “Tasha, you have to let Chadwick lead the entire way. No objections unless it is detrimental to your wellbeing.”

“But-”

“Aht! No objections!” Tasha agreed with a childish grumble that pulled a chuckle from Chadwick. He planned to have some fun with that rule. “As for you Chadwick, you are required to show Tasha just how much you want her. I won’t tell you how, but know that it can not be a singular gesture. Make a day out of reminding her why you chose her.”

Once ground rules were established and agreed upon, Chadwick and Tasha walked out of the office with one less weight crushing their relationship. Chadwick followed his wife to her car in silence, sneaking the occasional glance at the striking features that he still found just as beautiful as the day he met her.

Tasha decided to start her exercise early and let him guide her into her seat before closing the door behind her and leaning over to pop his head into the open window.

“I hope I’m not being too forward by asking you to spend the day with me Friday. I know you have to work but, I was hoping we could maybe -”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Tasha smiled bashfully at Chadwick’s surprise, “I’ll take a personal day and start the weekend early. Should I wear something specific or?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you put on,” he smiled. “Meet me downstairs for breakfast in the morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

Though affection didn’t feel “right” following an intense fifteen days, the couple shared smiles and a light handshake before Tasha disappeared into traffic to resume her work day.

Fifteen days.

In two weeks, misunderstandings and missed opportunities to communicate had nearly destroyed a bond that took 20 years to build. Now, one day could make or break Chadwick and Tasha for good.

_____________

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bisexualstokes-archive · 5 years

Text

Atrophy (7/7)

Chapter (7/7): One Way Or Another Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence, this chapter also includes mentions of sexual abuse) Summary: A struggle for the return to normalcy, and then the robbery of it. Chapter Notes: IT'S DONE. I want to extend a huge thank you to all of those who let me bounce ideas, share previews, and have read this entire fic and showed your support! Also...Veronica will return...in a sequel I had planned before I even wrote this fic. @letswaitforme,@deltajackdalton,@impossiblepluto,@mutatedsilverunicorn,@12percentplan,@telltaleclerk…seriously, thank you all for joining me on this fic journey.

Previous Chapter | Read on ao3

The first case back was always rough, no matter who it was, no matter what terrible experience they had just endured. Remnants of physical injuries, bandages, casts, pain killers accompanied the weary CSIs as they struggled to return to normalcy. There was always this lightness in the air, euphoria that the CSI returned, but also this odd sort of tension, that they might just snap or freak out at any given time.

Nick had always seemed to bounce back quickly, though. Perhaps it was his amnesia over his most recent kidnapping (the fact that phrase implies multiple kidnappings tugs at something in Greg’s heart), but one would think that nothing had happened to him at all, that he had just had a long vacation and returned back to work. Even when Grissom had stuck him in the lab, under watchful eyes after both the stalker and Gordon incident, Nick didn’t seem too strung up about it, took it in stride.

Then again, he always did seem to overcompensate when it came to pleasing Grissom.

Catherine, however, let Nick return to the field on his first case back from the Jekyll case--although that might have been caused by the short-handedness on grave at the time. She let him work the funeral scene, even though he himself was a victim of the explosion that caused it. And she let him come work this triple homicide with herself and Greg, his first night back after his most recent brush with death.

Nick and Greg had driven to the scene together, Catherine had already performed a preliminary walk-through, taken notes on the scene.

“Okay, boys, let’s divide and conquer. Greg, you take the upstairs bedrooms, Nicky and I will stay down here.”

Though Catherine let him back into the field so soon, she definitely kept him on a short leash.

“Copy that,” Greg nodded, flashing a quick look to Nick, whose eyes seemed to linger on the staircase.

One of the three victims had been discovered upstairs, in a closet--perhaps they had tried to hide from the killer. Or maybe they were forced in, there were scratch marks on the inside of the door.

No wonder Catherine wanted me up here instead of Nick.

But Nick didn’t remember the closet anyway, maybe he would have been fine.

Greg began to document the closet, the lifeless body of the unfortunate victim morphing into Nick’s.

Click. Flash.

Maybe Catherine didn’t want to take the risk, that this would somehow trigger something within Nick causing him to remember the horror that Greg saw in another closet, in another house.

But on the other hand, maybe Nick remembering what had happened would lead them closer to finding the body in the picture, to finding Marsh’s killer, to finding who knocked out Greg...to finding the monster who broke Nick so much he didn’t even remember it.

“Maybe if we counted up all the damn ‘maybes,’ Maybe Nick would be alive!”

An old friend, reminding him, to reign in his focus.

Some time later, Greg finished processing the second level, was halfway down the stairs when Nick had said his first words since their car ride.

“Why’d you take a picture of that?” Nick asked Catherine, Greg could just barely see him--he was holding a snow globe, the glass was smudged with blood. A question that Nick wouldn’t normally ask, he’s far too experienced, the first sign that maybe he wasn’t as okay as he made it out to seem.

“Gotta document the scene, Nicky,” Catherine reminded him, in a casual tone, but something about it seemed to strike a chord in Nick.

All noise seemed to stop, the hustle of officers and technicians gathering evidence froze at the sound of glass shattering to the floor. Greg nearly fell down the stairs, as he ran down, to try and help--Catherine had already pushed Nick back, away from the glass. His body was rigid, his breathing fast and heavy. Hushed words, that Greg couldn’t make out, whispered into Nick’s ear as Catherine held his chest, steered his line of sight towards her.

“Then he what?” Sara asked Greg, hours later, as they sat in the break room and Greg recounted the incident.

“He yelled at Catherine, almost screamed that he was okay, and stormed off into another room. Didn’t see him after that. Catherine had me ride back with David and the bodies.”

“That’s...not like him.”

“No.”

They sat in silence, staring at the uneaten food in front of them.

“He was pretty quiet in the car on the way to the scene, too. Hasn’t really been that, uh...open, not that he normally is,” Greg quickly added, echoes of a threat to stay out of Nick’s private life flashed like a warning sign in his mind.

“Do you think he was...triggered by something?”

“Maybe? Catherine kept him away from the, uh...what I think would have done it.”

“Done what?”

Greg nearly jumped out of his seat, Nick walked into the room, heading straight to the refrigerator, as he always does.

“Uh, we were just…” Greg stammered anxiously, praying that Nick hadn’t heard him.

“Catherine kept Ray from the stabbing case last week,” Sara covered. “Figured it would bring up bad memories, you know?”

She was baiting him, to enter the discussion of triggers, a probe to see what might have caused Nick’s outburst. Greg felt terrible, talking about the man behind his back, but he had only done so out of concern. Maybe Sara’s bait would lead them to a more inclusive conversation.

“Yeah, I get that. I know she’s also keeping me off of solos for a while, nothing personal. She just cares, you know?” Nick chimed in. “She’s like the mother hen of our little family.”

Greg raised his eyebrows, Nick seemed oddly...cheery? Whatever anger he had directed at Catherine was seemingly gone.

“Yeah, guess she is,” Sara smiled at him. A smile spread across Nick’s face, and they all began to eat and talk, as if nothing had happened. Nick had even made a joke about the incident at the scene, remarked at his sudden case of “butterfingers” as he had also dropped his fork on the floor multiple times.

Perhaps Greg underestimated Nick, perhaps he was doing better than they all thought.

But then again, Greg had also not seen Nick’s trembling hands.

----------------------------------------------------

He was used to the nightmares. The restless nights of tossing and turning, unable to shut his eyes without shrill giggles waking him up. Distorted, horrific visions melted into his brain, of himself in the utmost agony, of people he loved being hurt because of him. Insomnia was nothing new to him, although the waking nightmares induced by sleep paralysis did catch him off guard, at first. Night terrors amplified by the sensation of being unable to move, hardly able to breathe. He doesn’t even wake up in a panic anymore, but rather, with a sigh of relief, that it was just a dream.

He would use any excess adrenaline from those nights for a run, no matter what time of day it was when he decided to call it quits on sleeping. The exercise helped him, anyway. Healthy body, healthy mind. Maybe he wasn’t working hard enough.

He was used to the eggshells strewn around him, people treading carefully when they speak to him. Everybody was so cautious on what they said to Nick, how they greeted him. People always seemed to treat him better, in those first few days returning back from hell. He tried to keep up appearances, cracking smiles and making jokes. His jokes always got a laugh, even if they were bad.

He was used to the mandatory therapy sessions, at this point. He knew what to say and how to act, in order to get through the hour and act like everything was okay, even if it truly wasn’t. Truth be told, it wasn’t that he wasn’t open to discussion over the events that brought him to the sessions, it was that he was expected to share that information with complete strangers.

He had told Grissom, many times over many years, that therapy just didn’t help. Grissom never bothered him about it, never pestered him. Just asked Nick to complete the sessions, for paperwork. He extended the hand, for Nick to seek help in other ways, either on a nature hike or a roller coaster ride.

But then Grissom left, and Catherine implored that he met with this latest therapist, first for the restaurant shooting and explosion, and now for latest disappearance.

“How can I talk about it, if I don’t remember?” Nick had argued, when she confronted him over the incident at the house.

“Sometimes...sometimes even if you don’t remember it, remnants of it show through your actions, Nicky. Maybe if you talk it out with someone, it’ll become clearer, maybe it’ll come back to you, and you’ll be able to cope with it, properly.”

It hurt him, but not because her words stung, implying that he wasn’t dealing with his past traumas properly--he thought he was doing okay, at that. He was eating right, working out, doing his best to get some sleep. He wasn’t freaking out every time he saw something that reminded him of the barrel of a gun (he was used to staring down that long, endless tunnel, anyway), every time he saw ants on the ground, every time he heard a gunshot or explosion. He wouldn’t be able to do his job, otherwise.

What hurt him, was the lie he had told Catherine. Not just Catherine, even, but everyone. Everyone except two people, who he had told at two separate times, in a hospital room, in a therapist's office.

“What do you remember?” Grissom’s voice asked softly, clutching Nick’s hand, which was suddenly cold, trembling. He was uncharacteristically comforting, perhaps it was his time spent away from the lab, away from the horror that he was once desensitized to.

“Not...much.” Nick gulped, he averted his eyes away from the man’s gaze, focused on the tiles of the floor. If he pretended he didn’t remember, then maybe he wouldn’t.

“Look at this picture, tell me what you see,” the therapist, Omar Varsden prompted Nick.

It was a picture of a dead man, sprawled out, dressed in a CSI vest, surrounded by evidence tags and Nick’s possessions that were taken from him. His gear, for investigating crime scenes. The corpse had marker painted on his head, spelling out Nick’s last name--a dart was dead-center embedded in the middle of the “O,” presumably it was the cause of death.

The man looked like Greg.

“Greg Sanders,” Nick had choked out. He was unable to hide that pain, no matter how hard he tried.

“That’s not him, Greg’s just outside,” Grissom told him, setting the photo down. He looked Nick in the eyes. “He was at the house, with you, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“CSI Sanders was there that night, wasn’t he?” Omar asked, setting the photo aside.

Nick nodded, wiped away a tear that was daring to escape his eye.

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Nicky, it’s okay. Whatever happened, you can tell me, and it will stay just between us. This isn’t some sort of debrief, this is...two friends, just talking to each other,” Grissom spoke--almost whispered to Nick. Nick felt all sorts of emotions; shock, pleasure, confusion...Grissom was never this...human. But that was a lie too, the man had shown a more vulnerable side to Nick, since his first kidnapping over five years ago.

“We’ve had quite a few sessions, Nick, and while we haven’t gotten to know each other too well yet, I sense that there’s more to the story than you’re letting on...Whatever happened, whatever you tell me, I must reiterate, will stay in this room,” Omar offered, nearly pleaded that Nick open up, for once, since they had started talking to each other on a weekly basis over a month ago.

What the hell do I have to lose, at this point?

“Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, huh?” Nick remarked, cracking a half smile, an attempt to cut through the odd sense of tension in the air, caught in his own web of lies and repression.

Both men had laughed at that, unable to resist Nick’s humorous charm.

He told them all he remembered, even told them her name, but he knew that even if he did officially tell anybody what happened, it wouldn’t help. He had remembered most of the details, of what was done to him, but he couldn’t quite remember what Veronica’s face looked like--outside of her piercing green eyes, her bright, vibrant lips spread into a wide smile. He remembered feelings and emotions, of helplessness and impotence. He couldn’t quite remember what the house he was taken too looked like, all he remembered seeing was the dead bird, sprawled on the ground, the image of which had turned to Greg, to him during his recollection. He couldn’t quite remember the appearance of the jogger that had nearly come to his aid, if he had been able to call for it, the image of which had turned to the various members of the team, running away from him when he needed them most...an image which reminded him of Warrick, stepping out of a hole in the ground, which sent him into a burst of hysterics.

Grissom had hugged him, in that moment, began to cry with him, at the mention of Warrick Brown. A bond, forged over the years through teaching, through mistakes, through near misses, through the death of a loved one. Nick felt strengthened, felt all the love that had he thought was gone from him, that Veronica had taken from him.

Omar had done nothing, sat back and just let Nick cry it out. Nick hugged himself, curled up on the couch, clutching the pillow, buried his face into it. He felt so embarrassed, wanted to stop crying, but he couldn’t. He felt like a little kid, crying for his mother and he felt weak. Omar was treating him with the same coldness that Veronica had treated him with, no offering of comfort, just...observation. He felt like he was under a microscope--as if he needed a reminder of how small Veronica had made him feel.

“Wh-Why me?” he choked out, when he found his voice again. “Why is it always me?”

Grissom was at a loss for words, somehow it was just as hard to tell Nick that this time, it was, in fact, about him, versus being a random target of Walter Gordon’s wrath.

“You said it yourself, she wanted to keep you. Like a trophy, perhaps,” Omar suggested, he was barely even paying attention to Nick, he was scribbling down as many notes as possible.

“Atrophy?” Nick melted the words together in a single huff of breath. He took a deep breath, then another, and another until the crying had stopped, though the headache would remain for hours to come.

“Psychopaths view love as some sort of...ownership. She saw you, fell ‘in love,’ and decided that you were hers, to do with whatever she pleases.” Grissom explained. Ah, there it was. The naive bluntness Nick was used to hearing from his mentor. At least he didn’t sugarcoat it.

“She wanted you, more than anything. Was infatuated by you. Did she attempt any sexual advances?” Omar prodded. This raw emotion was more than he had gotten out of Nick, might as well milk it for all its worth while he still could.

“No,” Nick vehemently retorted. “She didn’t...try anything, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It’s not what you think, a sing-song voice, rang through his head.

“I wasn’t,” Grissom whispered. “The evidence we do have...didn’t suggest that. But if she or...anybody else, did--”

He tore his hand away from Grissom’s rolled over on the side of the bed.

“But, it has happened to you before, hasn’t it, Nick?” Omar asked, his eyes wide with...concern? Curiosity? Perhaps even pleasure, that he had gotten this far into Nick’s head?

He stood up from the couch, headed towards the door, his hand twisted the knob.

His shoulders felt heavy, weighed down by everything that had happened to him. It would always come back to that.

“--I’m here for you, Nicky. We all are. Whenever you’re ready to talk.” Grissom squeezed his shoulder, some of the weight seemed to evaporate, and Nick just nodded back to him.

“We can talk about that during our next session, I’m afraid our time is up.” Omar called out to him, but Nick was already halfway out the door.

Joke’s on you, asshole. Mandatory sessions are over.

Two weeks later, things had finally returned to normal. The nightmares were waning, though his morning jogs were longer, more intense, but more rewarding. Nick was able to clock in, clock out, do his job, talk to his friends, without the feeling that they were all tip-toeing around things that they didn’t really want to talk about. He didn’t feel like a burden, slowing down the rest of the team, no more outbursts at words that reminded him of that night. He had even been able to bargain with Catherine, to let him work a scene on his own.

More than just feeling normal, he felt like himself again, instead of a possession.

He was just returning from the scene, had dropped off all his evidence, was about to head home when he saw a package left on his desk. No return address, the first sign that something was wrong.

“Judy, did you see who delivered this?” Nick asked sharply, to the poor, startled receptionist as Nick had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Stokes, I had just returned from the bathroom when I saw it on the counter. I can have somebody pull the security footage--”

Nick headed towards Catherine’s office, she was packing up, but not to leave for the night.

“Not now, Nicky, sorry, I have to run, just got a call-out.”

“You need help?” Nick’s anxiety dropped for a moment, but spiked back up as Catherine didn’t meet his eyes and brushed past him instead.

“No, go home,” she ordered, taking out her phone and calling somebody as she nearly ran to the car garage.

He headed towards the break room, towards Greg and Sara, who looked at their phones, then each other, then got up and left without a word. Nick caught a flash of Greg’s widened eyes, which found his, his mouth gaped open as if to say something, but then Sara steered him away.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows and headed to the nearest workstation, to dust the package for prints and open it carefully. The suspense of what was inside was bringing him to a boil.

No return address, no prints, no trace on the package itself, nor its contents: a flash drive, and a cassette tape, inscribed with a handwritten label, “One Way Or Another.”

Nick brought the contents to the A/V Lab, which he was the sole occupant of. Archie must have left for the night, he vaguely remembers hearing that the day shift tech was out on maternity leave.

He put the tape in the cassette player, and pressed play.

A song that shared the title of the label began to play, Nick recognized the tune, but it took him a minute to recognize the voice.

“I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya…” Veronica’s voice sang through the garbled speaker. The low quality of the recording somehow made it even more terrifying.

He felt sickened, gulped down whatever was rising in his throat, and plugged the flash drive in. A folder popped up, filled with pictures, and one folder. Pictures Nick recognized as his pictures from the crime scene, before he and Marsh had been assaulted, though there were a few shots in there, of Marsh, of the body that was not Greg and other objects, that he doesn’t recall taking.

He didn’t pay those pictures too much attention, his eyes focused on the folder, which was labeled as “Memories.”

Nick’s heart stopped, the song got louder, so loud he thought his ears might have bled out. He had a gut feeling, that he knew what the pictures were, that if he opened the folder, all sense of normalcy, all sense of self would vanish. The so called “Memories”--a title he knew was some sort of twisted offer of bonding over what had happened that night, would be fresh in his head, the nightmares would start again, Catherine would send him back to therapy because how the hell could a person be normal after seeing that?

The song seemed to stutter, then stop. All sound, seemed to stop. Time seemed to stop, he was caught between a short, sharp inhale and a long, deep exhale.

“Go ahead, open your present, Nicky…” Veronica’s voice called out to him.

He clicked the folder open, and the song resumed. Seven pictures, labeled with numbers, he found himself in an almost hypnotic state as he opened the first one, two bodies tangled together on the landing of a set of stairs. One man was just barely alive, bleeding from his forehead. The other man had just made eye contact with the camera...that man, was Nick.

The second picture, was Nick in the trunk, based on the carpeting above his hair. The picture was zoomed in on his head, which was on a platter--he could just barely see the shovel that held his head up. His eyes were wide, his expression frozen in horror.

In the next picture, he was sprawled out on a couch, vomit stained on his chin and shirt. His head was tilted back, but his eyes were looking downward.

Next picture, still on the couch, but now his shirt was off, exposing his chest, two dots and a line connecting across his pectoral region. He felt a sudden twinge of pain as he studied the trickle of blood sliding from the two dots.

The next picture, and he was chained in a closet, determination in his eyes. Sure, he was being “punished” but he wasn’t going to give in. Not yet.

Not until the next picture, which showed the blur of a man’s hand, falling near his waist. Nick was looking down in horror, his face drenched in sweat and tears.

The final picture, the final horror. Nick barely even registered what was now displayed on all of the screens in the lab, as the song continued on and on and on in his head, as he threw the door open so hard and fast that the glass of the door and the nearest wall nearly shattered.

“Hey, Nick, did you hear? They found your missing vest--” Hodges began, sauntering towards Nick, but Nick nearly knocked the poor lab rat down as he whizzed past him like a speeding bullet. He kept running, and didn’t stop until he got to the parking garage, where he got into his car, dug out his phone from his pocket, and sent a single worded text to Greg.

Where?

He barely remembers how he had gotten to the scene, he had sped his way there, using his flashers. The whole team was gathered around a body, Nick brushed between Ray and Sara, Catherine didn’t even bother asking how he got there.

His knees buckled, the picture he was shown in the hospital, by the therapist, had come to life, with one major difference. Blood, sourced from a wound that was not immediately noticeable on the victim’s chest, painted on the wall above him. A single word, that he heard as clear as day.

“MINE.”

He stumbled backward, the song was still going in his head. Brass rushed over, grabbed his shoulder, preventing him from falling down, but he shrugged the detective’s grip off. Catherine was on the phone, presumably with Hodges, but Nick didn’t stick around to hear the punchline.

He turned away from the scene, from the team, began to run again, to nowhere in particular, at least, no destination consciously known to him.

It was a dream, it had to be a dream, there was no way in hell this could all be happening in reality. His worst fear come to life, all of his suffering, broadcasted on every screen in the lab. Greg’s body--no, it wasn’t Greg, Nick--with the reminder that he belonged to Veronica, on display for everyone to see.

He stopped running as he nearly ran into the front door of his house. He fumbled with the lock. The song was climbing, creeping up behind him, a shiver slid up his spine, making him twitch as Veronica’s voice kept singing and giggling and whispering…

He entered the house, slammed the door shut. The song stopped. He was safe.

He blinked, and he was in front of his bathroom mirror, drenched in sweat, panting. A final echo of a shrill giggle made him fall forward, he gripped the edges of the counter.

He stared into the eyes of his reflection, widened, tearful, terrified eyes. Paralyzed in paranoia, that he wasn’t actually safe. This wasn’t him, this was Veronica’s plaything.

He removed a shaking hand, keeping eye contact with the man in the mirror as he reached for his razor. A couple minutes later, and his hair was gone.

He took a deep breath, brushing away the tears in his eyes, the excess hair off of his head, and when he opened his eyes, he stared into the reflection of a man with narrowed, determined, brave eyes.

This was him, this was Nick Stokes.

#csi cbs #nick stokes #greg sanders #csi fan fiction #csi fic #whump fic #my fic #fic: atrophy #IT'S DONE!#FINALLY!!

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gokailyger84 · 6 years

Text

A little follow up on the last werewolf bri attack prompt

Arin looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor, checking the recording equipment.

Dan walked in, wrapped up in his favorite blanket. He gave Arin a small smile as he closed the door and stood in front of the couch.

"Hey Dan. I'm just about done. Then we can start." Arin said, turning back to the monitors.

Dan nodded, watching him working, still standing in the same spot.

"Take your time, Ar. I'm in no hurry."

The two fell into silence as Arin continued watching the readouts, making sure everything was working properly.

A few minutes later, he stood up, grabbing a controller and turned towards Dan.

"Looks like we're good. Let's do this."

Dan smiled, watching as Arin walked over and sat down in his usual spot on the couch.

Arin turned on the console with the controller and started the capture and audio recording with the remote as Dan finally sat down.

Right next to Arin.

There was hardly any space between them. Arin shifted slightly, letting his body once again accommodate to the lack of personal space he had.

Dan grabbed his microphone and pulled it over, while he pulled his feet onto the couch and leaned slightly into Arin's side.

"Is this still okay?" He asked quietly. Low enough for the microphones not to pick up.

Arin nodded.

"Yeah. Told you before, Dan. It's fine."

Dan stared up at him for a few seconds, searching Arin's expression. Satisfied with what he saw, he let out a sigh and got more comfortable as Arin started the audio syncing routine.

"Alright, Dan. Time to start." Arin said, pressing the timer.

"Hey, guys! Welcome back to Ga/me Gru/mps!"

"Hello, you sexy people!"

---------------------------------------------------

Arin placed the controller on the arm of the couch.

"Alright, let's take a break." He said, pausing the capture and audio.

Dan sat up and stretched before standing up.

"Cool. I'm gonna go see Bri/an." He said, heading towards the door. Before he walked out the door, he looked back at Arin.

"Want me to bring you anything back?"

Arin shook his head.

"Naw. I'll grab something when I come out in a bit."

Dan nodded and disappeared through the door.

Arin ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh.

The recording sessions were getting better. Dan was still relying too much on Arin to lead conversations but it was better than before.

It had been about a month since the "Incident", as Arin had taken to calling it.

Bri/an and Dan had lasted barely a week before they each came to Arin on separate occasions and told him what happened the night of their first date.

Arin had been shocked. Even more shocked they had kept it to themselves for that long.

Both had been in severe distress while recounting the events.

Both for different reasons.

Arin had never seen Bri/an so angry before and he seemed to not notice how he would switch seamlessly between normal talk and his simple werewolf way of talking.

And Dan. Poor Dan just broke down completely in Arin's arms. He struggled to tell Arin everything, still terrified of what had happened and what could have happened if Bri/an hadn't saved him.

The two of them had been practically glued to each other's side in the following days. Bri/an was even living with Dan for the time being.

Neither had really talked about it. It had just become an unspoken agreement. Bri/an would only go back to his house for clothes and other items and Dan would clear out and make space for him in his home.

Dan had lost a lot of his self-confidence and didn't feel safe unless Bri/an was near.

Bri/an had developed a more aggressive protective stance over Dan. It had gotten so bad, he had snapped at Ross for a small joke directed at Dan.

That was when the realization that the way they were handling the situation was not working and Arin had to step in.

He had sat down with both of them, listening and offering his own thoughts and opinions on what they should do.

First they decided to set up a rotation for full moon nights. Leaving Dan alone with Bri/an in werewolf form seemed to enable their unhealthy behavior with each other. Some nights Arin and Suzy would open their home and others, Ross or Barry would stay at Bri/an's.

The only compromise was Dan demanded that he and Bri/an still remain together on the full moon nights. He didn't mind someone else being there but he refused to be separated from Bri/an on those nights.

Dan also took Arin's advice and started seeing his therapist again. He needed a professional to deal with the trauma he'd gone through. Depending on Bri/an to feel safe and secure would only hinder him in the long run. Bri/an had agreed with Arin and encouraged Dan to go to therapy.

Arin had suggested the same for Bri/an but he refused. Which was understandable. Bri/an had more issues than just what happened that night. More to lose. He couldn't just share the fact that he was a werewolf to anyone. It also didn't help that being a werewolf was at the center of a lot of his problems.

He reluctantly asked Arin if he could just continue to talk to him like before. Arin agreed but he wished that they could find a therapist they could truly trust. Someone who could help Bri/an and also keep his secret. It was just too risky to try. Even Dan would go into a panic at the thought of Bri/an being taken away from him.

So, Arin spent a lot of his free time reading psychology books and discussing them with Bri/an. Not being professionals at all, he and Bri/an were at least able to narrow the possibilities down. That Bri/an had some type of personality disorder, probably borderline personality disorder, that only worsened after he became a werewolf.

From what they read of the treatments, Arin could provide at least some help. He was already helping Bri/an learn how to deal with and express himself emotionally. But it seemed they would have to delve deeper into the werewolf side of his personality. A side Bri/an had still not completely accepted despite the continued crossovers between the two sides.

Arin was still unsure, what they were doing was the right path but until another option presented itself, he and Bri/an would continue forward.

Pushing himself up off the couch, Arin walked out into the main office.

Everyone were at their respective desks, working on varying projects.

Looking over at the stream area, he saw Dan and Bri/an curled up on the couch together. Bri/an's arms wrapped around Dan, his head resting on the nape of his neck, while Dan was pressed into his side. Neither were talking. Just holding each other.

Suzy walked over and placed a tray with a few sandwiches on it, next to them on the couch. She bent down and kissed them both on the cheek, whispering something to them before walking back over to her desk, smiling softly at Arin as she walked by.

Arin returned the smile.

He looked back at Dan and Bri/an. Watching as Dan sat up and grabbed one of the sandwiches from the tray, tearing it in two and giving the other half to Bri/an.

They still had a long road to recovery before them but Arin knew they were strong enough to walk it.

As long as they had each other and the support of their friends, they would be okay.

In time.

Arin was sure of it.

#werewolf bri #ninja ship party #my fics #date ends badly

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feminarrie · 6 years

Text

because seb’s thighs make me feel some type of way

It started out innocently enough. Sebastian had pulled her into his lap, tipsy and warm as he spoke with members of the crew. She engaged happily, leaning into Sebastian’s broad frame while listening to their recounts of the past few months of filming. She laughs appropriately at jokes that she’s clued in on and simply sips her vodka tea and smiles when it moves away from familiarity.

Sebastian’s hand had come to sit comfortably on her hip, rubbing the inch of exposed and freckled flesh with a calloused thumb. She’s very content with the moment. Doesn’t think it could get any better, really. They’re atop a rooftop in New York City, the lights and bustle of the busy city seeming miles away despite being in the center of it all. Her body is tingly and loose with her third vodka tea workings it’s way through her veins.

It’s when rain droplets don’t simply begin to patter onto the concrete and expensive furniture, but pelt against her already warm skin and dampen her clothes that the moment of contentment flutters away. Sebastian pats her jean clad thigh and nods toward the door.

“We better make a run for it,” he says, a once empty cup of aged whiskey filling with water.

Y/N nods her affirmation and all but stumbles to get up. She’s not drunk, honestly. It’s just the way the denim sticks to her thighs and constricts that makes it hard to stand up gracefully. Sebastian’s hand comes to rest on her back—ever the gentleman—to guide her toward the sliding glass door. The cool air of the rented condo raises goosebumps across her neck and arms.

She looks to Sebastian, hair damp and gray Henley outlining every ridge and dip. He’s preoccupied with their guests, though. Muttering apologies for the sudden weather change and offering a change of clothes. They’re the last of the guests here, the two men. Everyone else having left hours ago to catch flights or return to their own homes following the wrap party Sebastian had hosted.

Y/N doesn’t stay to overhear the remainder of the conversation. Too preoccupied with the way her clothes are sticking uncomfortably to her body. Her once loose blouse now feels suffocating. When she finally peels it from her skin and lets it fall to the bathroom floor with a wet slop alongside the black denim jeans, she feels free—like she can breathe again.

Her feet hardly lose contact with the floor as she drags them from tiled bathroom floor to the plush white carpet of the connected bedroom that she and Sebastian share. Y/N searches for a baggy shirt that belongs to her boyfriend, settling on a boxy creme top that does little to conceal the flesh underneath. She has full intention of pulling one of Sebastian’s sweaters over top and a pair of sweatpants so that she can rejoin the fun.

. . .

Y/N’s lids are heavy with sleep when she wakes up two hours later. She doesn’t recall falling asleep on the king sized bed nor pulling a blanket to sit just underneath her chin. A soft groan leaves her pink lips when her eyes adjust to the pitch black of the room. She can’t believe that she fell asleep with guests over. Well, she can—she’s done it before, but that had been her senior year of college and quite frankly, she had done it intentionally when a house party had gone for too long.

She isn’t sure if anyone has stayed late into the night, but she knows regardless of who is here that she has to at least come out to apologize. Wrapping the forest green throw blanket around her shoulders, she swings her slender legs over the side of the bed. She’s grateful for the warm carpet beneath her feet because there’s a chill that hangs in the air. Sebastian had likely opened a window between the time it had begun to pour and now. Always one to welcome to smell of rain and the sound of the droplets on the pavement.

Y/N shuffles toward the living room, peeking around the corner to see if anyone else was in Sebastian’s company. Instead, she’s met with a cozy looking Sebastian that looks up from his laptop when he hears her enter the room. His lips pull into a smile reserved for just her. It’s one that is filled with love and awe that she hasn’t quite gotten used to even after nearly two years together.

“There she is,” he says as he closes his laptop and sets it on the glass coffee table in front of him. “A sleeping beauty.”

She comes to sit next to him on the leather couch, a pout setting on her lips. Her legs are bent at the knee in front of her, eyes drinking in every inch of his profile.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep, Seb. I hope Paul and Trey weren’t offended.”

He shakes his head and scratches at the stubble forming after his first shave in weeks. Calms the doubt sitting uncomfortably in her tummy when he pulls her into his lap for the second time that night. She’s still so soft and pliant that it makes Sebastian’s heart swell.

“They went home a little after I checked on you. Had only been out twenty minutes.” He says, brushing hair away from Y/N’s neck and resting his palm against the lightly freckled and warm flesh for a moment.

“Still sorry. I didn’t think I was that tired.” She mumbles, readjusting herself so that she sits more fully in Sebastian’s lap.

Perhaps it’s the fact that they had been separated for months that causes his cock to twitch when she slides to sit fully in his lap. Or maybe it’s the sixteen hour stretch between the last time he had his hands on her and now that makes him harden beneath her. Regardless of what it is, it does not go unnoticed by Y/N.

“Seb,” she giggles, the noise light and innocent.

And fuck, it’s almost teasing to listen to such a beautiful and innocent noise. Almost makes him feel bad for the filthy thoughts running through his head. Almost isn’t quite enough, though. It doesn’t stop him from nudging Y/N’s thighs apart to trace the soft, sensitive skin there. It doesn’t stop Sebastian’s lower lip from taking up residence between his teeth when Y/N opens her legs just a little further, almost instinctively.

“Yes, little one?” Sebastian’s voice is low and authoritative.

It’s a tone Y/N has grown to know, love, and submit to.

She remains silent, however. Simply letting her left leg fall to lay across Sebastian’s lap and a pleading look in her eye. His fingers cease their movement at her silence and she knows that he’ll tease her if she doesn’t submit. He’s done it before. Made her watch him as he wrapped long fingers around his cock, not once breaking eye contact with her as he moaned her name. All while her wrists were tied together in front of her, knees beginning to become sore and bruised from her position on the floor.

“Little one,” Sebastian warns.

Silence. Daring and complete silence. She wants to press her luck tonight. The months of being apart having drove her absolutely wild. The hours of sweet touches and committing each other’s bodies to memory was nice. But Y/N wants more than that. Needs more than that.

Y/N lets out a small hmph when Sebastian shifts her leg off his thigh, gradually pulling himself out from underneath her.

“You can’t be a little brat and expect me to put my hands on you, kitten.” Sebastian says, attempting to push himself up from the plush couch.

Y/N doesn’t let him, though. Instead scrambles to cage his hips with her thighs, placing the entirety of her weight on his lap. Her small hands come to rest on Sebastian’s broad shoulders. (She’s pretty sure they’re made for her to grip just like this. Her case made stronger by the crescent shapes that have scarred in clusters across his shoulder blades).

Almost instinctively she begins to rock her hips against Sebastian, rutting against the bulge developing once again in the navy blue tracksuit pants he has come to wear around the house. His top teeth pull at his lower lip, biting at it for a single moment before letting his mouth fall open with a soft groan.

The noise spurs Y/N on, her own pink and swollen lips failing to hold back a whimper. Her hips bear down on Sebastian a little more, searching for that added pressure against her clit. And she finds it, but fleetingly. It’s not enough and the frustration shows on her face and in the noises she makes. Her brow is furrowed and she’s making small, repeated whimpers that she only makes when she’s desperate for his touch.

“Practically gagging for it, aren’t you?” Sebastian laughs darkly.

His right hand comes to cup her jaw, a calloused thumb pressing against her bottom lip. Y/N doesn’t answer, but opens her mouth enough to encompass the thick digit. She runs her tongue along the side of it before letting it play and swirl at the tip.

“I asked you a question, little one.”

Y/N looks down at him through thick lashes and fuck, Sebastian has half a mind to simply take her there and then. But, he wants to see her beg for it. Wants to watch her unfold right there on his lap. Needs to show her who can still make her feel completely out of control even after months apart.

“Yes, sir.” She mumbles, lips still wrapped around his thumb.

Sebastian pulls his thumb from her mouth, smearing the spit soaked digit across her lower lip. She looks absolutely fucked out, eyes wild and chest heaving without even touching her.

“Up.”

It’s a simple statement, but it takes Y/N a moment to process it. Mind cloudy with thoughts of what’s to come. Sebastian taps her thigh to bring her back to reality and it’s then she moves to stand before him. Her cheeks are flushed with arousal and her thighs feel tight from holding herself above Sebastian.

“Everything off, kitten. I want to see every inch of you.” Sebastian orders, hands come to rest flat on his thighs.

Y/N nods, attempting to make quick work of the tie of her sleeping shorts, fingers fumbling. Sebastian tuts at her and urges her to go slower. A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and she knows she is so incredibly fucked. Sebastian is rarely one to slow down the process, only doing so when he plans to tease her--to make her beg.

She slowly pulls the tie from the loose bow of the sky blue and white spotted shorts that sit on her hips. She tugs the material to sit just past the junction between her thigh and ass, letting gravity do the rest. Once they pool around her feet, she nudges them to the side and glances up at Sebastian. He is watching her every move, captivated and it makes her shy away just slightly. Her hands halting halfway up her torso as she begins to discard her shirt.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, little one.” He says, darting his tongue out to lick over his chapped lips.

He looks like the absolute definition of ease and control. His hands are relaxed against his thighs, thick and tantalizing. His eyes half lidded with desire, but the way they move is calculated and observant. Y/N feels small beneath his gaze, but it sets something alight in her. Thinks there is something so freeing about someone else dictating your next move--about not having to worry about what comes next. It’s so different from the way Sebastian handles her in their day to day lives, living independently and handling their own affairs.

Y/N’s fingers pull at the hem of the creme top and pulling it from her body. The chill from the open window hardens her nipples into peaks and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s left in only a pair of red boy shorts that do little to conceal the dampness between her legs. She doesn’t stand around for too long, instead pulling the elastic material from her body.

Sebastian lets out a moan at the sight of her. The way the dim yellow light hits her, he can see just how wet and ready she is for him. There’s a path of slick down her thigh and god, does he want to be in between them. But, Sebastian has other plans.

He pulls her to sit along his right thigh, legs astride his own. She inhales sharply with the sudden, but delicious pressure against her clit. It doesn’t take any encouragement from Sebastian for her to build up a rhythm against his thigh. Even through the thick material of his pants, he can feel her absolute weeping for him. Each calculated thrust smearing her wetness along his thigh.

“Fuck,” she moans, hands gripping onto his shoulders to steady herself when she rotates her hips.

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight little cunt.” Sebastian all but growls into her ear. “But I need for you to cum for me first, little one. Think you could do that?”

She nods quickly and repeats a string of “yes, sir”, too caught up in Sebastian’s words and how fucking good she feels to say anything more. Her thighs tighten around Sebastian’s as she loses her rhythm, teetering on the edge of her impending orgasm. Sebastian’s hands grip at her ass to help her, moving her forward and back. The grip is bruising and it’s enough to send Y/N over the edge.

Sebastian doesn’t think he’s seen anything more heavenly and sinful than the sight of Y/N coming. Tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead, head thrown back with her lip trapped between her teeth. And she’s chanting his name as she cums, fingers still digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

He lets her ride through her high until her body is jerking with overstimulation. Even lets her collapse into him, forehead pressed to the side of his neck for a moment. Sebastian strokes her hair, letting her recover and even out her breathing.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you yet, little one.”

#sebastian stan smut #seb stan smut #bucky barnes smut #sorry if ya don't like marvel/seb #my writing #the gif isnt mine!!!

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agentelmo · 7 years

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The X-Files MSR Analysis Series: Season 1 Episode 12

“Fire”

Previous episode analysis - 1x11 Eve.

Oh Fire, what an episode. The first time we see Mulder actively pursue a woman and it’s not Scully. WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY.

It’s okay though, because it turns out Mulder’s ex -- Phoebe Green -- is a real piece of work, making it quite easy to dislike her, which is handy because I think that’s the point.

There are two MSR angles here. The first is how Scully is really there for Mulder as a friend. She sees he is vulnerable and is protective of him; she is caring and reassuring even when Mulder seemingly dismisses Scully in pursuit of that British poontang. The beauty of their blossoming platonic bond really shines through in this episode.

The second angle is that Mulder has exactly what he desires right in front of him, but doesn’t see it. Phoebe is a tantalising reminder of a lifestyle he’s given up -- having a woman in his life -- someone to love and care for who loves him back. But everything that he desires in Phoebe is already there in the form of Scully. The issue is that Mulder doesn’t allow himself to see her as anything more than his partner, his friend, and so doesn’t recognise that he has this incredible woman right under his nose already.

With this in mind, there are parts of Fire that almost play out like a stereotypical romcom. The male protagonist with the amazing female best friend who is perfect for him but he just continues to pursue terrible women, all while the best friend looks on from the sidelines, picking up the pieces, supporting him. Until one day... *cough* seven years later... *cough*

So since this is an MSR review series, I tend to start with Mulder and Scully, not the cold opening. But I have to comment on this, being English myself.

What were they thinking? It’s actually kind of painful seeing these frankly horrendous actors talk in exaggeratedly hoity-toity English accents.

Tally ho, pip pip, cheerio!

Did you feel that? It was the collective eye roll of the entire population of Ireland.

If this gets any worse we’ll be giving Dick Van Dyke a run for his money. But hey, thankfully we’re not here long since Lord Moneybags McPoshface goes up in smoke.

Now we’re off to see our favourite FBI star-crossed lovers. Muldo and Scullywag!

So this episode confirms that Mulder and Scully do have other cases between episodes that we just don’t see. Fertile ground for the old fanfic writers, amirite?

In fact, it’s reconfirmed again in the season 10 episode, Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster, where Mulder recounts how one time the two of them went on a case looking for a “rock-like creature”...

Only to discover it was a publicity stunt by a local landscaping business.

Yeah, I don’t remember that episode.

Makes me wonder who were they prosecuting in Fire? What case was this?! What cute MSR moments are we not getting to see?!

So we start with these two coming out of a hard day at court, Mulder jokes with Scully about the case.

Epic bants, Mulder. You slay me. And Scully too, apparently! She’s fucking giggling. GIGGLING.

Look at how cute they are. Having fun and enjoying each other’s company so effortlessly. There’s no guile about it, they are just comfortable being themselves.

Is it weird that I just feel happy seeing Mulder have a friend? He’s actually a pretty sweet, charming guy when he lets that side of himself out. Few people gave him the chance, and after so many years of being labelled “Spooky”, combined with some clear trust issues, he rarely gives anyone else a chance either.

Until Scully, of course.

Mulder relaxed and just having fun with Scully is my jam, fam. She laughs at his joke and he laughs at hers.

Just get fucking married, already.

Sadly, all marriage plans must be put on hold since some British bint arrives and ruins everyone’s day.

This “practical joke” Phoebe plays with the cassette tape gives some possible insight into the kind of relationship she and Mulder had when he was at Oxford.

She appears to enjoy toying with the emotions of others and then makes light of the consequences. I mean, here she makes Mulder and Scully believe they were about to be killed by a car bomb, but then makes no apology for it. Especially to Scully, someone she doesn’t know from Adam.

Mulder, clearly accustomed to her torment, doesn’t even bother to chide her for the prank, despite clearly scaring the shit out of Scully. I think he knows it’s easier to just play along.

Nicolas Cage, is that you?

Phoebe seems like the type who would say things like “it was only a joke” or “what’s the big deal?” or “stop being so over-sensitive” etc. The kind of gaslighting cunt that makes people crazy in an intimate relationship.

What’s interesting about these two is that it’s apparently been 10 years since they last saw each other, but Mulder wastes no time dredging up their romantic history like no time has passed at all. Making it abundantly clear that 1. Mulder isn’t entirely over Phoebe, and 2. he’s still resentful towards her for whatever it was she did to him in their relationship -- more on that later.

So spinning off on a tangent for a moment here... This all throws some serious shade on Mulder’s relationship with Diana Fowley. You would think that whatever left over resentments or lingering feelings he had towards Phoebe would have been resolved or at least faded in the wake of a new long term relationship with another woman. Mulder later says in this episode that he has spent the last 10 years trying to forget Phoebe -- it’s within those 10 years that he had a relationship with Diana.

This would place Mulder at Oxford in approximately 1983. He met and started dating Diana when he left Quantico which was three years later in 1986. We don’t know when their relationship ended, but let’s assume it was when she fucked off to Europe to work for the Syndicate in 1991. So, he was in a relationship with Diana for approximately five years and in all that time he still harboured feelings for Phoebe. Wow. It’s strange to think, that 100% canonically Mulder wasn’t over Phoebe when he was with Diana. Perhaps Phoebe was his first love?

I mean, it’s possible -- he was very young then. It would certainly explain why he doesn’t ever romantically pursue Diana when she returns, even though he could have, and she was certainly interested. Perhaps his feelings for Diana weren’t quite what we’re led to believe? Or perhaps it’s simply that his growing feelings for Scully just made things too complicated. Personally, I blame Amor Fati for muddying the waters on that one.

Aaaaaaanyway, back to Fire.

I love Scully’s face when Phoebe feeds Mulder this cheese-tastic line.

She’s clearly uncomfortable witnessing this, most likely feeling somewhat of an awkward third wheel. Not to mention a little put out -- dat’s my man biyotch!

I jest, but I wonder if there is some truth to the idea that she felt special to Mulder because he is a loner. This man who doesn’t let anyone get close chose her to open up to. Yet she’s now realising that wasn’t always true, and perhaps her connection to him isn’t as special as first thought? I mean look at her face, she clearly does not like this.

The dynamic between these two women is intriguing too. Phoebe clearly makes Scully uncomfortable. Firstly, Phoebe never acknowledges Scully’s presence; only greeting her when forced to by Mulder’s introduction.

To play this joke on the two of them, Phoebe had to have been watching them approach the car and no doubt overheard their conversation -- noting their close relationship. Seemingly she’s already sized Scully up as rival for Mulder’s attention -- someone to undermine -- and so expertly removes her from every interaction the three of them have by outright ignoring her.

It almost works too, Mulder is clearly enthralled with Phoebe, gazing at her the whole time in this dreamy way, but as soon as Phoebe says this:

It breaks Mulder out of her spell almost instantly -- he even physically pushes her back.

Talking shit about Scully is the point at which Mulder will no longer play along.

There’s some interesting symbolism in this scene with the camera work too. Where Phoebe and Mulder are always in frame together, and Scully is separate -- the camera reflecting how Phoebe’s relationship to Mulder re-positions Scully as the outsider.

So before we move on, I gotta share the amazing eye fucking that is going on during the cassette tape scene in the car.

That second picture looks like it should be captioned “find someone who looks at you the way Mulder looks at Scully.” I mean, geez man. His face is a weapon of mass seduction. He really should have a licence for that thing.

Next we’re in basement HQ and Scully notices straight away that something is up with Mulder.

She keeps eyeing him as he is clearly becoming more and more uncomfortable. But why might that be? On first viewing you could be forgiven for thinking Mulder is just getting hot under the collar -- pardon the pun -- chatting away with his old flame. Pardon that pun too. Potentially this is what Scully assumes as well, but we know with hindsight that it’s because he’s listening to Phoebe ream off the details of how her suspect likes to burn people alive.

Phoebe maintains her campaign of exclusion. Trying to undermine Scully by completely ignoring her, and then throwing out a reference to a “private joke” she shares with Mulder -- drawing a clear barrier between the two of them and Scully. She’s making it clear that she’s talking to Mulder and only Mulder.

As Phoebe leaves, having never once glanced in Scully’s direction, she suddenly says goodbye to her, treating her as an afterthought to emphasise that Scully is neither needed or wanted.

Seriously, dis bitch man. Scully is onto you.

As Phoebe tries to erect barriers, Scully immediately kicks them back down again as she straight up asks Mulder what’s this private joke is.

That’s my girl.

Mulder concedes, but you can tell he is embarrassed. I love that you can see the exact moment he decides to just tell her the truth.

Up until this point Mulder has kept his private life quite guarded, even from Scully. For all the world to see, he is a man entirely about his quest. Revealing to Scully that he has the same frailties as any other man -- falling in love with the wrong woman, for example -- is making himself vulnerable to her too. The fact that doesn’t stop him is a testament to their relationship at this point, to how much he trusts and respects Scully. He feels safe with her.

Only living for his quest is how Scully saw Mulder too, so to see that he can be consumed by something other than the X-Files -- be made vulnerable by a woman -- is surprising to her. She’s seeing another side to him.

When Mulder starts to deny he’s affected by Phoebe now, Scully takes the opportunity to dig him out a lil’ bit. Of course she’s gonna call him out on his bullshit. That’s what friends do.

What’s striking about this exchange though is that shes not jealous. She’s amused. Shes truly playing the role of his best friend, looking out for him rather than being the best friend secretly in love with him -- which she totally is by the end of season 1. What? Fight me.

That switch Scully talks about in season 6′s Rain King? It’s not been flicked quite yet. She still only sees him as a friend, someone she cares about deeply, but she’s not at “the only person you can ever imagine yourself with” point. Not quite yet.

Guys. Did Scully just make a dick joke? Like, not just any dick joke... but an erection joke? And, and... not just any erection joke, but Mulder’s erection joke?

Wut.

Also what the heck is that voice she puts on? “Is that what you were extending?” She is so cute when she’s teasing him. UGH!

Now this is where I see some of the romcom-y aspects of the episode come in. Mulder is honest, open and unguarded with Scully -- playful, even. He’s being his usual self again. This cool, controlled act he seems to don when Phoebe is around is completely shed and they banter away again like they did moments before Phoebe arrived. Basically, with Phoebe, he knows revealing weakness is danger, whereas with Scully he can let his weaknesses show.

Dude... the perfect woman for you is right there. RIGHT THERE! OMG.

Unfortunately, this could then mean something negative for the MSR, at least here and now in season 1. That perhaps Mulder doesn’t even allow himself to see Scully as a “woman” i.e. as a sexual being. Thus she is safe to bare his soul to, she’s his friend and partner only -- a non-threat.

But I suspect that’s actually what Mulder needs. To see Scully this way first. A friend and equal first and a lover second. Even when they are finally together I believe this is how they continue to see each other.

Entering into a romantic relationship with Scully then, would be the ultimate statement of self-healing for Mulder. That he can find love with a nurturing, caring, loving woman rather than an emotionally damaging one. Let’s stick a pin in that thought, we’ll come back to that.

So Mulder and Phoebe go down to the arson specialist, Agent Beatty, and he proceeds to slather all over Phoebe. He’s being quite gross and creepy, actually. Almost makes me feel sorry for her.

Yeah... Almost.

Thing is, she knows the power she wields over men and uses it against them. More power to her when the men in question are like this guy. But Mulder? She’s basically kicking a puppy.

It always bothered me how OTT Agent Beatty is with Phoebe. Is it the British thing? I am not the kind of woman to tear another woman down about her looks -- Phoebe is beautiful -- but the guy is falling over himself. Is that really warranted? It’s gotta be the accent. I don’t get it, but then I am British too so, yeah, it’s like being Superman on Krypton. Big deal. We all have the super powers so it’s hardly special, ya know? 😂😂

All while this is going on, Scully is there but unsure where her place is. Phoebe’s exclusion tactics clearly working their magic, because it seems Scully is starting to feel a bit insecure about where she fits into this new three-way dynamic. She’s no longer sure if her place is alongside Mulder, so she just loiters in the doorway.

The camera focuses on her a couple times and at first she’s just listening in. But then she seems to crane her head around to look at Mulder; possibly noticing that there’s something up with him?

Remember, this is happening before Mulder has told Scully he doesn’t want her on the case. So there’s something quite sad about this. Scully standing alone in the doorway, unsure of her place.

Sir Malcolm Marsden’s dog is named Jackson. Really, Chris? Really?

I think Chris Carter has a very short list of names that he must use again and again otherwise anything he writes will simply spontaneously combust.

Now this next scene is probably one of my favourites in the entire episode, because as insecure about her position in all of this Scully seems to be feeling, she isn’t one to be so easily pushed aside. So she appropriates the three pipe problem “private joke” from earlier, and completely hijacks it’s meaning to make it their private joke.

She is the Watson to his Sherlock, and Phoebe? Phoebe is Moriarty -- “mind game player extraordinaire” as Mulder describes her, a foe who likes to play at being a friend and who is decidedly the true outsider of this three-way dynamic.

Not to mention, Mulder truly is the Sherlock to her Watson too. He is the ideas man, the guy who is so completely in his own head that he sometimes fails to grasp the human element. I mean, how many times throughout the series do we see Mulder eff things up by not dealing with people very well, necessitating Scully to step in?

In fact, you don’t have to go very far to find the last instance of it. In the previous episode, Eve, Mulder has to be rescued by Scully when dealing with one of the murder twins parents. In many ways, Scully is his connection to the outside world. His human credential, as David Duchovny once so poetically put it. In the same way Watson is Sherlock’s.

So Mulder tells Scully she’s off the hook on this case because he believes Phoebe is playing a mind game with him, a practice of hers he seems acutely familiar with.

Scully concernedly eyeing up Mulder all episode is suddenly vindicated. He is clearly distressed and Scully switches tack. She goes from teasing to protective.

That worried look on her face, the way she leans forward, searchingly. She’s seeing how unnerved he is and she can tell he’s upset. She is truly his best friend in this moment. She doesn’t judge, doesn’t criticise -- she just hears him out.

Mulder has already confided that he “got in over his head” with Phoebe, and so now all past questions about whether Mulder truly trusts Scully seem to fall away here, because he’s now freely baring his soul to her. The flood gates are open.

Phoebe is fire. Wow. She terrifies him. But there is a double meaning here. Not only is she like fire in that she represents a painful memory that laid the way for emotional trauma, but she’s like fire in the way that draws a moth to its flame. Mulder being said moth.

She’s dangerous, but he’s attracted to that danger. Something about Phoebe pulls him in, almost against his will. He walks out of the office determined to face his demons, but ultimately ends up willingly ensnared in Phoebe’s web, yet again.

Unfortunately it seems Mulder is drawn to the leggy, brunette, femme fatale type. I mean, look at Diana. Perhaps this is why he doesn’t look at Scully that way for such a long time, she’s not the kind of woman he would ordinarily go for. Not in just looks, but in the element of danger. In the same way some women are attracted to the bad boys, perhaps Mulder is attracted to the bad girls. Women who emotionally mistreat him. It would certainly align with the idea that we seek out unresolved past traumas in intimate relationships, doomed to relive them. Perhaps Mulder has mommy issues. I know that’s certainly a popular fanon concept.

Ultimately what it comes down to is trust. Mulder’s trust in others was probably damaged considerably by Phoebe.

Think about the circumstances under which he met her. He’s left his home; left his country; gone to college as far away from his old life and miserable, divorced parents as he could get. He’s looking for a fresh start, a way to leave the past behind. Running all the way to England is one way to do it. There he meets Phoebe. This brilliant, beautiful woman who takes an interest in him -- wants him.

Desperate for comfort, for love, for understanding, he lets her in. I think he lets her in so completely that she knows everything -- his darkest childhood fears, his secrets. Probably knows all about his sister too. I think he gave everything to her and she lit the fire and watched him go up in smoke.

Phoebe is fire.

Scully, bless her, now feeling quite protective over puppy, seeing how vulnerable he is to Phoebe, offers to help on the case. But Mulder declines, believing he can handle it himself.

Yeah good plan, Fido. Let’s see how that goes.

I’m just sayin’.

Now there’s some strong suggestions made about what might have happened between Mulder and Phoebe when they were at Oxford.

Phoebe compliments Mulder on his interview technique, and how he managed to persuade the witness to cooperate after she had confessed to lying to her partner about where she was the night before.

To which he quips back...

So the suggestion being made here, is that she had one or two indiscretions of her own during their relationship. Namely, that she cheated on him. If we think of how this episode ultimately ends, it’s a pretty safe bet. The look on his face when he sees her in Lord Marsden’s arms is the look of a man who has been there before, and is not even surprised. Almost like he had been waiting for this all along.

So I think it’s fairly certain she cheated, probably several times. From the sounds of it he forgave her and took her back every time and was probably a push over about it. Firm but polite.

And you know what? I can absolutely see Mulder being like that. As mentioned before, Phoebe was probably the first woman he opened up to emotionally. So severing that bond would have been a huge loss, leaving him incredibly vulnerable to emotional abuse -- he would have forgiven her anything if it meant holding onto her.

My impression of Mulder is that through all his bravado he feels very deeply and so, when he does let people in, he can be very easily hurt.

His behaviour much later in I Want To Believe demonstrates that quite well. Mulder is clearly very hurt by Scully’s suggestion that she won’t come home if he continues working the case. He sees this as a rejection of the person he is -- “...this is everything I know, this is who I was before I met you...” etc etc.

Later when he goes to see Father Joe at the hospital Scully comes across him first, she grasps his hand but you can see he’s not comfortable with it -- he feels vulnerable around her, she’s essentially broken his heart and he’s doing his best to bury that and keep focused on the case. She hurt him and his walls are up. He takes his hand away again, and can barely even look at her.

When she can see he’s avoiding her, trying to run away, she calls out to him. Tells him that she does understand this stubborn, passionate, drive of his -- that it’s the reason she fell in love with him in the first place.

But he is still too hurt to be understanding. He’s defensive, and saying something he no doubt regrets later. He’s let her in, deeper and more completely than anyone has ever been, so for her to reject him this way isn’t just a disagreement he can work out later, it cuts him very deeply.

Bare in mind, this is in 2008. So you can imagine how much more fragile and vulnerable he was where love and women are concerned back in his Oxford days in the 80′s.

Anyway back to Phoebe…

Mulder’s sharp comment clearly strikes a nerve with her, and she chews him out for holding onto what happened 10 years ago. Mulder then infamously says...

So who wants to bet that he might have walked in on Phoebe with another guy?

Remember how Mulder later catches Phoebe with Sir Marsden? I suspect there’s a mirroring of the past in the present. You gotta feel for Mulder, though. It’d be difficult to let go of something you can never unsee with the passage of time to dull the memory.

Not to mention other memories that can’t be dulled; like that one time they fucked in a graveyard, apparently.. Oh good times, good times.

Soooo... Mulder fucked Phoebe on a tombstone? Yikes. That’s simultaneously creepy as fuck and so Mulder all at once.

Also, with a bit of Google-foo I discovered that there is no grave for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in Windlesham. He was originally buried there in a rose garden, but was exhumed and re-interred in Hampshire in 1955 – as far as I can tell, there is nothing left at the original Windlesham grave site. 1955 is long before Mulder and Phoebe would have been there. So… yeah. Whoever’s tombstone they were fucking on, it wasn’t sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s.

Perhaps there’s a metaphor for their relationship in that. A complete lie? A huge error in judgement? That which appeared to be something it wasn’t? You could go on forever.

Dana, babe... you need to get a freakin’ light bulb up in that office. No wonder the two of you wear glasses -- that poor lighting is not doing your eyesight any favours.

Next we see that Scully -- despite Mulder’s insistence that she not get involved -- has decided to help him anyway.

There are two reasons for this. First, she’s feeling insecure, she’s been dismissed by Phoebe and, to a lesser extent, Mulder too. The two of them are still feeling each other out and defining the parameters of their working relationship, so I think there is a part of her that seeks some kind of approval from Mulder. She is determined to assert her worth. She’s worked with him long enough to know he can use her help; but I think a part of her wants to prove to Mulder that she can’t be so easily replaced as his partner.

The second reason is simply because she’s feeling protective over him after hearing about his history with Phoebe. She can see he’s vulnerable and it concerns her -- she’s never seen him like that before, and she’s quick to fly into protective mode when she feels he’s in harms way.

What I love is that Scully proves her worth with flying colours. Coming up with a stellar profile which pegs the guy perfectly.

Seriously, who is the profiler between these two? Seems the majority of the profiling we’ve seen thus far has come from Scully.

She has the presence of mind to check immigration records for British citizens with a connection to the Marsden’s or previous victims that have recently come into the United States.

She also correctly analyses which accelerant he is likely using.

As well as how he uses it.

Cough syrup?

Paint?

She does all this work without a sniff of help from Mulder or Phoebe. They’re too busy fawning over each other and planning a little fuck buddy interlude at a swanky hotel.

All the while Scully is getting the job done.

She is forever the MVP of the series. Seriously, Mulder and Phoebe would have been up fudge creek without a paddle if she wasn’t working the case.

The next scene with Mulder and Phoebe seems to lay the foundation for why Mulder finds himself being drawn back into Phoebe’s thrall.

He shares his theory with her that the arsonist has some kind of pyrokinetic ability and Phoebe agrees without batting an eyelid. Mulder laughs at her because he’s quite taken aback by this. He’s more used to Scully who would have challenged him -- grounded him -- and got him to think of how what he’s suggesting could be scientifically possible.

Without that challenge, Mulder doesn’t even consider how the killer is doing it beyond “he did it with his magic fire!” Thus missing the significance what Scully is investigating -- the accelerant.

Mulder has a bit of an issue with confirmation bias, so as soon as he gets even the slightest inkling of some kind of paranormal goings on, he will straight away gravitate towards avenues of investigation that prove his theory. People agreeing with him plays into his egomania – having this beautiful, “brilliant”, woman agreeing with him is gonna get his “juices flowing” too. But it also blindsides him -- this is a man that needs to be challenged.

While investigating apart on this case, they are coming at it from their own unique point of view, but both are missing a significant piece of the puzzle that they fill for each other. If Mulder hadn’t ditched Scully they would have arrived at the complete answer by now. That the killer cannot control fire, he does not have pyrokinesis necessarily, but he does have the unique ability to ignite fires if a powerful enough accelerant is present.

In Fire, Mulder hasn’t fully recognised it yet, but this is the unique and beautiful dynamic that makes them perfect partners. As he later says in season 11′s Nothing Lasts Forever -- they are reason and faith in harmony. It’s been their magic formula from the very beginning.

Unfortunately their harmony is being stifled. Mulder is distracted by Phoebe -- her agreement has flattered him, stroked his ego, and with that she goes in for the kill -- easily seducing him with an offer of spending the night together.

It’s bittersweet to go back and watch this episode now; seeing Mulder pass Scully over in hopes of bedding Phoebe, knowing what we know now; what Mulder will come to realise. That the woman who is perfect for him is the one that’s always right next to him.

Ah the folly of youth, eh?

Oh Mulder...

He’s such a pathetic puppy. The idea of getting laid gets him all giddy.

I think what you can take away from this, is how over the fucking moon he would have been in All Things when Scully comes to his bed. I mean, can you imagine? 😂😂

Theeeeen it’s awkward-conversation-with-Scully time. Mulder is clearly not focused on the case at this point, he is far more invested in getting his head away than catching this arsonist because Scully is there saying hey, I might know who this guy is, and he’s like, “yeeeeeeeah, that’s nice, but this is not a good time for me soooo...”

I mean, wtf Mulder! Sir Marsden’s family is at risk, he has a wife and children. People have been burnt to death by this guy and you’re all nah, sorry Scully I haven’t got time to solve the case, I am kinda busy right now trying to get laid.

Fuck. Me. What a douche nozzle.

Look at Scully’s face at the end of the phone conversation. She’s not liking this new side of Mulder at all. She keeps pushing against his obvious resistance because she believes he’s ditching her in favour of Phoebe. Her insecurity is more palpable here -- but this isn’t necessarily romantically driven. I think she’s feeling insecure as his partner; like she’s being replaced. Whereas Mulder just wants to fuck Phoebe; working with her is actually beside the point. Poor Scully.

Then it’s the scene you’ve all been dreading! Yep, it’s the dance/kiss scene.

So it starts with Mulder milling around the hotel lobby waiting for Phoebe to arrive, but she ignores him and walks straight by. Mulder was clearly thinking they will be spending the evening together as well as the evening together, if you catch my drift.

It suggests that Mulder was actually interested in rekindling their relationship -- he was planning on a romantic evening with Phoebe I mean, look at what he’s wearing. He’s “undercover” but he could have gone as a bodyguard to one of the other guests, or as a member of staff to give him more freedom to move around without raising suspicion. But no, he’s dressed to attend the party, not to stand guard dog outside of it.

He wanted to dress up for her. I don’t think he was just in it for a one night stand. He loved Phoebe once, and I think if she didn’t fuck him over later in this episode, he was in very real danger of falling in love with her again -- her betrayal pulled him back from that precipice.

Let’s not think about that too much.

He looks vaguely pathetic standing in the hallway, desperately waiting for Phoebe to throw him a bone.

Phoebe, of course, wouldn’t want Mulder and Sir Marsden in the same room together since she’s playing both of them. Yet, despite the fact she’s ditched him the entire evening, with just the tiniest scrap of attention, he’s eating out of her palm again.

She truly does have a power over him. For some reason he is enthralled by her, and it seems to be related not just to her beauty, but her intelligence, her “brilliance” as he called it.

But you know who else fits that criteria? Yeah, not even gonna say it.

Scully is genius-level brilliant. It’s a very rare occurrence when she’s not the smartest person in the room. She was perhaps less conventionally attractive for the 90′s. She has a 1950′s Lauren Bacall-esque screen goddess look to her, especially in seasons 1-3.

Which is my only explanation for why people fall all over themselves when Phoebe is on screen but seemingly fail to notice Scully at all. Oh that, and...

So back to this dagger-through-the-heart scene... Phoebe uses sex to lure Mulder in several times in the episode, and it happens again during this scene.

Scully arrives in time to see them start dancing and is more irritated, or fed up, than jealous. She’s arrived at entirely the wrong moment and now she has to wait.

This episode does then establish that Scully wasn’t in love with Mulder this early on. Attracted to him sure – but not so attached that she would be jealous of him with another woman. We know exactly what that looks like for Scully, and when that woman is jealous she is completely incapable of hiding it.

As much shit as they’ve been through together at this point, it has still only been a matter of months since they met.

Although I think she does experience a bit of a sting when she sees them kissing – rolling her eyes at him. This wasn’t what she came up here for.

She’s there to work, to focus on the-- wait.... WAIT. WAIT.

Is that butt groping I see, Mulder?!

It fucking is!

That horny, sex-starved, puppy is just gagging for it! GAGGING.

Fuck. Seriously, in All Things I think he must have all but attacked Scully.

ANYWAY.

Scully is there to work, to focus on the case, while Mulder... well...

Mulder is distracted by a handful of ass cheek and a tongue down his throat, it seems.

It might be crossing her mind that she had decided to forego her own love life to work with him on the X-FIles back in The Jersey Devil. She’d berated him for not having a life, and yet, here he is. A taste of her own medicine, perhaps? Let’s not forget, Mulder had a similar scene waiting for Scully as she went on a date, staring at the clock looking miserable.

I suspect she’s probably also wondering what the hell happened to trying to avoid getting ensnared in the flames of Phoebe Green??

Scully then stops dead in her tracks as she sees Creeper McCreeperson hiding in the foliage.

But she doesn’t get the chance to think about that for too long before she spots that there is a fire on the 14th floor. She rushes out to tell Mulder and Phoebe and then proceeds to raise the alarm in the rest of the building.

Dana Katherine Scully -- MVP.

Phoebe informs them both that the children are on the 14th floor, and so Mulder, being the action hero that he is, decides to go up there -- people need help and so he will save them, that’s his edict in life. No matter how difficult it is for him, he’s going to try because that’s what he tells himself he must do. In the psychotherapeutic sense, he is every bit a “rescuer”. A person who feels connection to others through saving them. It’s how he has learnt to relate to other people.

The rescuer identity usually emerges in childhood in reaction to a feeling of powerlessness. The child may have experienced their parents as emotionally unavailable, distant and unable to meet their emotional needs. With these needs being unmet, the child learns to experience love and connection vicariously through meeting the needs of others.

Think about it. Mulder lost his sister when he was supposed to be looking after her, and in his memory of these events he is powerless to stop her abduction -- no matter what he tries; grabbing a gun, screaming for help; nothing works. We know from the Pilot that his parents refused to talk about what happened to Samantha and as a result the family fell apart -- his parents divorced and the first chance he got, Mulder got as far away from them as he could; going to Oxford.

To compensate for this trauma; the unimaginable weight of guilt and powerlessness he felt to save Samantha, he saves anyone and everyone he can. This way he can sooth that voice in his head; the voice that tells him he is worthless, unlovable. From his 12 year old perspective, his parents withdrew their love when he failed to save Samantha, and so now his self-worth is tied up in a need save -- if he can save someone, he is worthy of love.

So regardless of how terrified he is, he goes head first into the fire to save those children.

He doesn’t want to do it, in his mind, he has no choice.

In a way, it makes me wonder if that’s why he took back Phoebe despite the fact she cheated on him. Perhaps he saw her flaws, saw her destructive behaviour and believed her could save her. Men and women often fall into the trap of believing they can change their partners through love. Perhaps Mulder believed if he loved Phoebe enough, she would change -- that effectively, he would save her?

Poor Mulder. He pushes himself to the point of passing out to save those kids, but fails. While everyone else, including Phoebe, is fawning over Creeper McCreeperson for ultimately being the one to save them...

...it’s Scully who searches for Mulder and immediately goes to him when she sees he needs her help. Regardless of where she falls on Mulder’s priority list, he’s always at the top of hers.

This whole hotel scene really tells you everything you need to know about how these two women feel about Mulder.

One casually discards him when it’s convenient, while the other will wait for him, and be there for him even when he doesn’t ask for it.

Even when he pushes her away.

The next scene emphasises this further, with Scully sitting at his bedside taking care of him. Handing him water as he chugs up his innards and the first thing out of his mouth is...

The script notes for this scene are well known now. Mulder apparently wakes to see Scully and muses on the fact this was not the woman he had anticipated ending up in bed with.

Chris Carter’s writing, everybody.

Thankfully Scully is sensitive enough to his shame and embarrassment that she doesn’t give him a hard time. In fact, she’s mothering him, using that soft, gentle, loving voice that she usually reserves for talking to children.

She’s trying to sooth him, knowing he is going to be hard on himself.

When she asks what happened, he is entirely honest with Scully. They have established a level of emotional intimacy in this episode that they’ve not touched on since Mulder’s emotional confession of his childhood bedtime ritual in Conduit.

This intimacy gives Mulder a feeling of safety that I suspect he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He can be wholly open with Scully, all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities laid bare for her. Represented physically by his walking around almost naked in front of her, wearing nothing but black silky boxers.

Oh Mulder, he really goes all out when he think’s he’s gonna get some. Which just makes me think all sorts of fun thoughts about Mulder and Scully’s season 7 sex life.

(Here ya go, @allyinthekeyofx these gifs are dedicated to you.) 😉

There’s a significant shift in Phoebe’s behaviour when she enters the room. First, she directly addresses Scully, and holds a whole conversation with her. Shocker! She dismisses a piece of vital information Scully gives her, of course, but she still has noticeably adjusted her approach to her. She doesn’t seem to be treating her as a threat anymore.

When Mulder comes back in and sees Phoebe, he suddenly becomes conscious of his body, of his exposure and vulnerability, so immediately covers himself.

The difference in the level of intimacy he feels safe sharing with these two women is clearly drawn by such a simple gesture.

It then becomes apparent why Phoebe is behaving differently, she is returning to England. Mulder is clearly disappointed to hear she’s leaving. Again, reinforcing the idea that perhaps he was hoping for more than a one night stand. Was he hoping she would stay in the US for him?

Phoebe’s dwindled interest in Mulder is palpable. She seems to have given up her romantic pursuit, no longer bothering to ostracise Scully. She politely, and it seems genuinely, bids her goodbye as she leaves.

Knowing full well what she’s just witnessed -- Mulder essentially being dumped -- Scully is ever protective. Looking out for him once again. It’s a shame you can’t hear gifs, because it’s all in that soft, gentle, tentative tone of voice she uses when she asks him...

Mulder is clearly deflated, but I love the next exchange between the two of them.

This is Scully’s chance to shine, to prove herself to him. She basically single-handedly solves the case and discovers who the arsonist is after Phoebe and Mulder spectacularly failed.

She’s clearly making a point to him in outlining the entirety of her investigation. She wants him to know exactly how much she has done. Mulder seems to be only vaguely interested.

That is until she gets to the climax of her little tale, and he flips into overdrive realising they now have what they need to find this guy.

Scully’s face as Mulder leaps into action is perfect. That smug smile of satisfaction.

Whose “brilliant” now, eh?

Mulder flies over to Cape Cod to warn Phoebe, only to find her wrapped in the arms of Sir Marsden. Oh hey, I made these gifs already!

Mulder’s face... It all makes sense to him now. This was all just another game. She played him, and she played him good.

But it seems Mulder has finally learnt his lesson. Fool me once, and all that.

Since it was clear Mulder hadn’t fully let go of his feelings for Phoebe in 10 years, I’d say this was a good thing for him. If she had gone home and he was left to pine over her, that would have been disastrous. So it worked out for the best, if a little painfully for Mulder.

It’s called tough love, bitch. Suck it up.

After this moment, Mulder’s entire demeanour with Phoebe changes – he’s put his barriers back up, and the detached Mulder tone comes out.

He’s looking at her like he can’t quite believe he almost fell for it again.

When Scully arrives later, she can tell straight away that Mulder is upset.

Again, Mulder… what you are looking for is right in front of you. He brushes it off, but she’s watching him intently. She’s so protective of him, it’s so sweet.

So they discover that the arsonist is not the driver, but is in fact the caretaker, and as we know, has painted up the house with argotypoline -- rocket fuel.

In a repeat of the hotel scenario, the children are up stairs in a building that starts going up in smoke.

Mulder valiantly but stupidly tries to put the fires out. Bath towel vs. rocket fuel, Mulder. Seriously?

Finally realising that whacking a rocket fuel fire with a towel is the stupidest thing he’s ever done whilst sober, Mulder orders everyone out of the room.

However, Mulder does find a moment to continue his hand’s love affair with Scully’s back. All in the midst of facing his darkest fear of fire – nice!

Now this is going off book a bit, but I get the sense that there was supposed to be some kind of scene where Scully is in danger in the fire and Mulder overcomes his fears to save her.

I say this because there is a cut line of dialogue from the original script where Scully says “don’t let it be said that you wouldn’t want through fire for a woman” and Mulder apparently replies “and don’t let it be said that I wouldn’t do it for you again, Scully.”

To whoever it was that decided to cut that. CC, I’m looking at you.

I mean, that’s pretty heavy handed stuff… perhaps they realised it was a bit too heavy handed for a show that was supposedly never going to put these two together romantically.

If it had been left in, it would have drawn a clear parallel between Phoebe and Scully. Still along the vein that the episode is already toying with throughout, but those lines of dialogue would have made it far more blatant. The comparison being that Phoebe is fire – she is a tormentor, a symbol of sexual desire and emotional pain for Mulder. As such, his relationship with her compounded his fear; she feeds them. Whereas Scully is a soothing, caring presence. A symbol of love and friendship, and emotional healing for Mulder. As such, his relationship with her helps him to overcome his fear.

The episode does still maintain certain aspects of this – once Mulder has severed his bond with Phoebe, and reunites with Scully, he does put himself between others and the blaze, trying to put it out. He also takes control of the situation and orders everyone out of the house. He’s no longer freezing at the sight of fire.

I really like that as they shuffle everyone out of the house, Mulder tells Scully to find a fire extinguisher but tells everyone else to get out. It’s him and Scully again – together as partners, she’s the one he trusts to have his back.

Mulder, Gawd bless him, summons up the courage to face his fear without needing to save Scully in the end, its having the chance to vindicate his earlier failure at saving the children that motivates him to push forward.

Bless this brave puppy.

Success!

But yeah, being pulled from a burning building twice in one night? Those kids are fucked. Traumatised for life.

So remember I said there was some interesting symbolism with the camera work in the opening of the episode. Well, now we’re at the end, the framing has flipped. Mulder and Scully are reunited as partners on the screen, and now, with Phoebe’s influence over Mulder dashed, she is framed as separate from the two -- the true outsider.

The final scene is very sweet, and symbolic of Mulder and Scully restoring their equilibrium as they return to the casual bantering we saw from them in the beginning of the episode, before Phoebe showed up.

Where we started was that Phoebe was the one in on the joke, now she’s the butt of it. Scully does have a fun side too.

I just gotta say, she looks especially beautiful in this scene, thankfully this was a good wardrobe day for her. Season 1 was very hit and miss.

Scully asks where Phoebe is, and Mulder, clearly more relaxed than we’ve seen him the entire episode, shrugs – he doesn’t know, and seemingly doesn’t care to.

Now if we were to get the romcom ending, Mulder would have noticed all the times Scully was there for him and would have thanked her, or at least recognised that he did need her help after all. Or maybe he’d tell her he’s thankful she didn’t listen to him when he told her not to help. But this is the X-Files, so... yeah who the hell do you think you’re kidding?

Phoebe also sends Mulder another tape, but he doesn’t need to hear it. He’s free of her thrall now, and so there’s nothing she could say that would be meaningful to him anymore.

Would have been a nice touch to see him drop the tape in the trash, but I think we get the idea. It took 10 long years, but Fox Mulder is finally over Phoebe Green.

Next up… My favourite episode of season 1. 1x13 - Beyond the Sea.

#thexfiles #x files #txf meta #txf analysis #MSR #x files msr analysis series #xf gifs #xf screencaps #fox mulder #dana scully #chris carter #david duchovny #gillian anderson #phoebe green #txf 1x12 #fire

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topazshadowwolf · 7 years

Text

The Door (Chapter 13)

An Undertale Fanfiction by: Topaz Shadowwolf Undertale is owned by: Toby Fox Setting: Post neutral run when Papyrus dies with chapter intros being before the child fell. Relationships: Sans and Toriel is the main focus, with a little bit of Undyne and Alphys Rating: I’m thinking Teen? Heads up: There is some depressed thoughts, feelings of worthlessness/wanting to die, mention of major character death, and the occasional bad word. Oh, and flowey being flowey, so you know, psychological/physical trauma. I really don’t want to say much more since I really don’t want to spoil anything further down the road…

You can read it on AO3! Here is Ch 12 Ch 11 Ch 10 Ch 9 Ch 8 Ch 7 Ch 6 Ch 5 Ch 4 Ch 3, Ch 2, and Ch 1on Tumbler.

Random thoughts from the writer about this chapter: The Door has a beta reader now! (YEAH!) So that's fun. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

Chapter 13: A preamble down memory lane

“Honestly, I don’t think I have ever seen a froggit that small before,” Toriel said, smiling as she recounted her story. “Most monsters in the Ruins avoid me, I suppose I never really had the chance to see it until then.”

“why’d they do that? you’ve got to be the best conversationalist there,” her friend inquired before he added with a chuckle, “no offense to your moldsmal neighbors.”

Toriel hummed to buy time to think, as well as avoid an awkward silence. She hadn’t told her friend much about herself. This is only the third time they had chatted after sharing jokes, and mostly it had been small anecdotal stories for him to share with his brother. How much did she want him to know about her? “Ah, well, you see… I didn’t make that good of an impression on the monsters living here when I moved in.”

“okay,” he said. He could have pressed for more, but she was happy he didn’t. Perhaps he sensed she didn’t feel like discussing the matter. But then, he seems rather private himself, and maybe he just didn’t want to intrude on her privacy.

“Now… where was I?” with that out of the way, she tapped her chin as she put herself back into story mode.

“smallest froggit,” her friend offered.

“Right, so there it was. Just this small green froggit, hopping along after the others, and I just couldn’t help myself but smile. I don’t think it was young; just small and cute,” She smiled.

“heh,” was the response, and it was not one of his humor-filled chuckles. She wasn’t sure, but she worried something she said upset him.

“Friend?”

“yeah?”

She steeled herself. He has yet to say a word about himself. Out of respect, she has not asked. After all, they were just strangers talking through a door. But, she really was worried that he was angry about something she said. Strangers or not, she had started considering him her friend. It bothered her that he went from happy and jovial to… well, she wasn’t sure. “Did I offend you?”

“what?” he sounded shocked, maybe she was overreacting? Afraid she jumped to a conclusion over a simple response, she bit her lip. This wasn’t the first time she just got an idea in her head and made an assumption. Maybe he just didn’t find her story that interesting, and now here she was making a big deal out of a simple chuckle.

“I’m sorry, I just… you didn’t sound happy,” She decided to just be honest about it.

“oh, uh… heh…,” now he was stalling. Was he upset?

Silence fell between them, and she worried she may have just bothered him more, “Dishes?”

“uh... you see…,” again silence. She figured that perhaps she should just give him a moment to think about how he wanted to respond. So, this time she waited, and her wait was rewarded, “i… i’m kind of… ‘space efficient,’ ‘vertically challenged,’ or ‘compact sized’ myself. And when i was younger i heard it a lot… anyway, after a while,being called cute for being small so many times, it kind of… gets tiring. so, i guess i sympathize with that little froggit, forever doomed to be the “cute” one of the group for being ‘height deficient.’” He tried to end it in a humorous tone, but she can tell he was hurting from the ‘small and cute’ comment.

She made a mental note, if she ever met him in person, to avoid using the word cute to describe him physically. “I’m sorry, my friend,” she wished he could see her apologetic smile.

“no worries,” she heard him shift a little, possibly to shrug. “it’s nothing really.”

“No, it upsets you,” she insisted.

“it’s a common thing though. i can’t ask you to just stop.”

“My friend, I do not wish to be pushy on this matter; but, if it bothers you in the slightest, I’d rather not do it again. Yes, it is common, but I understand that it is an annoyance to you,” Toriel stated and heard him chuckle on the other side.

“alright, thanks,” he sounded happy again.

“You are welcome, my ‘travel sized’ friend,” she hoped he didn’t mind that slight bit of teasing.

His laughter that followed hinted he didn’t, “don’t think i’ve heard that one before.”

Sans woke, curled up in bed with Tori at his back. Not wanting to get up just yet, he remained still, lightly dozing. It was nice to wake peacefully like this, compared to the restless sleep from before. It was all thanks to the wonderful woman pressed against his back too, or so he chose to believe.

Tori’s rhythmic breathing had relaxed and grounded his mind. It allowed him to stay focused on the subtle movements her body made and kept his thoughts from venturing into the conversation from yesterday. Or worse, the darker areas of his mind, which is plagued with overall confusion about what really has happened in his life or lives.

Do other timelines count as another life? Are the Sans, or Sanses, from those timelines him, or an alternate him? If they were alternate hims, does that mean he was killed by the flower or did it kill the other, not really hims?

There was a slight pause in Tori’s breathing before she sighed. Feeling and hearing her chest fill with air dragged him back to the present and he soaked in the feel of her movement as she exhaled.

Thanks to her, he didn’t have to think about that, or anything else. He didn’t want to think of the kid or the flower. He didn’t want to think about his own death or what could have possibly happened had everything ended. No, he was done with that. Every part of him just wanted to be surrounded with the here and now, into Toriel.

… The book…

No, he didn’t even want to think about that right now, either.

Sans rolled over in Tori’s arms. He felt her shift, but not wake. Pleased with this, he buried his face in her fur. Like some sort of pie scented drug, he took in Tori’s scent, letting the thoughts of the events prior to this moment fade away. He wasn’t going to cry…

Nope, he wasn’t…

…

Okay, so he was, but that’s alright. That book meant so much to the brothers; so, of course, it would affect him this much. It meant he still cared that he’d feel his soul ache at its sight. And that’s a good thing, ...right?

Yes, it was, Papyrus was his dear little brother, and very important to him. The day he stopped caring about Papyrus is the day he hoped he stopped existing.

All this decided, he accepted his fate and stopped trying to hold back his tears. Toriel shifted again and pulled him in closer, somehow finding some previously unknown millimeter that separated them. That loving, large, paw-like hand began to pet the back of his skull in such a gentle manner. She didn’t offer any questions about why he was crying, or if he was okay. Perhaps she somehow understood. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched, considering all their talks… she did see the book in his hands after all. Instead, she started to hum some song.

At some point, he must have drifted off to sleep as he found himself waking up again, this time alone. Not fully, he could hear Tori moving around the room. Still, the bed didn’t feel right without her there. Fog from a waking mind clouded his thoughts, but he sat up slowly, stretched, and yawned. Tori looked over at him from the table in the room and smiled, “Good to see you’re finally up, Sleepy Bones,” He could see the concern on her face, and wondered what troubled her. “Feeling any better?”

She had to know how difficult the other day was for him, on top of everything else. That must be the source of her worry.

“yeah, heh. how long was i out?” He asked as he spotted food at the table. The pang of hunger radiated through his bones; he slid out of bed and wandered over to eat.

“A whole day, give or take an hour or two,” Tori said.

Sans balked at this at first. He has slept a long time before, but never that long, “you’ve goat to be kidding me, tori.”

“It’s no fibula, Sansy,” she teased as he gave her a playful glare, “In that time I talked more with Alphys, and she did bring by some things for us to wear. I had informed her that we just had what we are currently wearing.”

“huh,” Sans said quietly, unsure if that last bit was a good or bad thing. He’s going to guess bad based on some of the things Alphys had convinced him to wear in the past.

Well… he didn’t mind too much, so long as it was within the confines of her lab, and not where others could see him. He has his whole “lazy-slob-of-a-cool-comedian” act to keep up. Dressing as a “galactic hero” from some random anime, that he admittedly enjoyed, does not count. That… or being a temporary model for her to make one of her own outfits, due to their height being nearly the same. Though he highly doubted she would have given him one of those to wear. Thank the angel and all things good in the world for that. Still, knowing her, he can’t help but pause and inwardly grimace as he wondered just what it was that the yellow dinosaur had in store for him.

“Sans?” Tori asked, tilting her head at him in that manner that is so endearing that it’s hard to look at her.

With a lazy shrug, he sat at the table, “will be interesting to see what she provided.” When he glanced back at Tori, she still had a puzzled look, but he offered a grin and a wink with his right eye, which elicited a smile from her that he clearly saw with his left.

After they ate they cleaned themselves up. Tori stepped out of the bathroom to fetch the new clothes as Sans looked at himself in the mirror. He had to admit, the sleep had done him some good. He looked less tired, and the darkness around his eyes had mostly vanished. Still, there was the unending look of exhaustion that plagued him.

When Tori reappeared, he could see she was blushing under her fur. That didn’t bode well, and he couldn’t help but worry again about what Alphys brought. He steeled himself, as he tried to prepare for the worst. “Sans…,” Toriel started hesitantly, “I’ll give you some of it to put on, but… I want you to close your eyes for the last of it.”

“t, what did she bring?”

“P-please Sans, I would... actually like to see you in this,” She looked away then back at him. There was a hint of nervousness and blush was still showing from under her fur. Like that, she looked too cute to say “no” to, not that denying her anything is ever easy.

With a reluctant sigh, he relented, “alright, tori.”

He put on a pair of light grey shorts with cyan blue lines running down the sides and along the pockets. Then a white short sleeve t-shirt. So far nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, Alphys was kind enough to provide him with a new pair of white fuzzy slippers, which was nice. But now he was about to figure out what this last part was.

With a deep breath, he prepared himself for the worst and closed his eye sockets. Tori put on what felt like a normal hoodie. This confused him as he was unsure why she would want him to close his eye sockets over this. She pulled up the hood and he heard her step back and make a squeaking noise as if holding back some other sound she wanted to make. That made him wince and he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror.

It was a hoodie, light gray like the pants with cyan stripes along the back and on the hood like tiger striping. It would have looked cool if it wasn’t for the two, obvious, cat ears on the hood and the cat-like tail attached to the back.

Yup, there was that now familiar feeling of embarrassment creeping in. He understood that sound Tori held back was most likely a sound reserved for women when they look at something “cute.” It was hard enough being short. People automatically turn to the word cute when describing anything smaller than ordinary. Things like this just add to it.

And now he could see his blushing matches the stupid markings on the hoodie, much as his eye would when it glows cyan. Wincing slightly, he glanced at Tori. She was covering her mouth and smiling. He sighed and closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts, then looked in the mirror again. Giving in, he pulled the hood down to block out the vision. He’ll tolerate this… for her, and only her. “what’d she bring for you?”

“Oh, wait here, I’ll go put it on,” She walked out of the room while adding, “I’m not sure how it will look on me.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets he looked back in the mirror as he waited. He wondered what Alphys was trying to play at with this. As he thought about it, in the long run, he didn’t mind wearing this for Tori if it made her happy. Shrugging slightly, he turned a bit, looked at himself, and sighed. He didn’t look bad; if you can get past the annoying cuteness of it. But there was no way in hell he was going to let Undyne see him like this. She clearly already didn’t think he had any self-respect, and this would just add to that thought. Not that she was far off. He had it, he just stopped caring about it.

“Um, okay, I’m ready…,” Tori called. Sans walked out of the bathroom, prepared to see what over the top cute thing Alphys supplied Tori with. But what he saw would have stopped his heart if he had one. Instead, it caused his soul to freeze then feel as though it was having a spasm.

She was in a very elegant white dress. It was lightly accented with silver and gold around the sleeves, neckline, and flowing bottom. Around her waist is an elegant golden chain with a watch hanging from it on her right hip. The dress perfectly showed her figure while maintaining Tori’s usual elevated level of modesty. Tori looked at him shyly. Even as a queen she never wore anything like this before, preferring plain clothes, “How do I look?”

This was a struggle. He tried to speak but no words came out. He coached himself to get it together as he heard himself rattle a little. The rattle, as annoying and childish as it was, helped calm his nerves and he smiled at her, “it looks beautiful on you, tori.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” She asked, spinning slightly. The dress had a spot for her tail to be seen. The dresses Tori wears in the ruins cover her short, fluffy tail. He liked seeing it, really; and, he was happy most of her pajamas have space for it. But, in this dress, it ended up being that last thing that caused him to start feeling unsteady. She was just that beautiful.

Well, she was always that beautiful. She just hid it under layers of loose hanging clothes, and self-conscious worries of being too old to dress this way.

Raising a hand to his mouth he took a step back. He felt his magic in his face, and the world was being filtered out by its hum. He struggled to clear his nonexistent throat to utter a quiet reply, “n-no tori.” The room was spinning, and his already empty skull was feeling lighter than normal. He cleared his throat again and looked down, “i, uh, think i’m going to sit because i’m about to fall for you.”

“Sans, are you alright?” She asked as she hurried over and knelt beside him. He felt her pull the hood off his head and start to touch his skull. He didn’t fight it, letting himself rattle again as he covered his face with his hands. “Oh my,” She said before he felt her lift him and place him on her lap.

“tori, why? why do you love me?” He lowered his hands and looked at her, “you deserve so much better. you’re so… so… everything wonderful in this world. so, why would you ever want to put up with me?”

She hugged him tight to herself, “I don’t put up with you, Sans, I love you. You make me so happy.” She loosened her grip and pulled the hood back over his head and smiled, “You’re my personal Cheshire cat.”

Ah, that’s what he was supposed to be.

“ah, wonderland, that the theme alphys was going for… so i guess you’re the white queen… or rabbit… both?” Sans looked at the watch with thoughtfulness, “i read those books to pap a long time ago, so i’m a bit rusty with them. but i think she was going for both.” He then sighed and looked up at Tori again, “alright, i’ll wear this out of the room as long as you help me avoid undyne. so, uh, if i take a short cut and leave you seemingly alone with her, don’t worry, i’m just out of sight. i won't leave you. i promise.”

Tori frowned a little, “I’m sorry if I got in between you two. I’m sure you’d both be closer if I wasn’t here.”

“not really, t. the only thing that kept us from killing each other all these years was pap. our personalities just don’t mesh well. she’s all energetic, motivated, and aggressive while I’m laid back, lazy, and punny.”

They sat a moment longer, which gave Sans the time he needed to calm his magic. Once he felt stable, Sans stood and stretched his arms up to maximize stretching out his back as much as possible. This action caused a few good pops from his spine, relieving some tension.

Toriel giggled, and when Sans smiled back at her she said in an amused tone, “I’m beginning to think you’re more cat like than you know.” He looked away as she stood, and considered what she said. Okay, she had him there. Based on what he knows of cats, he did have a cat personality. She didn’t let him think long though, as she continued, “Well, Alphys was hoping you’d go through the True Lab with her. I figured you could, after we stop off in the Ruins to get our things. I asked if I could come and she said it was fine with her as long as you’re fine with it.”

Sans thought for a moment. She must have sent the amalgamates home then or she was hoping Sans would say ‘no.’ Welp, if it was the latter, she should know that he won’t say ‘no’ to Tori that easy. She must have since she did send the hoodie, “i’m feline with it. a-fur all, i did purrmise to tell you about myself; and, there is a distinct pawsability something may come up while we are there.”

Tori was laughing, and she reached out for his hand which he willingly gave, “Oh the tails you may tell.”

He just wanted to stay. Forget the rest of the underground, other than Grillby and Alphys, he really didn’t care what was going on out there. Well, maybe Undyne too, even if there were bitter feelings. Still, he tried hiding this, though he was sure Toriel could see right through him. He was, after all, just bone.

If he was inclined to place a wager, he’d bet she felt the same. The main difference is, Tori has a sense of duty. Sans, on the other hand, was not above just running away. At one time, responsibility really meant something to him, but life saw an end to that. For now, he will let Tori’s integrity guide him, and avoid pressuring her to go against her conscience. After all, that sounds like a lot of work.

Knowing what he should do, Sans ambled down to the room he had called his own prior to sharing with Tori. While he had somewhat moved in with her, the move was not complete. He suspected that was to keep his messes out of her space. Honestly, he was fine with that. It took a while to gather the few things he called his own. He was tempted to leave most of it, though, he’d be the worst pet rock owner if he left Geode behind. And there were the clothes Tori insisted on getting him. He wasn’t about to waste her money by leaving them behind. In the end, he packed up more things he ever thought he would. He chuckled to himself at the oddity of this. It was uncomfortable in a way, as he was never one for worrying about his own things.

Things can disappear...

He opted to ignore that thought and started toward the sitting room. Tori should need longer, he figured, so he would wait. Though, he should check to make sure she didn’t need help first. He paused at her room, or their room. It was still mostly Tori’s, but she insisted he started using it more. Memories of the nights they spent here did cause an ache in his soul. That feeling vanished as he saw Tori sitting on her bed, tear matted fur under her eyes.

“hey, tori?” but she didn’t reply or look at him. Instead, her gaze was focused on a book. As he got closer he saw it was a photo album, within, were a series of smiling faces. All young and most human, save for one monster, which he could see a clear resemblance. It didn’t take much thought to figure out that was her son, Asriel. Sans looked from the album and back up to her, he understood now what was wrong. This house had been where she had lived with those human children for varying degrees of time. Leaving was not going to be easy, even if it ended up being good for her.

He remembered her being subdued when she came to the kingdom to rule after Asgore’s death. Had she felt these feelings before, during that time? She went from one place filled with painful memories to another, then back again only to repeat the process yet again. Well, this time she is not alone.

Sans walked closer and climbed up on the bed next to her. Finally, he saw her head move slightly, acknowledging him being there, though she did not say anything. He just leaned against her and closed his eye sockets. He wrapped an arm around her back the best he could, just being there for her seemed like the best opinion.

Tori seemed to accept it as he felt her lean slightly into him, though he regretted he was not bigger, so she would feel able to lean on him more. They sat in silence until Tori finally felt ready to talk, “Thank you, Sans.”

“don’t mention it, tori,” he replied.

“Was it hard for you when you left home?”

“heh,” Sans sighed and shook his head, “in a way, but i really didn’t want to go home. not to an empty, quiet house that i was used to being full of a happy, loud brother.”

They sat in silence again before Tori nodded, “I understand that, I might have felt that way if I was in the same situation.”

“i heard someone say that how we all grieve is different, t. that includes when we grieve too. took a while before i properly did,” Sans sighed.

“It is continual. I’m not going to be able to wake up one morning and never shed a tear ever again for Chara, Asriel, or any of my children. But,” she closed the photo album with a shuddering sigh, “I can now move forward.”

Sans watched as she stood and placed the book in her bag to go with her. In that moment she looked so stoic and elegant. She wasn’t just physically strong, that was clear to see. When she looked up at him, with a smile, he smiled back. His grin must have been a little weird as he saw her snout wrinkle a little as she held back a giggle.

He tried to shift the focus, “so, uh, want help packing?”

“No, I think I’ve got it. Thank you for asking. But, please stay, I need the company,” she looked happy save for a hint of sorrow in her eyes. It was masked well enough that to most it would be easy to overlook, but he spotted it.

“sure thing, t,” he offered a reassuring smile and stayed with her as she finished collecting her things.

He sat and watched, patient as always, as she worked. Then again, patience is easy when it is doubly easy to fall asleep. It was Toriel touching his cheek that woke him up. He hadn’t meant to drift off like that.

“Hello, dear one,” she said, lowering her head down, looking at him eye to eye.

“heya, tori,” he smiled back at her, lost in her eyes.

They had kiss plenty of times before; so, when Toriel leaned in close that was what Sans was expecting to happen. What he hadn’t expected was her nose to nuzzle over his nasal bone and cavity. Nor was he expecting how it would feel. How warm, soft, velvety, and ticklish it would be as her nose rubbed where his would have been. It felt good. He chuckled and tried to nuzzle back, though he doubted it would have even half of the same effect. Still, it caused her to continue and even push him over on to his back, not that he would ever mind.

It wasn’t until they were both a fit of giggles did the nuzzling stop. They remained on the bed, on top of the sheets. Tori was cuddling him so close that he had no option but to cuddle back. Again, he wasn’t about to mind. It felt good. It felt like home. If only…

If only Papyrus was alive…

And at least one of the kids for Tori. All would be great, but one didn’t seem too much to ask for. Yet, each one became lost to her, one way or another. It didn’t seem fair. Sans thought he was a good brother. He’d never admit to great, but good? Sure. And Tori? She had to be the greatest mother down here. Despite these facts, Sans was sans a brother and Tori, a child.

Sans managed to free his left arm from her embrace so he could pet Tori’s ear. In response, she started to laugh, which sent shivers through him. No matter how many times he heard that sound, it was always beautiful. Every “ha”, every undignified snort, and every adorable bleat just felt like a grand piece of artwork.

They stayed like that until, eventually, Tori’s sense of responsibility caught up with her.

With one of Sans’s shortcuts, they were in front of the laboratory of Dr. Alphys in no time. Sans was about to knock but Toriel put a hand on his shoulder and smiled, “I’ve got one, may I?”

She smiled big as he took a step back and gestured toward the door in a half bow to let her know it was all hers. Knocking twice she heard a voice within call, “W-who is it?”

“Purr,” Toriel called back.

She heard footsteps as Dr. Alphys walked closer, obvious confusion in her voice as she replied, “Wait, w-what? Purr who?”

“Purr-haps you could open the door be-fur too long?” Toriel smiled as she heard Sans holding back a snicker beside her.

“i figured it was about time for us to get hare, so white don’t you let us in,” Sans added and the two laughed.

Alphys opened the door, allowing them to enter. Toriel was amazed as she walked in and looked around the lab. Other than the mess here and there, especially around the computer desk, it looked impressive. She looked back to Alphys to say something, but she noticed Sans was staring at the Doctor. His hood obscured his face, but she had an idea of what it looked like as Alphys avoided looking at him.

“Sans?” She said, trying to get his attention from the Doctor.

It worked, and he turned to face her. She is sure his eye sockets were not lit as his head turned. But, by the time he finished turning his head, they were. Frowning, she wondered what that was about, “yes, my queen?”

“S-Sans!” Toriel felt herself blush.

“what?” He said as he walked over to her, “right al? she’s a mix of the white queen and the white rabbit.” Alphys nodded slightly, her scales a slight pink around her face, but he wasn’t paying attention. He must have noticed he caused Toriel to feel flustered and decided to play with that a bit as she had done to him in the past. “so, if i’m your cheshire cat, as i seem to remember you saying,” he said before purposefully rubbing against Toriel’s side while making a purring like sound, “then you’re my queen.”

There was a squealing like sound coming from the part of the room Alphys was in. Toriel saw her face scales were a red color now and her hands were pressed, palms together in front of her snout. Sans had flinched and froze in place, his face showing signs of sudden regret. Slowly he turned to face Alphys, his voice made an eerie echoing sound as he said, “D O N ’ T”

There was an odd, twisted grin on Alphys face, “I dare you to stop me.”

Toriel was confused by what was going on between them. She looked down at Sans who is palming his face muttering something to himself. Alphys, on the other hand, was giggling as if gleefully enjoying Sans’s embarrassment. “I think I’m missing something,” Toriel finally said, admitting she was at a complete loss.

“al likes to write what is called ‘fanfiction.’ the only problem is, she has a bad habit of not just writing about fictional characters, but also real people,” Sans said as he slowly pulled his hand down from his face, “and i, stupidly, and without thinking, just threw fuel onto that fire.”

“Oh,” Toriel said before what Sans told her fully sunk in, “Oooooh…” She stood there quietly as a guilty feeling washed over her, “May… may I read it?”

“what?!” Sans said, his voice getting surprisingly loud for him.

“Of course!” Alphys clapped happily and sprang into action, practically skipping across the lab to them as she rattled on almost incoherently about the fiction she was working on. She then blushed, again as she offered Toriel a small stack of printed papers that she had placed in a folder, “um, well... I-I won’t say anymore a-about it... Um… if you w-want to do some proofreading, well, uh... that would be, erm, appreciated.”

“I can do that, thank you,” Toriel smiled, glancing in the folder and making a mental note of the story’s title, The Door. How fitting.

“you really shouldn’t encourage her,” Sans sighed.

Chuckling, Toriel reached over and lightly tugged on one of the false ears on Sans’s hood. She saw one of his hands reach up and tug down on the hood to cover his face as he looked away. A patient smile crossed her mouth, feeling herself blush as she watched him. Setting the folder to the side to pick up when they leave, she turned back to Sans, who was still averting his eye lights. She could understand that all of this together has been hard on his ego, and decided to ease back a little bit… after they get to the lab. Reaching down she hugged him and lifted him up. He chuckled, and she felt him start to relax, “Now, as some may say, ‘to the lab!’” In her head, she heard a voice she thought she remembered saying that, but with far more enthusiasm. As to who the owner of that voice was, she couldn’t remember.

Alphys giggled and led the way to the elevator, “E-excuse the mess. I, um, don’t go down there m-much. I’ve also k-kept most of it locked off… so, uh… I haven’t seen i-it in a while.” She stepped off the elevator and flicked on a light. Pausing, Alphys looked back at Sans, “I-I’ve been, um, thinking of the f-fact you used to work here. And, um… w-well, I think I k-kind of remember t-that. Yet, I don’t? I remember being an i-intern here, and, um… that’s it. I don’t remember what I worked on then.”

“you and pretty much everyone underground,” Sans put a hand on Toriel’s shoulder, signaling he wanted to be put down. She carefully set him down and Sans took her hand to escort her off the elevator.

“How is that?” Toriel asked, “I remember that there was a royal scientist before Alphys, but I also have no memory of them.”

Sans let go of her hand and looked around the room. He shuffled towards a door as if by memory and looked about to open it when Alphys quickly moved over and started to unlock it for him. He looked back at Toriel as he waited, “who made the core? something so important, surely every monster in the underground would know the name of the person who invited our energy source.”

Toriel started to speak but stopped, she had never thought of that before, and her mind was drawing a blank. What Sans said made sense, and yet no matter how hard she tried she could not think of the name of the person who created the CORE. She looked at Alphys who was deep in thought.

Both herself and Alphys looked to Sans whose eyes darkened before he gave a low, humorless chuckle and walked through the door. No, humorless wasn’t the right word for that one. It was more of a tired chuckle, one she might have heard from a monster who wanted to acknowledge that they found something humorous but was too tired to laugh. That caused Toriel to give pause, remembering what he had said. All the things he ends up remembering, and yet this is another thing that he alone seems to be the sole keeper.

“his name was dr. w.d. gaster. he was a brilliant man, though a little off kilter at times, especially when he had a big idea in his head. i remember... working with him… i remember what some of our projects were about though, in a hazy, foggy way. i knew him as a person too, and i remember that i knew him, but my memories of him are cloudy and weak.” Walking down the halls he ran his bony fingers along the wall and looked around. His voice seemed at peace, yet his body seemed tense; as if expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

His cautiousness lead her to feel uneasy. “it’s funny, i remember having some of the happiest memories i can’t remember here… and yet… there is a nagging feeling… not sure, it just feels like something bad happened,” He looked back at Toriel and Alphys, “weird, huh?”

Toriel looked around. The halls were a neutral, sterile white color that made the area bright but not warm. There were doors spread along the walls, some labeled as the office of one person’s or another's. She wondered if one of them would be Sans’s, and what state he would have left it in.

“Sans, w-what happened to Dr. Gaster?” Alphys asked quietly.

The skeleton stopped and shrugged, “one of those things i don’t remember, but i think it was an accident. if i had to guess it was with our, uh, time and space experiments.”

“Time and space?” Toriel heard herself ask. She bit her lip, curious but at the same time unsure he wanted to talk about it as she could hear a heaviness in his tone.

“yeah, see, gaster discovered what we just called ‘shortcuts.’ and he wondered if it would be possible to apply what we learned, about moving through space, to time. we did, kind of, but we needed to do so on a much larger scale. for what, eh, i don’t remember, but i do remember he was the type to ask why after he invented something,” Sans shrugged and looked at Alphys, “so, we made a machine to do that with, though i don’t remember it working. anyway, he somehow wrote himself out of history in every way possible. it’d make sense to me if that was the project,” Sans then frowned, “but, uh, i’m not sure. he might have just fallen in the core for all i know. always wondered why he never put safety rails up.

“so, al, what did you need me for?” Sans put his hands in his pockets, wearing a smile on his face. But his voice told a different story. As even toned as he may believe he was keeping it, she didn’t hear the happiness his smile claimed. Months of just knowing him by voice alone had taught her that. It wasn’t that he was upset or scared. He just looked emotionally tired being here. Perhaps, having memories that he wished to, but couldn’t, remember was weighing on him. Or perhaps there were things he didn’t want to remember? No, she highly doubted the latter. She wasn’t sure why, but that didn’t feel right.

Alphys waved for him to follow and they walked down the hall chatting about matters she had to admit to herself she knew nothing about. Toriel noticed at one-point Sans glancing back at her as if checking to make sure she was alright. She smiled back at him and he winked before returning his full attention to Alphys.

As they walked past a hallway, Toriel came to a stop. A feeling of…

anger?

Or was it just annoyance or frustration?

She had been here before. She knew this hallway well, having been emotionally charged at the time she had walked down it. Toriel turned to call to Sans and Alphys, but they were so lost in their own conversation she held her tongue. Splitting off didn’t seem like the smartest idea. Yet, she felt the need to venture down this path and try to remember what it was she had been doing, or why she had been there.

No more thought had been put into which option she should take, as her feet had already started.

Eventually Sans stopped at a set of doors labeled ‘Lab A-1.’

“There are a few things in here I don’t u-understand,” Alphys opened the door, “if you could, um, shed some l-light on what some of this is...”

“i’ll do my best al, but you’re asking a photon of me,” Sans walked in and looked around the large lab. It almost hurt, as he felt a flood of nostalgia that he struggled to understand. It felt like home, or, at least, a second home. He needed time to let these feeling calm down in his soul, and took a moment to relax. In the process, he ran a finger over a work table before examining the dust. He couldn’t help but snort as he held back laughter while a voice in his head yelled out, “UNACCEPTABLE! How can one make a mess working if there is already a mess made?!”

With a sigh, Sans put his hand back in his pocket and turned to Alphys, “where do you want me to start?”

“How about this?” Alphys asked, pointing to a pod-shaped object.

Upon seeing it, Sans couldn’t help but grin as he walked over. Ah, the memories he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he was happy working on this, and what it was for. They really were going to try; they had an idea and thought it might solve everything. He walked over to an odd machine and walked around it. His sockets scanned it over with care, making sure it had made it through sitting in this dark and lonely place without a scratch. This was just the first attempt though; the second attempt was in his lab for safekeeping.

“this is the ‘time and space pod,’” Sans finally said as he placed a hand on it with reverence. “i wanted to make it more rectangular, paint it blue, and call it the tardis, after the machine in that human show, dr. who.”

“H-how would I know, I never saw it,” Alphys replied.

That shocked Sans and he looked at her, “no, that’s the name of… you haven’t seen it? i never showed you a single episode?”

“N-no?” Alphys gave him that smile that said, ‘you could have, but if so I didn’t like it and don’t remember it.’

Sans sighed and shook his head, “Seriously? Of all the geeky, human things you're into you’ve never heard of it?” When Dr. Alphys shrugged he looked back at the machine and patted it twice, “best store this somewhere under ‘bad idea’ unless we can clear it of the ‘possibly killed pops’ charges”

“Pops?” Alphys looked at him in surprise.

Sans paused, noticing what he just said. It came out of his mouth so naturally too. ‘pops.’ Come to think of it, he had, in talking with Papyrus, said “dadster” a few times, instead of Gaster. Papyrus had suggested the notion of them being related...

Still, Alphys was staring at him and expecting a reply. He wasn’t sure he was fully ready to commit to the idea and just shrugged. Not to his surprise, Alphys folded her arms, “Really? You have n-no idea why you called him ‘Pops’ just then?”

“none,” he replied, feigning disinterest. It is a matter to think about later when he wasn’t already being bombarded by other emotions. He glanced over to see how Toriel was taking his avoidance of the question.

…

“uh... where’s tori?”

Alphys looked around, “oh, oh my, we must have… o-oh dear... W-well, there is n-nothing in the lab that can hurt her.”

That didn’t matter to him, and he couldn’t help but fear the worst. There was too much here he no longer knew. He walked to the lab entrance and looked up and down the hall, “tori?” She was nowhere to be seen and he heard no reply.

She was right behind them, when did she fall behind or disappear?

“tori!” he started back down the hall, the only sound in response was the patter of Alphys’s feet behind him.

He stopped at an open office to look in, as well as some of the other labs, all the while he still called for her. Alphys was right, it was safe here, now… in theory. No… it isn’t safe. There could still be things in this lab that could hurt someone who didn’t know any better. “TORI!” he hated raising his voice that loud, but he felt he had to.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked back to see Alphys, “Sans! Y-you need to calm down.” Alphys waved a hand in the air to direct his attention to above himself. When he looked he could see two blasters hovering over him.

He unsummoned them while uttering a curse under his breath. He’ll admit, he got more worked up than needed. He won’t find Toriel like this. Still, it isn’t safe, what was so dangerous here he wasn’t fully sure, but it wasn’t safe.

“Now, let’s look, I’m sure we’ll find her,” Alphys offered a reassuring smile. Normally, it is the other way around, with Sans calming her down. It felt weird having their roles reversed.

“heh.... yeah,” Sans tried to relax and the two started their search.

Toriel stared at the wall ahead of her. The path she took somehow lead to a dead end that seemed to be random compared to how the rest of the lab was designed. Every hall she saw before had a purpose and lead somewhere. This one, though, was the only exception. Granted, there might have been plans for something to be here at one point that wasn’t finished. So, all there was in front of her was a wall.

She touched the wall, running her hand over it. Her head hurt as she tried to think, trying to recall the feeling she had. There really should be something else here, but she had no idea what. And trying to remember was exhausting to the point that she felt she needed to lie down. She patted the wall and started to turn back.

Sure, she reached a dead end, but she now knew she had been here before. That the little notion in her head was more than that. While she didn’t find what she had split off to look for, it did reassure her to know this new fact. Why had she been here, and why had she been so angry? Those are the next questions she will have to answer. But just trying to think about them made her head feel sharp, radiating pain from her temples. After she’s had a chance to rest, she’ll try again.

“tori!” Toriel heard Sans’s voice and looked up to see the skeleton jogging over, which was a rare sight. As he approached she could feel his magic was on edge, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Clearly, she had caused him to worry, which had not been her intent.

Once he was close she embraced him and sighed, “I’m sorry, I was chasing a memory and only found a headache.”

“D-do you need something for it?” Alphys asked, walking closer.

With some thought, Toriel nodded, “I think so.” Alphys told her where she could find the med kit upstairs. Within it, she would find painkillers, and the Doctor invited her to just sit and close her eyes if needed.

Sans confirmed that it won’t take them much longer and for her to just rest if her head was hurting. Though, as she turned to leave, Alphys spoke up, “Oh! One other thing.”

“Yes?” Toriel asked, looking back at the two. Sans was also looking at Alphys as if wondering what it was she had to say.

“It s-seems,” Alphys got a mischievous look on her face which did not get a happy response from Sans, who now looked worried and concerned. The Doctor ignored him though and continued without a care, “that Gaster is Sans’s father.”

“al, we don’t know that for sure,” Sans looked annoyed.

“You called him ‘Pops’,” Alphys huffed, “why else w-would you do that!”

The two started to have a small dispute over what that could mean. Toriel couldn’t follow it, as her head fogged with memories struggling to surface. Something about that was trying to draw information to the forefront, but it couldn’t. All it did was make her head feel even worse.

“tori, you okay?”

Tori didn’t remember kneeling down, but Sans was there beside her, holding her hand and looking at her with worried eye sockets. She smiled, but the room spun around her, adding a dizzying feeling to her disorientation.

“I just need to take care of this headache and lie down,” Toriel smiled at him the best she could.

“i can take us back if you want,” Sans offered, but she shook her head.

“I know, but really, I think I just need a moment. You said you won’t be much longer. That should be enough for me to feel well enough to go back to the castle.”

Sans looked at her, she could tell his sockets were searching for any hint that she may change her mind. Once he was satisfied, he nodded. He helped her up the best he could, and she made her way to the elevator. Once upstairs she found the med kit, took two pills and found a quiet place to sit. Today has not been an easy one. No wonder her head was starting to hurt.

She looked down at the dress and sighed. It was a very nice dress, but it just felt too modern for her. But, Sans clearly liked it, so she will endure it a while longer. If it meant seeing him practically buckle in on himself every time she smiled at him, it was worth it.

Toriel started to close her eyes when she remembered the story Alphys had been writing. When her body felt like it could withstand getting back up, Toriel retrieved the folder and settled back to read. For now, she intended to read only until her head hurt too much, or she decided she couldn’t take anymore.

He stood with his back to the Ruin door, as he had done plenty of times before. The wind rushed by him, carrying a haunting tone as it moved through the trees. Snow drifting down, dancing around him. Most monsters avoid the doors of the past, but not him. They had become a game, a toy of his amusement. Today, though, they would become more.

“knock knock,” he said, in his usual quiet, masculine, deep tone of voice. One would hardly think anyone would hear it, the start of his joke. But someone did.

“Who’s there,” came the reply. Soft, sweet, and filled with feminine grace.

It startled him. And he jumped as if the doors had shocked him. The look in his eyes was a mix of panic and intrigue. Never before had he thought his knocking would be answered. There was hesitation. Perhaps he heard wrong? Needing to get out pent up energy, he shifted his feet while rubbing the back of his neck, “dishes.”

“Dishes who?” the voice replied.

He was still unsure what to think of this occurrence. It had to be a fluke. It just seemed unreal that someone would be here. “dishes a really bad joke,” he said, as he tried to settle back into his rhythm.

Just as he had started to relax she laughed, and what a laugh it was. Again, he was startled, but what he was unaware of was the faint hint of blush painting his cheekbones. His smile widened as he chuckled back. It was just them, their laughter, and the unknown camera in the bushes. Originally set to look for humans, it now captured their budding romance, under the watchful gaze of the great scientist, who would guard this love from those who would stop it.

The writing didn’t seem bad, a bit dramatic for her taste, but it brought back memories of when they had met at the Ruin doors. She smiled while reading it, seeing his reaction clearly drawn out in her mind by Alphys’s words. It felt like him, though she didn’t believe there was a high likelihood that he was blushing at her first laugh.

End of Chapter notes: ... This chapter started with me going "I want to dress Sans up as a cat." That's really the only thought that went into it at the start. This is the type of sophisticated logic that goes into my chapter planning, folks. Also, keep in mind, that I actually wrote this BEFORE posting the first chapter. Since then, I have seen many artists decide to dress Sans up as a cat. So, I am clearly NOT the only who thinks this is something that should happen.

#Undertale #Fanfiction #Soriel #Sans #Toriel #Alphys #The Door #Chapter 13 #lol #Like #this is so self indulgent #Sorry but not sorry #I hope you all like it #because I had fun writing it #and while I may feel I need to apologize for it #I also say that i know you other shippers out there want this #So I'm not really sorry

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years

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That Time John McAfee Developed One of the First Social Networks

A version of this post originally appeared on Tedium, a twice-weekly newsletter that hunts for the end of the long tail.

Let it be said that we must live in particularly interesting times when John McAfee, one of the most controversial people the world of technology has ever produced, can get arrested in a foreign country for tax evasion … and people barely even notice.

But that’s what happened earlier this month—and as a result, McAfee is sitting in a Spanish jail, waiting to be extradited.

A lot has been written about him over the years, but I’d like to focus on one part of his life that has perhaps been overshadowed by his unusual existence over the past decade: The fact that, in the late 1990s, he was a social media innovator.

That innovation? A chat app called PowWow that, despite a certain McAfee imprint, was well ahead of its time. Here’s why you probably don’t remember it.

1994

The year John McAfee resigned from McAfee Associates, the company he founded in the 1980s that became a major distributor of antivirus software. The company, a multibillion-dollar giant today, nearly sold to Symantec years before it hit its later peaks, but McAfee was talked out of selling his namesake firm by a low-level analyst at a venture capital firm that realized the fundamentals of the company were quite good. While he later left, he did so with a lot more money than he would have had previously.

Image: Steven Weeks/Unsplash

How John McAfee turned a Winnebago sabbatical into his second startup

Everyone has likely heard the story of how Jeff Bezos quit his job in the financial industry and came up with the business plan for Amazon while on a cross-country trip to what would become his new home in Seattle. (Bezos, of course, didn’t drive as he hashed out this plan; his then-wife, MacKenzie, was behind the wheel.)

Less heralded, but perhaps more interesting, is the trip that John McAfee took throughout the Western U.S. after he quit his leadership role with his namesake antivirus company.

Like Bezos, McAfee’s excursion led to the launch of a new company. Unlike Bezos, this was McAfee’s second round in the Winnebago, which is where the antiviral legend got his start when he was first trying to pinpoint computer viruses sometime in the late 1980s.

As recounted in a 1997 article in the legendary tech business magazine Red Herring, McAfee’s second encounter with a Winnebago came after he had a minor heart attack, which led him to sell his company and go on an extended trip to the Rockies, where he encountered various Native American tribes. Those tribes directly inspired his follow-up company—and its inevitable location in the relatively tiny Woodland Park, Colorado, near Pikes Peak.

When McAfee gave away his antivirus software in the 1980s, he did so because of a New Age philosophical approach that suggested that software shouldn’t be sold. Likewise, he found inspiration in the Native American tribes he visited during this mid-’90s journey. Per Red Herring:

There’s an entrepreneur living in the shadow of Pikes Peak, Colorado, who thinks software is a living tree and can’t be sold. So in his last venture he gave it away. He sees the Internet as the physical manifestation of what Indian shamans call “the golden thread,” and his latest project, Tribal Voice, is an attempt to capitalize on this mystical vision.

And where did that mystical vision lead him? It led him to multimedia chat software that was years ahead of the instant messaging trend that would eventually take hold thanks to AOL, ICQ, and later Skype.

An example of the PowWow chat software, which was also an early example of instant messaging.

The software Tribal Voice created, PowWow, may have been one of the first social networks, thanks to its focus on “tribes” as an organizational strategy. It was a great spot to converse—if you could look past the website.

“PowWow lacks the robust business-oriented features of packages such as WebPhone, but if you’re looking to specialize in a chat-room atmosphere and don’t mind enduring the ham-radio quality of the conversations, PowWow might be just the ticket.”

— A passage from a 1996 review of PowWow in PC Magazine, which noted that the application’s big strength was the size and reach of its community. Not so hot? The voice chat, which didn’t work so well on the modems of the era, at least at the time of testing.

Tribal Voice, as it appeared in 1996 and 1997. Image: Internet Archive

Tribal Voice’s initial marketing strategy appropriated Native culture—with a huge side of cringe

The software was good, but Tribal Voice had branding that very much reflected its unusual founder. It had a website (at tribal.com, of course), that was in many ways pure cringe … that seemed to almost make a mockery of the Native American culture that inspired the company.

On one early version of the Tribal Voice site, the about page included a photo of McAfee and company, under the banner “The Outlaw Geeks,” brandishing various types of guns. (Given what we know about McAfee now, it checks out.) And another page featured a “Tribal Voice Yuppie Catalog” which makes one wonder what exactly McAfee learned from his time visiting Native tribes.

A staff shot from the Tribal Voice website, circa 1997. So yeah, that happened. Image: Internet Archive

The company’s active borrowing of Native American imagery and wording drew the ire of an early online Native American activist, Paula Giese, who called the material on the site “sacreligious.”

“Our Sacred Pipe, sweat lodge, cedar, tobacco, all of our most important symbols, ceremonies, objects, places are not just exploited but desecrated, trashed, by this Tribal Voice corporation, which spent hundreds of thousands of dollars preparing its commercial site, but has advertised itself all over the web as ‘Native Culture,’” Giese wrote.

Giese, who died in 1997, had a notably tense online interaction with McAfee, which is saved on the Internet Archive for all to see. (McAfee’s defense? “This is probably not an appropriate site for teenagers. We are focused on adult issues,” he wrote.)

It also did no favors from a PR standpoint. Gary Flood, a reporter for Computer Business Review who was doing a profile on McAfee, recalled being weirded out by the site’s many inside jokes and garish color scheme. His thoughts:

Initial impressions: geek city, lots and lots of feathers and cosmic colors, man, a major section of the site being devoted to the self-admittedly crazy ramblings of an escapee from the Pikes Peak Mental Facility who is obviously some loon one of the programmers thinks is cool, and what seems way too much stuff about ‘adult’ web sites and marijuana.

Nonetheless, despite the somewhat disturbing web branding scheme (which Flood had been told was likely going away at the time of his early 1998 interview), the software’s community-building mentality, something of a combination of IRC and Skype, found a lot of early success. Despite the cringey way the site showed its inspiration, the tribes concept did lead McAfee and company in the direction of social media years before most people cared.

An early Tribal.com page dating to 1997 pinpoints more than 700,000 separate users on its “white pages,” which were pages that people could sign up for to find people to chat with. (Unlike, say, Twitter, you actually had to look people up as if you were using a phone book.) PowWow, says McAfee, attracted numerous walks of life.

“We let people set up whatever tribe they want. We have, for example, a gay Hispanic tribe,” McAfee told Red Herring. “Our biggest tribe, believe it or not, is an Icelandic tribe. We also have an enthusiastic user community in Rio de Janeiro.”

Forgotten today, PowWow was a nice little success at the time—especially after it ditched the weird website. On the way to making things more professional, they even brought in a new CEO, Joseph Esposito (who, true story, once pushed back on a story of ours that discussed his prior employer, Encyclopaedia Britannica). And McAfee, still just a few years off from leaving a hugely successful company that he created, had no trouble attracting investors, unusual site or not.

But the PowWow software attracted a major enemy that would eventually land a body blow: AOL.

$10M

The amount McAfee made from selling half of Tribal Voice in 1997. McAfee would later cash out entirely, selling the company to a dot-com incubator, CMGI, in 1999, for $17 million. (Not a bad payday.) In a 2010 piece on McAfee in Fast Company, Tribal Voice employee Jim Zoromski implied that McAfee was actually scared off by the company’s success—just as he was with McAfee Associates years earlier. “When John was at Tribal Voice, the growth rate was incredible,” Zoromski said. “But when it got to be too popular, it started to feel too much like work, and John wasn’t interested.”

PowWow supported AOL Instant Messenger. AOL didn’t like that.

How AOL took a bite out of Tribal Voice

With Tribal Voice, John McAfee and his rag-tag crew of programmers in small-town Colorado were early to one of the most important early trends in technology during that period—instant messaging.

But the fact that PowWow is basically forgotten while its most high-profile competitor, AOL Instant Messenger, is fondly remembered today, may not exactly be an accident.

By 1998 or so, McAfee’s follow-up company was seeing real success in one of the hottest areas of the early internet—in part because McAfee knew a lot about both building communities and selling technology to the public.

(McAfee, infamously, helped to hype up the craze around the Michelangelo virus in 1992 … which helped to boost the profile of his antivirus app.)

He could also sell technology to companies: Shockingly, given the photo I just shared with you above, Tribal Voice scored a partnership with friggin’ AT&T, with PowWow helping to power the instant messaging capabilities of the telecom giant’s WorldNet service.

Part of what attracted WorldNet to PowWow comes down to its ability to work on multiple networks, including AOL and MSN Messenger. This gave PowWow—and AT&T—a competitive advantage, as it could work across networks with ease.

This wasn’t something, however, that AOL liked. In fact, AOL didn’t like anyone encroaching on its instant-messaging turf and took steps to protect it at all costs: It outright purchased ICQ, attempted to block competitors from using similar terminology to AOL Instant Messenger (a fight it fortunately failed at), and took steps to block Microsoft’s MSN Messenger from its users.

Smaller IM services during the period were trying to make a case for interoperability, so that users of one network could reach friends on any of them. For a time, AOL offered guides that described how this was done to allow for the development of Unix-based clients for AIM. The problem was that its competitors read those posts as well, and PowWow found itself pulled into a messy battle as it attempted to raise up its own application by adding AIM support, and admitting it was doing so without any approval from AOL.

Tribal Voice created a mortal enemy with this move, and it likely hastened the demise of the PowWow tool, which found itself at the center of a high-profile battle with AOL that worked to make the case for interoperability between instant messaging clients. It was a game of chicken for a while; PowWow would add functionality to enable AIM support, AOL would shut it down.

At one point—which should be noted, came after McAfee had left the company—Tribal Voice and other clients found itself making this case in front of the FCC.

According to a New York Times article from the era, new CEO Ross Bagully evoked Ronald Reagan: “Mr. Case, on behalf of the IM industry and users everywhere, tear down this wall!”

But ultimately, the cause of encouraging open IM support came at the cost of the original weird Native American-inspired thing that McAfee built. The new owner lost interest in PowWow entirely, and shut the app down at the beginning of 2001 … while claiming continued interest in IM technology as a whole.

“After careful review of CMGion’s business objectives and strategic direction by its new management team CMGion feels that the PowWow technology is not an integral part of CMGion’s mission,” an FAQ from the shutdown stated.

One has to wonder, if McAfee stayed with the company he started instead of leaning on the easy payout, where it might have gone. After all, he waited with McAfee Associates … and look where that company is now.

It’s so bizarre to think about this product in retrospect.

PowWow was a genuinely innovative product, one that predicted the success of about half a dozen apps that followed it. But even folks that did use it only have faded memories of it. I’m sure I used this program in 1996, but I completely forgot about its existence until I started writing this and went, “Ohhhhh.”

It might come down to the fact that it was simply too early.

Image: a PowWow Facebook fan page

Jason Pontin, then the editor of the MIT Technology Review, argued in 2005 that one of the reasons that PowWow didn’t see the level of success that McAfee’s antivirus suite did, despite also being sold for free, was that the market wasn’t ready for his inventions. He was a first-mover in a second-mover market—something that was not true of his first startup, which innovated most effectively thanks to its business model.

“Tribal Voice was the innovator in two emerging markets, now much in the news, whose dynamics are still only partially known. The first is multiprotocol IM. The second is social networking,” Pontin wrote. “Today, thriving companies like Cerulean Studios and LinkedIn can be found in both markets. But John McAfee was there first, even if he didn’t know how to make money from Tribal Voice.”

Today, McAfee is a colorful figure, one of tech’s most interesting and controversial. But despite his success in antivirus software, there’s a strong case to be made that he also should be celebrated as a social media pioneer.

Well, if you can look past the photo.

That Time John McAfee Developed One of the First Social Networks syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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