#if I missed anything please tack on I am very much not a professional

[mossbone]

Not to hijack a silly meme but I'm love proper menstrual education. The Slime is the scientific name for what most commonly refer to as discharge. Vaginal discharge is normal in small amounts all the time, but it peaks right before and during your ovulation. Ovulation is the part of your menstrual cycle where an unfertilized egg is deposited in the uterus and most people are fertile—this is when you are able to get pregnant from intercourse. In order to encourage pregnancy, your body can increase sex drive, change scents of private areas to be more subliminally enticing [wild but true], and lubricate itself more; the last of which manifests as The Slime.

Typically, The Slime shows up on a regular schedule within the menstrual cycle similar to your period but usually not concurrently; ie. you might consistently ovulate the week before your period, or two weeks, etc. During ovulation, The Slime should generally be clear-ish, raw-egg-white consistency, and not noticeably odorous; if you are in the throes of puberty know it may be volatile or irregular now but should even out over time, just like periods.

having a uterus SUCKS man bc all day you'll be feeling the "hey bestie check your pants 😃 check it right now 😃 you might be getting your period 😃 hey bestie i think youre bleeding 😃" and then when you check if you got your period and your body is like WRONG ❌️ its The Slime

[gluupor]

Andreil. A Knight and Day AU, please!

So, uh, I have no idea what this is. I’ve never seen Knight and Day and only have the vaguest idea what it’s about (spies, maybe???). Instead of doing the logical thing, and admitting that and turning down the request or looking into the movie, instead I wrote this: which is definitely not what you wanted or asked for. Oh, but @annawrites it has a fake relationship! But again, probably not what you wanted. Sorry anon! Enjoy anyway, I guess?

Whenever anyone asked Neil what he did for a living, he responded by saying he was a spy. This always was met with impressed faces and probing questions about his job. Was it like being James Bond? everyone always wanted to know. Was he out there, taking names and kicking ass? Neil always tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially and said that he couldn’t talk about it, that it was classified.

He wasn’t lying. He was a spy. What he didn’t mention was that he didn’t work for the CIA or the FBI or the NSA. No, he worked for the IRS. He was an accountant spy.

His job consisted of going undercover at suspect companies and looking for evidence that they were committing tax fraud or other white collar crime. He suspected that all the people who were so impressed with his profession would be less so if they knew the particulars.

Luckily, there weren’t all that many people who asked. He socialized mainly with his coworkers at the IRS (who, obviously, were aware of what he did for a living) or with his coworkers when he was undercover (and it’s not like he could tell them that he was spying on them).

In general, he liked his work. It brought together his two biggest talents: math and lying about his identity. He knew that some of his coworkers, like Dan and Matt, had lofty goals and ideals about making the world a better place by punishing the rich, but Neil was in it for the money.

As good as he was (and he was very good) every so often he made mistakes. Like today.

“Come on, pick up,” he muttered into his phone. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Foxes’ Dry Cleaning,” answered Dan’s cheerful voice. “We clean up your messes.”

“Hey, babe,” said Neil.

“‘Babe’?” repeated Dan. “Our relationship seems to have gotten a lot more serious without my knowledge.”

“How are you? Still free tonight?”

“I’m pretty sure that your current identity doesn’t have a significant other,” sighed Dan. “What happened?”

“Well, you know how I wasn’t planning on being out at work?” asked Neil.

“Neil,” groaned Dan.

“I know, but I was caught off guard, Chad,” said Neil, testily. “So I need to know if you’re free to come to the office party tonight?”

“Everyone’s busy.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” said Neil. “I know that, but I would really appreciate—”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Everyone wants to meet my husband.”

“You’re usually better at obfuscating,” grumbled Dan. “Someone will be there by five.”

“Great,” said Neil in relief. “It means a lot to me. Love you.”

“I’m going to tell Andrew you said that.”

“Okay, bye.” Neil hung up and rubbed a hand through his hair. Goddamn Barbara. This was all her fault.

She was one of those well-meaning busybody types with her nose in everyone’s business, telling them how to live their lives. Neil did not feel guilty at all that he was probably going to be arresting her for tax evasion in the near future.

He’d been doing pretty well at brushing her off when she asked about his personal life, sharing only little bits about his fake background. He’d also been successful so far at shutting down her attempts to set him up. All it had taken was one momentary lapse when he hadn’t had his guard up.

“I invited someone to the office party tonight that I really think you should meet,” Barbara had said.

“Mmm,” said Neil, completely noncommittally, focused on his calculations. He was missing something, somewhere. It wasn’t adding up properly.

“I really think you’ll like her, she’s super great.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You need someone to take care of you.”

“I’m married,” Neil had muttered, his mouth saying the words without permission from his brain. “Uh,” he said, catching himself and looking up. “I mean…”

Her eyes had narrowed at his left ring finger which was completely bare. She raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Really? How come you never mentioned it before?”

“Look,” said Neil, checking around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure how people here would react to… him.”

“Oh!” said Barbara, suddenly flustered. “I didn’t know you were— not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she hastily tacked on.

“If you could keep it to yourself?” he asked. “I’m not ready to be, you know, out here.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding a lot and watching him with newfound interest. “Of course I won’t tell anybody.”

Neil had not had high hopes and his lack of trust in her discretion had been proven correct less than an hour later when Evelyn, a very professional HR rep, had stiffly stood next to his desk.

“I am sorry,” she’d said, “Mr. Jacobs, that you have felt the need to hide your sexuality.”

“Oh, please don’t—” started Neil.

“This company is very accepting of a variety of different lifestyles and I want to ensure you that we will swiftly deal with any person that is making you feel uncomfortable.”

“Uh,” said Neil, stupidly.

“As such, we request that you invite your… partner to the office party tonight. He will be welcomed with open arms.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, Neil, you have to,” said Barbara, popping up from god-knew-where. “We feel simply horrible that you’ve felt the need to keep this from us!”

Neil opened his mouth and closed it, feeling like a fish. He turned back to Evelyn. “This whole conversation is making me feel uncomfortable,” he tried.

“We look forward to meeting your partner tonight,” Evelyn replied.

“Husband,” Neil said grumpily. He hated the term ‘partner’.

“I can’t wait!” said Barbara.

Which was when Neil had given up arguing and decided to call Dan for help. There was only one thing that could solve this problem: a fake husband.

He’d teamed up with several of his co-workers before, pretending to be married. It was easier to work with a supporting partner and having a spouse that came to visit him at work was a good cover. But he didn’t need a normal husband for this. He needed Chad.

It was originally Erik who had made up the persona. He’d been working with Dan at the time and she needed him to pretend to be her boyfriend at a party at the company she was investigating. She told him to be as distracting as possible but to remain above suspicion.

Erik had taken these directions and created Chad: a golden retriever of a human being. He was a personal trainer/masseur/underwear model, who had a smile like sunshine and absolutely nothing going on below the surface. He was so pretty and dumb that everyone instantly understood that he was arm candy. He’d smiled beguilingly and let Dan’s middle aged female coworkers pinch his biceps. He’d been so distracting that Dan had successfully planted several bugs in executives’ offices while everyone was looking at her perfect boyfriend. After that, Chad had been a tool that all of them used from time to time.

Nicky, Jeremy, and Matt were all very good at being Chad (Erik was still the master), Kevin and Neil were passable, and no one asked the twins to do it after Andrew had tried once and made everyone incredibly uncomfortable with his wide grin.

There was also a female version of Chad, called Candi (with an i) that Allison always had too much fun pretending to be, although she was better at being a bored, bitter trophy wife.

Neil knew that they were swamped right now; there was a reason that he didn’t already have a backup fake significant other. He felt bad for his slip up, but having a Chad at the party tonight would be useful. He’d found quite a few irregularities in his accounting and he wanted to bug his boss’ office to get an idea of how widespread and intentional the tax fraud was. He hoped that Matt was available to come, although Kevin would be fine, too. Those were the two he worked with most often.

He spent the rest of the afternoon half-focused on his work and half-worrying about the party that evening.

It wasn’t until Barbara was standing by his desk, rocking excitedly on the balls of her feet that Neil was made aware of the time.

“Jameson,” she said, addressing him by his undercover name. He was pretending to be a trust fund douchebag and he had a name to match. “Is he on his way?” Her excitement was palpable, although Neil had no idea why.

“I’m sure he is,” answered Neil. He actually had no clue who was coming or how to contact them, but he trusted Dan not to let him down.

“What’s he like?”

“Uh,” stuttered Neil, desperately trying to come up with the most generic description ever that didn’t include any hints to Chad’s physical appearance. “Nice.”

Barbara gave him an unimpressed look, but he was saved by his office phone ringing. He pointed at it and she sighed happily.

“Mr. Jacobs?” said the gruff voice of the building’s security guard. “I have a Chad Jacobs here to see you.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Neil, heading to the elevators. Barbara was still watching him with heart eyes as the elevator doors closed between them.

He spent the trip down wordlessly thanking Dan for sending someone to save him. Once he arrived, he smiled in relief at the familiar blond head. He always felt best with Andrew at his back, even though Andrew made a poor Chad. It wasn’t until he’d taken a couple steps out of the elevator that he realized his mistake.

Aaron looked like he was on the way to the executioner’s block as opposed to an office party where he’d have to pretend to be his real-life brother-in-law’s fake husband for the evening. Although, Neil was in agreement that there wasn’t a lot of difference between the two.

“Babe,” he made himself say, reaching out a hand. “Come upstairs.”

Aaron pushed past him into the elevator without acknowledging him.

“Ground rules,” he said as soon as they were alone. “I’ve decided that Chad is uncomfortable with PDA.”

“Remember that Chad is gay and shouldn’t be caught staring at women’s breasts,” Neil said snippily in return.

“Maybe Chad is bisexual and is considering leaving you.”

“You’re here to back me up, not to make this harder,” grumbled Neil. “Could you try to pretend to like me?”

“It’s not like you like me.”

“You are not even in the top three people who I hate most in the world right now.”

“Really?” said Aaron with interest. “I thought I was usually number one. Who’s beating me?”

“Well, Dan, obviously, for sending you.” Aaron nodded in agreement. “Andrew, for not being available to come himself. And Kevin.”

“Kevin? Kevin didn’t do anything.”

“Everything is at least partially Kevin’s fault.”

“Fair,” Aaron paused. “What do they know about me?”

“That your name is Chad, that we are married, and that you’re nice.”

Aaron glared. “Fine,” he muttered, and took Neil’s hand. His palm with warm and clammy and Neil resisted the urge to snatch his hand away and wipe it on his pants.

“I’m going to murder Dan,” he muttered, as the elevator arrived at his floor. “Smile!” he added. “We’re in love.”

“Great,” sighed Aaron, pasting an unconvincing smile on his face.

As soon as they got back to headquarters, a raucous cheer greeted them. Matt popped the cork out of a bottle of champagne.

“Mazel tov to the happy couple!” he shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious,” muttered Aaron. “Give me some of that so I can forget this ever happened.”

“Aw, did your husband not treat you well?” chortled Nicky.

Aaron set his jaw and didn’t answer.

“Did you get the bugs placed?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” said Neil, giving a full-body shudder.

“What?” said Dan, noting his reaction. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” replied Neil. Dan was not impressed, her expression demanding. “I almost got caught. It’s okay, it worked out.”

“How did it work out?” asked Allison, sounding completely delighted.

“Give me the alcohol,” said Aaron sharply.

“Come on, tell us!” cajoled Erik.

“I hate all of you,” said Aaron.

“It’s all in good fun,” said Renee.

“Yes,” said Neil dryly. “Hopefully one day we’ll find it just as funny as the rest of you already do.”

“Tell us! Tell us what you’re hiding!” said Katelyn.

Aaron sighed heavily. “He dragged me into a closet and got on his knees. Then I had to make fake sex noises until one of his coworkers caught us. It was the worst moment of my life. I would appreciate the oblivion of alcohol now.”

Everybody laughed heartily and looked to Andrew for his reaction.

He shook his head at Neil. “I don’t answer your call once and you elope with my brother?”

“Serves you right,” replied Neil.

Andrew stepped closer to him, lips twitching.

Neil glared at him. “Not you, too.”

“I always wanted the two of you to get along better, but this is not what I meant.”

“You’re going to regret making jokes when I leave you for him.”

“You’re not going to do that,” said Andrew seriously, although his hazel eyes were still amused.

“You know how petty I can be.”

“You won’t,” reiterated Andrew with confidence. “You only swing for me.” He pulled Neil into a kiss and he immediately melted. He didn’t know how Andrew could affect him like this, after seven years of marriage and over a decade together.

Still. He wasn’t going to let this go that easily. “Mmm,” he moaned. “Aaron.”

Andrew pinched his waist in retaliation.

Nearby, Aaron whimpered unhappily into his champagne.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 18

Chapter Summary -  Danielle's migraine is so bad she enlists Emma and Tom to help her, and after she recovers, she goes to the Hiddleston household for dinner after, but what waits for her on her return home?

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog  @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

When she woke, Danielle groaned, her vision was blurred and the small bit of light that was streaming in her slightly unclosed curtains made her want to cry as it caused the room to be far too bright. She shivered with the cold, even though her heating had been timed to come on for an hour already and she was under a heavy duvet. She seldom suffered migraines, but when she did, Danielle truly suffered. Feeling around her bedside locker, she found her phone and dialled the first number she could think of.

“Hey.” Emma’s voice seemed concerned. “You alright?”

Had Danielle not been so unwell, she would have known immediately that Tom had informed his sister that everything was not okay with their neighbour. “Em, sick. Please.”

“Right, I am coming in, just give me a minute to get mum’s key to yours, alright?”

“Quiet, please.” She begged.

“I gotcha, just two minutes Elle.” Emma hung up the phone and rang to find the spare key to Danielle’s house.

“What has you in a tizzy?” Tom asked, going over the lines for his upcoming cameo.

“Elle is as sick as a dog, she asked me to come over.”

Tom rose from the sofa. “Need company?”

Until that morning, the youngest Hiddleston would have declined her brother’s offer, but to say their friend had disclosed something personal to him, she decided not to. “Sure, you know what’s up with her more than I do.”

“She had a headache earlier, that had nothing to do with why she was feeling shit, though.”

“Then what did?” She asked.

“I am not telling you, that's Elle’s business to tell, but she has had a pretty shit night of it.”

“Could she have a stress migraine?” Emma asked, opening her friend’s door.

“If she gets them, then yeah, that could be it.” Tom noticed a note on the ground as they walked in, picking it up, he read it and his lip curled every so slightly for a moment when he realised it was a missed delivery for the local floral company. Knowing the conversation Danielle had had with her boyfriend earlier that day, he did not need to be Ben’s fictional character to hamper a guess as to who it was that had sent the flowers. He placed the card on the hall table and walked into the kitchen to get Danielle more painkillers.

“Elle?” Emma knocked on her friend’s bedroom door. “Can I come in?” When there was no response, she opened the door and peeked around it. “Elle?”

“Kill me.” The paramedic groaned from under the duvet.

“A migraine?”

“I want to die.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Emma stated quietly.

“Curtains.”

“Open or closed?”

“Close, please.”

“You are so demanding.”

“I’m dying.”

“You have a headache Elle, that’s a tad dramatic.”

“Dying.”

Tom chuckled as he heard the exchange from the hallway. “Can I come in?” he asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, I think we have a new entry for Oscars under Most Dramatic Paramedic.” Emma joked.

“Dying.” Danielle groaned again.

“Is that your professional opinion?” Tom chuckled.

“Fuck you, Hiddles.”

“Second time today.” Tom shook his head. “I have paracetamol and ibuprofen because I don’t know what one you had last.”

“What time is it?” Danielle forced herself out from under the covers a little, her hair stuck to her face.

“Afternoon,” Emma responded.

Tom checked his watch. “Half three.”

“Both.”

“Can you take both at once?”

“Yes, in extreme cases, like now, so gimme.”

“You are so demanding.” Emma threw her eyes up. “Why isn’t Paul here to nurse you, he is a doctor?”

Danielle glanced at Tom for a moment. “I didn’t tell her.” He stated.

Emma’s face fell. “Tell me what?” she looked between them.

“Thanks, Tom.” Danielle groaned, drinking water to wash down her tablets. “Paul and I are not speaking at the moment.” She stated plainly, before turning over. “Tell you more when I am not dying.”

Emma looked to Tom but he did not say anything, one it was not his place, and two, he was not overly keen at the pair making amends anytime soon, something he was sure his sister would try to assist on. Instead, he looked around Danielle’s room; it was the first time he had seen it since the day she moved in. He swallowed when he noticed a few items that were clearly Paul’s; the doctor had obviously begun staying enough for him to warrant supplies being left. “Do you need Mac walked?” he asked, not wanting to look at the room any longer.

“Shit.” Danielle had started to doze off again. “I need to ring work too.”

“Right, I will help you find the right number to ring, and Tom will get Mac tacked up and walked, alright?”

“You don’t have…”

“Nonsense. Sarah arrived half an hour ago and we haven’t had a chance to meet since…well everything, so she and I are going to steal Mac and take him out with us.” Tom smiled kindly.

“You’re the best.”

“I want that in writing.” Tom laughed and said his farewells to go downstairs. He opened the door to the back garden, where the dog eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but when Tom held out the lead and Halti in hand, Mac Tíre eagerly got to his feet and trotted over. “She’s not feeling too well today buddy, so I am taking you out instead.” Mac looked around the room for a moment, but with no sign of his master, he accepted Tom and sat for him to put on the head collar. It took a few minutes, but Tom figured it out, so going to his mothers, he asked his older sister to join him and the pair, with the eager dog, walked down the road.

Emma had Danielle in drink another glass of water to keep hydrated and made sure she had everything she needed before going back to her mother’s. When Diana heard what was wrong, she insisted that she be the one to check on her again just before dinner, and when she saw the young paramedic had just gotten out of the shower, feeling a bit better in herself, she insisted that she come over and eat with them, to ensure she was well fed. Danielle wanted to decline, feeling somewhat downbeat as she recalled her evening before, but Diana refused to take no for an answer, meaning she was as good as ushered, with her hair dripping wet to her neighbours house, but not before noticing the failed delivery card on the hall table, she pursed her lips when she saw it, but did nothing more regarding it.

“Sarah, you remember Elle, don’t you?” Emma joked as she saw her friend, looking slightly pale but a lot better walk into her mother’s kitchen.

Sarah, who knew well who Danielle was, but who had not seen her in a long time, came over and hugged her tightly. “Thank you for everything.”

Danielle stared wide-eyed, slightly scared, and patted her back, Sarah was the most mature and reserved of the Hiddleston’s and though she liked Danielle and how she was so close to her mother, she was never overly affectionate. “Okay, what?”

“For being brave enough to take on Tom and his pigheadedness, and for counselling my daughter, she just needed to rant and I was so angry I couldn’t be there for her in that way.”

“I just listened.”

“Which is what she needed.” She stated with a smile. “So thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad I was some help.” Danielle shrugged, not sure she should take any credit. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Are you ever not hungry?” Emma laughed.

“When I don’t have to cook, Fuck no.”

“Language!” Diana chastised.

“Sorry mother.” Danielle used Tom like a shield for fear Diana would come over to give her a small clip.

“I’m not taking a hit for you.” Tom tried to flee her, but she grabbed onto his shirt, “Let go.”

“Not a chance.” She laughed.

“How are you so strong?” Tom tried to release her grip.

“Work, Tri, sheer ‘not giving up’, you know.”

“Will you two ever stop messing; you’ll injure one another and then who’ll be laughing?” Diana barked, but the stern look on her face was not able to be taken seriously as her eyes showed her delight in her son’s return to form, as well as his playfulness that she feared was lost as a result of recent events. “Sit at the table before the food goes cold.” She ordered.

“Thanks, mum.” Tom’s eyes went wide at the small feast his mother had decided to feed them all. “And to answer your question on who’d be laughing, Elle would.”

“What?” She stared at him.

“You laugh when you get hurt.” Her brows rose. “You do, every time you bang into something, you end up in giggles.”

“No, he’s right.” Emma concurred, Jack nodding his head next to her, his mouth filled with food. “So Elle, are you going to say what happened with…” Emma stared at Tom who shook his head violently at her question.

“It’s fine.” Danielle looked to Tom, grateful he seemed to want to not upset her. “Paul and I had a disagreement with regards social construct.” She explained cryptically, Tom made a face beside her that showed that was putting it tamely. “As a result, he is currently in the ‘think about your actions’ box until I get a heartfelt apology at the very least.”

“You are a stern little mule, Danielle Hughes.” Diana sighed.

“But since I refuse to budge, look how few think it wise to try and argue me.” She grinned proudly.

“You won’t keep a man if you are always like that.”

“I'd rather be alone than with someone who can’t handle my stubbornness, it would only end up in someone’s death otherwise, and not mine.”

“Not to mention you know how, and have the ability and the strength to make it look like an accident.” Tom chuckled; she winked at him causing everyone to laugh.

*

“Thank you so much for dinner; I really needed a good meal.” Danielle hugged Diana as she went to go home for the evening.

“And a night off, you work too much sweetheart, you need to rest.” Diana looked at her worriedly, cupping Danielle’s face in her hands. “And whatever Paul did, I am sure it can be fixed.”

“That’s debatable.”

“For the right person, anything is possible.”

“The issue is knowing are they the right one, though,” Danielle replied, her smile a sad one.

Diana said nothing for a moment, but looked at her with a kind smile, not wanting to pry too much into something Danielle was not willing to share, grateful that she had at least spoken to Tom regarding it, and that he was safeguarding what she had said. “Just have some more rest, tomorrow will bring a lot of answers.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee it bring answers, but some good rest always helps our minds with the important questions.”

“Need company home?” Emma asked, linking her arm in Danielle’s.

“I live next door.”

“Yeah, but still, I am going back first thing, Jack is working tomorrow afternoon.”

Danielle sighed dramatically and acted as though what Emma was asking of her was something highly taxing. “Fine, if I have to.” But immediately after she smiled at her friend.

“Bye Elle,” Tom called down the stairs, his voice indicating he had something in his mouth as he did.

“What are you even doing?” Emma shouted up.

“Brushing my teeth.”

“It’s eight o’clock!”

“I got a call for the Gucci campaign, I am their new face.” He chirped; elated at the call he had received after dinner.

“All the other eligible candidates get food poisoning or something?” Danielle jested, Emma erupting in laughter next to her.

“Funny.” Tom scoffed. “I have to be to Notting Hill by seven.”

“You’re already late, that was an hour ago.”

“You have way too many ‘Dad Jokes’ Elle.” Emma laughed.

“Ha, Ha. But seriously, see you soon Elle, and take care.”

“Bye Tom.” Danielle and Emma walked out the door, noting the drop in temperature since they had gone inside. “I’m not even sure if I can go to sleep tonight, I am not even tired.”

“You need to relax, though.”

“I can’t believe I called in sick, that is the first time since I came here, I feel like I was lying, I am fine now.”

“You were sick and you are still not fully right,” Emma stated factually. “Can I ask what happened with you and…Paul?”

Danielle froze and gave her boyfriend a stern glare as he stood looking at her in her driveway.

“Danni.” His voice was pleading.

“Paul.” She replied, her tone cold.

“Please Danni, can I just…”

“Why is he here?” Danielle indicated to Paul’s car, where Charles was looking out at her from the open door on the passengers’ side.

“He just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not interested in anything he has to say.”

“Elle?” Emma looked at her friend, noticing her anger rise.

“It’s alright Em; go back to your mum’s.” Danielle did not take her eyes off her boyfriend as she spoke. “Safe journey back to London.”

“I’ll call you when we get back okay?”

Danielle looked at her friend and gave her as big a smile as she could force. “Great, bye Em’s.” Emma left leaving her looking between her boyfriend and the man she would not be overly upset to see spontaneously combust in her yard. “I would offer you inside, but well, I am sure it is not quite Hampton Court Palace.” She stated sarcastically.

“Danielle.” Paul pleaded.

“Get in before I embarrass myself in front of my neighbours.” She forced through gritted teeth.

[jennycalendar]

transitional

read it on ao3!

“So you’ve warmed up to computers a little, huh?” she said very casually.

“I-I suppose so,” said Giles, who couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something.

“And you think they’re maybe worth getting to know a little more?” said Ms. Calendar. “Like, outside a workplace environment?”

i think a lot about how we never saw giles and jenny go from awkward friends into moony-eyed dorks. so i took a stab at writing that.

Giles spent the night dancing, and regretted it sorely in the morning—pun intended. His back ached from the battle and the Bronze alike, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep, and Snyder’s godforsaken early-morning faculty meeting was grating on his nerves. It was difficult enough to stay awake; he felt he should get a bloody medal for managing to act civil.

Ms. Calendar had no such qualms when it came to professionalism. She showed up five minutes late, staunchly ignored the look sent her way by Snyder, sat down next to Giles (there was an audible murmur of surprise from the staff at this), and leaned back in the chair, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

Giles was the only one close enough to hear her softly snoring, and it irritated him tremendously—though not for the usual reasons. In times past, he might have been infuriated at Ms. Calendar’s lack of decorum and respect, judging her for both her tardiness and her obvious napping. Now, he was mostly just annoyed that she could sneak in a bit of shut-eye and he had to stay awake through this absolute nonsense.

“The library, Mr. Giles, has sustained earthquake damage,” Snyder announced about fifteen minutes into the meeting, with a dirty look at Giles as though the earthquake had somehow been his fault. “Of course, this renders it unusable until it’s properly fixed.”

“Obviously,” Giles agreed.

“We’ll be sending some workers in tomorrow to take a look at the damage,” Snyder informed him. “Make sure that all the books are removed so they can get to fixing things.”

“What—that’s—tomorrow?” Giles sputtered. Next to him, Ms. Calendar jerked awake, giving him a semi-panicked what-did-I-miss look over the tops of her sunglasses. “I have to remove all the books from the library tomorrow?” Giles tacked on.

Ms. Calendar first gave him a small thank-you smile, then stopped, frowning. “Wait,” she said, looking over at Snyder. “Seriously? Aren’t there people who can help him with that?”

“Thank you for volunteering, Ms. Calendar,” said Snyder with satisfaction. “As you two will both be doing this, none of the school budget will be going towards paying extra labor. And as I am conducting performance reviews in two weeks—”

“Can he seriously blackmail us into it?” Ms. Calendar whispered to Giles.

“He’s a power-mad moron,” Giles muttered back. “I’m fairly certain anything is within his jurisdiction.” He was well aware that the entire faculty room was staring at him and Ms. Calendar, and was rather glad he was too tired to care about how this must look to them. Both of them sitting together and whispering to each other, Jenny wearing the same clothes from the day before—oh, lord, scrap that bit about not caring.Giles straightened his glasses and tried to stop blushing.

“—as I am conducting performance reviews in two weeks,” Snyder continued, looking just as bewildered as the rest of the staff room to see the two most violently combative teachers sharing secrets, “I think you would both do well not to rock the boat. I’ll expect that library free of books before the workers show up tomorrow.”

Ugh, thought Giles, but decided against saying it.

“Ugh,” said Ms. Calendar. Then, “Can we at least have an extra day?”

“No,” said Snyder. “Library repairs cost extra on Saturdays. Meeting adjourned.”

As the faculty filed out (Giles did his very best not to listen to the whispering teachers, all of whom had things to say about why he and Ms. Calendar had shown up in disarray), Ms. Calendar put away her sunglasses, then turned to Giles with a small, tired grin. “I mean, I’d have helped you out anyway,” she said, “but it sucks that he’s making you do this.”

“I’ve functioned on worse sleep before—”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you ever danced the night away,” said Ms. Calendar, grin widening.

“Oh, for—” Giles felt the twinge of familiar annoyance, now paired with an exasperated affection. “It was one dance,” he said.

“Five,” said Ms. Calendar.

“It was not!”

“You weren’t keeping great track of the songs,” Ms. Calendar pointed out.

“You never let me leave the dance floor!” Giles countered. “More than one dance implies breaks between the dance!”

Ms. Calendar scoffed, her eyes alight with the same warmth Giles felt. This argument was different, he thought, in a way that had his heart fluttering. “A dance is a song,” she said. “When the song ends, the dance itself is over, even if you’re still dancing.”

“You never let go of me long enough for the dance to be over,” Giles persisted.

Ms. Calendar gave him an open-mouthed grin. “You’re a hard guy to let go of, Rupert,” she said, and batted her lashes.

“Oh, ha ha,” said Giles, standing up. Ms. Calendar’s face fell a bit; he couldn’t imagine why. Awkwardly, and trying to recapture the fleeting comradery between them, he said, “To the library, then?”

Ms. Calendar was blushing. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Library. Obviously.”

The library was a wreck. Even without the debris left by the monster, the shattered glass from the skylight, and the broken table containing the Master’s skeleton (Giles supposed he should count himself lucky that Snyder hadn’t asked about that), there was still the fact that Giles’s books were entirely in disarray. He couldn’t stop the distressed little whimper as he looked upon what had once been an organized research space.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” said Ms. Calendar. “We’re working under a weird time constraint, sure, but I’ve packed up way more stuff than this in way less time.” She considered. “And hungover, actually. So we’re fine.”

As she headed towards the first pile of books, Giles frowned, playing the sentence back. “Why were you packing and hungover?” he asked.

Ms. Calendar stooped, picking up an armful of books, and turned back to Giles. He noticed, with a strange flutter, that she was holding them all with care. “I travel a lot,” she said, tried to shrug, and remembered just in time that she was holding the books. “I’m not really one to stick in one place for longer than a year. Whole lot of world, you know?”

“No,” said Giles honestly.

Ms. Calendar laughed, a sound of genuine, pleased amusement that Giles hadn’t heard from her before. Mostly, when she laughed, there was a biting edge of mockery or bitterness or some other flavor of one-upsmanship; Giles liked this laugh better. He wanted to hear it again. “Well, at least he’s honest,” she quipped, placing the books down on the checkout desk. “So you don’t travel much?”

Giles hesitated. Generally, when people had asked before, he had made some weak joke about stuffy academics and left things at that. But Ms. Calendar was currently the closest thing he had to a friend, and the first person in Sunnydale he had chosen to tell about his Watcher status. That felt important. “I spent the better part of the last twenty years at a desk job in the Watchers’ Council,” he said, “preparing myself to train a Slayer. I was more than desperate to prove myself worthy of the cause. It left little time for travel.” He smiled a little sadly. “I’d rather like to live the life you do,” he said.

Ms. Calendar shook her head. Her expression was more gentle than Giles had ever seen it—directed at him, at least. “It gets old,” she said. “Doesn’t leave a lot of time for friends, you know?”

Giles snorted. “And I suppose I make time for my sparkling social life in between the research and the nearly being eaten by monsters?”

That made Ms. Calendar smile. “Fair point,” she agreed. “So we’re both lonely—”

“You cannot possibly be lonely,” Giles scoffed, appalled by the very notion. “You’re one of the most outgoing, charismatic people I’ve met. How on earth could you not have made friends on staff already just by virtue of being yourself?”

Ms. Calendar blinked, then turned a rosy pink. Giles played his words back, and began to blush a bit himself. “Wow,” she said. “Um, that’s…kind of the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me in a really long time.”

“Your bar is very low if you’re calling me sweet,” said Giles dryly, which made Ms. Calendar laugh again. “Shall we start on the books?”

Giles was still having trouble getting used to the ease with which he and Ms. Calendar worked together. They had been assigned to tidy the staff room for a bake sale two months ago, and had spent more time shouting at each other than actually getting any work done. The teachers had been displeased, the bake sale had been bumped a week, and Principal Flutie had said, in an injured tone of voice, that at Sunnydale High, we foster community, not combativeness! Ms. Calendar had responded to this by flipping Giles off behind Flutie’s back and stalking out of the office, leaving him to clean up the rest of the staff room on his lonesome.

But they had exorcised the demon together easily, Giles bringing out his old grimoire and Ms. Calendar typing without argument. They had researched the Hellmouth and the Master together, Giles finding books for Ms. Calendar to page through. And now they were sorting books into boxes to pack away, and to Giles’s utter shock, Ms. Calendar took to his supernatural cataloguing system like a fish to water.

“You were expecting me to struggle with this?” she laughed, handing him a stack of books for the box labeled Demons—Dismemberment. “It’s honestly not that hard.”

“It requires a, a rudimentary understanding of the contents of each book,” stammered Giles, his heartbeat picking up as he looked at her. He was a bit tired, he told himself. Tired, and the tea in the staff room was undoubtedly much too caffeinated. “Or at the very least, an ability to assess—”

“Rupert,” said Ms. Calendar, looking at him with playful sympathy, “has your only exposure to human society been Buffy, Willow, and Xander for all these months? You know I love those kids, but Willow’s the only one among the bunch who even knows what the Dewey Decimal System is.”

“I-I must confess, I am a bit…unused to adult company,” Giles agreed. “It’s been a while since England.”

“So you had friends over there?” Ms. Calendar placed another stack of books on the counter.

Giles stilled, unsure how to answer that question. After a good few seconds of silence, he knew that he had inadvertently answered it anyway. “No,” he said simply.

Ms. Calendar looked up, and it took Giles a moment to recognize that the sympathy in her eyes was no longer teasing. “Well,” she said, and bumped his shoulder. “The English are obviously morons.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Excluding you!” said Ms. Calendar hastily, wincing. “I just meant…they’re missing out.” She gave him a nervous little grin. “You’re kind of an okay guy when you’re not telling me how computers are going to directly cause the end of all human interaction.”

“Did I say that?” said Giles, alarmed. “Truly, computers aren’t all that bad. I really would like to learn more about them.”

Ms. Calendar’s face then went through a series of expressions of which Giles couldn’t fathom the meaning. First shock, then disbelief, and then a sort of stunned smile crept across her face. “So you’ve warmed up to computers a little, huh?” she said very casually.

“I-I suppose so,” said Giles, who couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something.

“And you think they’re maybe worth getting to know a little more?” said Ms. Calendar. “Like, outside a workplace environment?”

And at that moment, something revealed itself to Giles that he had somehow never noticed before: Ms. Calendar was extremely beautiful. In the days when they were at each other’s throats, all he had seen was a veritable hurricane of a woman who refused to admit when she was wrong, and his frustration had eclipsed any notice he might have taken of her sweetly quirky smile or her dark, sparkling eyes. He was not at all thinking about computers—had completely forgotten the question she had posed—when he said, rather breathlessly, “Yes, I think—yes.”

Ms. Calendar smiled, leaning closer—

“Attention,” blared Principal Snyder’s voice through the intercom, and Giles and Ms. Calendar jumped apart. “A reminder to our students that the library will be closed until further notice. Also, Miss Cordelia Chase is still due at my office for questions regarding security footage of her car driving into the school. Thank you.”

“Seriously?” said Ms. Calendar, glaring at the intercom. “You choose now to do this?”

Giles leaned against the checkout desk, rather stunned by the about-face his feelings for Ms. Calendar had taken. He had always felt strongly towards her, even when they had been workplace enemies, so it stood to reason that his feelings would remain strong in this new context. But being hit with romantic inclinations this fast, and this unexpectedly—

“Books?” said Ms. Calendar.

“Yes,” said Giles, hurrying past her to the stack of books still on the checkout counter. “Um, these go in—”

“Evisceration,” said Ms. Calendar, her voice softening. Giles turned to look at her, and saw that she was giving him a sweet little smile the likes of which he had never seen her give anyone before.

“Yes,” said Giles again, feeling the beginnings of a rather soppy grin of his own.

Ms. Calendar turned on the radio when they were three-fourths of the way through the books, humming along to the little jingle played before the news. Giles, however, found himself rather tired of current events. “Might I change this?” he asked.

Ms. Calendar looked up, surprised. “I thought you’d like this,” she said. “Aren’t you all Mr. Intellectual?”

The fact that she said this without a hint of mockery made Giles feel too ridiculously fluttery to manage a coherent sentence. “Well, that’s—y-yes,” he stammered, horrified with himself. This was the woman he had had actual debates with about the merits of technology, and now a schoolboy crush had him unable to speak around her? “Yes, I simply—news has been rather, rather draining lately. I think I’d like some music.”

“Classical?” said Ms. Calendar.

“Not particularly,” said Giles, and flipped the stations until something with a respectable beat came on. As he turned to Ms. Calendar, he saw that she was staring at him incredulously. “What?”

“This is rock and roll,” said Ms. Calendar.

“Yes, it is,” said Giles, bemused. “Is that surprising to you?”

“Yes, it is!” said Ms. Calendar, and gestured towards Giles as though this somehow clarified things. “You’re—I once saw you call a vending machine an infernal contraption! There is a running theory that you’re some kind of time traveler from the nineteenth century!”

“Well, I’m a modern Regency man,” said Giles mildly. “Besides which, I figured classical music might put us both to sleep rather quickly. You’ve gone through how many cups of coffee in the last hour?”

“Twelve,” said Ms. Calendar.

“That cannot be healthy,” said Giles.

“I was up all night,” said Ms. Calendar. “I’ll take a sick day tomorrow and sleep it off.” She was grinning. “It’s a good song, though,” she said, and then extended her hand to Giles.

“Oh no,” said Giles. “No. You have gotten more dancing out of me than I have done in the last five years at least.”

“C’mon, Rupert,” Ms. Calendar wheedled. “The song’s already half over, and I really need to move around a little in a way that’s not lifting heavy books.”

In answer, Giles crossed his arms, leaning stubbornly back against the checkout desk.

“You know what,” said Ms. Calendar, looking more amused than annoyed, “I am too tired to push this issue,” and shrugged off her leather jacket, placing it on the table and beginning to dance herself. She had moved with adrenaline-fueled precision, the night before, dark hair falling down and out of her messy bun, but it was clear that the sleep deprivation was beginning to hit her rather hard. Still, she danced, eyes fixed determinedly on Giles as if daring him to comment on her utter childishness—and then she swayed, and fell.

Giles honestly didn’t decide to catch her. He didn’t even make the conscious choice to take two running steps across the room as soon as he saw her sway. All he knew was that, the moment she should have hit the floor, she was somehow in his arms instead, forehead bumping against his.

They hadn’t been this close when they were dancing. She smelled like magic and too much coffee and something that was just her, and Giles was having trouble remembering to breathe. Part of him was afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the moment. Part of him was afraid that she would let him pull her closer.

“Thanks,” said Ms. Calendar, her voice suddenly thick with sleep. “Guess the whole zero-hours-of-rest thing is catching up to me, huh?”

Giles steered her gently to a chair, helping her sit down at the checkout desk. Removing his jacket, he draped it over her shoulders, telling himself very firmly that her bright, adoring eyes had more to do with sleep deprivation than genuine appreciation. “Rest up,” he said. “I can finish up the books while you nap. I’m quite practiced at keeping late hours.”

“I drank too much coffee to get any sleep,” mumbled Ms. Calendar, who was already resting her head on her arms.

“I’m sure you did,” said Giles, patting her shoulder.

Ms. Calendar sighed, leaning into his touch. “Just gonna…relax for a little ‘n then I’ll, I’ll…” She trailed off, her breathing evening out.

Giles tried to remind himself that there were a thousand and one reasons that a Watcher having a relationship was a bad idea. All these reasons flew very neatly out the window when Ms. Calendar murmured something incoherent, then tugged his jacket closer around her. She’s so small, he thought, and yet she’s so much more confident than I think I’ll ever be.

Ms. Calendar opened her eyes again, half-awake. “Rupert?” she said.

“Mm?” said Giles.

“I wanna dance with you again later,” said Ms. Calendar, and promptly fell back asleep. Giles spent the next twenty minutes analyzing this statement and got absolutely no work done.

(“Shameful,” said Principal Snyder. “Shameful. Napping on the job, Ms. Calendar? Wandering around muttering to yourself, Mr. Giles? Now I am going to have to pay people to remove the books. On the weekend.”

“We make a good team,” said Ms. Calendar.

“That we do,” said Giles.

“I am never putting the both of you on an important project again,” said Principal Snyder, and completely missed the high-five Ms. Calendar gave Giles under the table.)

[sending-the-message]

What Lies Beneath - Chapter 1 by JadeThorne

The year was 1997.

I remember it as if it happened yesterday.

I was two years out of my second round of grad school, having finished a doctorate as an oceanographer. I already had a doctorate in marine biology, and wanted to have oceanography under my belt as well.

It’s tough being a woman in a man’s world.

I was working at Scripp’s, in San Diego. It made sense to accept their offer of a job as a researcher once I’d finished my doctorate there, and within two years I was bumped up to the title “research professional.” It was a well-paying job, if not a particularly exciting one. The hours were sometimes long, but I was content.

My office had a large window that overlooked the Pacific, year-round. On days I had spare time, I found myself standing at the window and staring out at the great vastness of it. There was so much life in those waters. Life we didn’t quite understand, or hadn’t discovered just yet.

Much to my husband’s good-natured amusement, I spent a great deal of my off-time at the ocean as well. I would walk the beach, my eyes scanning those sometimes-turbulent waters along with the shoreline and my ears tuning in to every last sound. The smell of the salty air was like perfume to me.

If you were to ask my parents, they might smile and joke that I’d been born in the water and a Selkie had brought me to their door.

The ocean … the ocean was my calling. It was in my blood.

A knock came at the door to my office late one afternoon, right as I was finishing up notes for Dr. Brame. Curious, I called for them to enter. A young man in faded jeans and a blue shirt entered, smiling.

“Dr. Masume, I presume?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, how may I help you?”

“I’m Todd Blevins,” he introduced, extending his hand to me. “I just had a conversation with Dr. Brame, and he suggested I come to you with my proposal.”

Now my interest was piqued. I raised my eyebrow, indicating that he continued.

“I work with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration,” he began, setting into a chair at my desk. “Recently we picked up some noises that we aren’t sure what they are. Now, Dr. Fox doesn’t think it’s a living creature, but some of us aren’t so sure. So, we’re planning to make a couple of dives, to see if we find anything. We need a good, competent marine biologist-slash-oceanographer to round out our team of six, and so here I am.”

“Doesn’t NOAA already have marine biologists and oceanographers working there, though?” I asked, skeptical.

“They do, but … well most of them think our little excursion is a waste of time and aren’t interested in going along,” he answered. “Dr. Masume, you will be very well-compensated. My team will pay you fifty thousand for your time, even if we only dive once.”

Fifty thousand dollars was a hell of a lot of money to offer on a gamble – that much I knew. “Why so much?” I asked. “What aren’t you telling me, Mr. Blevins?”

“Todd, please,” he offered. “There’s a good chance we may have to dive the Trench, Dr. Masume.”

The Mariana Trench was a crescent-shaped scar on the ocean floor, some one hundred twenty-odd miles from the Mariana Islands. It had been dived before, but the thought of experiencing it first-hand left me feeling torn between excitement and unease. It would take hours to reach the bottom, and the pressure was unbelievable – over fifteen thousand PSI. It would take one hell of a strong submersible to withstand the pressure.

“Do you actually have a sub strong enough to make that dive without killing us all?” I asked bluntly.

He nodded immediately. “We do, Dr. Masume. I would not ask you to go on a suicide mission.”

I turned to the ocean beyond my office, mulling his words over. “I will need to discuss this with my husband,” I said, though I had already made the decision silently.

I was going, whether my husband approved or not.

Todd nodded and rose to his feet, fishing a card from his pocket. “I can be reached directly at that number,” he told me. “If we don’t hear from you by this time tomorrow, we’ll understand.”

I thanked him and saw him out, and then sat down at my desk in a mild state of shock. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. But why had Dr. Brame suggested me? I owed him my notes anyhow, so I picked them up and walked to his office.

After getting the assent to enter, I walked in to find him smiling at me.

“Lily,” he greeted. “Have a seat, please.”

I sat down, placing the research notes on his desk.

“You’re wondering why I picked you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The truth is fairly simple – your youth and your knowledge. You are the youngest double-major we have here at current, and your mind is as sharp as a tack. You don’t miss anything, Lily.” He smiled again. “Besides, I can hear the sea, my girl. I know it’s been whispering for you. You need to do this.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard Dr. Brame hint at anything vaguely Otherworldly, and it caught me off. “You hear … the sea,” I echoed.

“Everything has a voice, if you listen long enough,” he said, nodding slowly. “Whether you go or not, there’s an opening for an on-hands professor coming up in a couple of weeks. Means you’ll be spending your time out there instead. But I really hope you go. Opportunity like this, it doesn’t come around too often.”

“I’m going,” I heard myself say. “I may find myself divorced over this, but I’m going.”

Dr. Brame smiled broadly. “Good choice,” he murmured. “I think that husband of yours will be more understanding than you think. I like him. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“Thank you, doctor,” I expressed. “For everything you’ve done for me. This … You’re right. I can’t pass this up. It’s not about the money, either.”

“What did they offer you, out of curiosity?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I blew out a breath. “A ridiculous amount – fifty thousand, whether we dived once or a dozen times.”

He whistled. “Hell of a lot of money for an expedition,” he remarked. “Well, go on. Go home and tell him what fell in your lap today. And call that boy so he doesn’t have time to talk to anyone else about this.”

My husband was, as Dr. Brame predicted, a lot more agreeable about my going than I expected.

Of course, it could have been the nice bonus I was going to get at the end of it, but I didn’t want to think the man I’d married might be a bit more materialistic than I thought.

When I made the call to Todd, I could hear him hopping up and down over the phone that I had agreed to go.

“Oh, that’s excellent, Dr. Masume!” he exclaimed.

“Lily, Todd,” I offered. “If we’re going to be working together like this, call me Lily.”

“Lily, then,” he said. “We were thinking of starting the expedition on Monday, if that’s acceptable to you. I can make arrangements with Dr. Brame, if you want.”

I smiled. “Monday sounds fine, and Dr. Brame won’t be an issue,” I admitted. “He expects me to go, so I think he won’t mind my starting on Monday.”

“Excellent,” Todd said. “We’ll plan on seeing you Monday at eight am, then.”

“Oh, where am I meeting you at?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t given me a location.

“We’ll pick you up,” he told me. “You aren’t that far from our facility, so it’s not a problem.”

That was Thursday night.

Monday morning saw me ready to go by seven forty-five, and a somewhat battered Wrangler pulled into the drive at five till. I walked out, locking up behind me, and couldn’t help the smile at Todd’s excited face behind the wheel. I couldn’t resist teasing him as I got into the Jeep, though. “Fifty grand, and you’re driving this?”

“Hey, now,” he said, smirking. “I’ve had her since I was eighteen. She’s been good to me, so why trade her in for something new?”

I nodded. “I can understand that.”

“The plan is to go out with our sub to an approximate location the sound was heard from and dive there,” he told me as he navigated the early morning traffic. “Stuart’s gonna stay on the ship, along with Rob and the rest of their team. You’ll be diving with myself, Pat, and Yoshi.”

“Yoshi Nakagachi?” I asked, curious. When he nodded, I raised an eyebrow. “I remember reading some of his work when I was working on my thesis for my marine biology degree.”

Todd nodded. “Yoshi’s a cool guy – I’m glad he agreed to go with us. Pat’s pretty cool too – he’s an older dude. Well, not that Yoshi isn’t, but Pat’s more like the adopted uncle of the group.” He made a turn down a road that I could see led to docks. “Stuart and Rob are nice, but they don’t talk much. They’ll be keeping track of us while we’re down, and recording the data topside. Our sub has two pretty decent underwater cameras attached, so I’m hoping for some photos to send up to them.”

“Tell me about the sub we’re diving in,” I prompted.

“Well, she’s about twenty feet long, and around ten to twelve feet wide,” he began. “We used nine-centimeter ceramic spheres inside the hull for the pressure down there. There’s probably close to a thousand of them in each hull compartment, I estimate. She’ll be tethered to the research ship with a steel cable along with wires to transmit the data. She’s got a joystick to steer her around with, and an oxygen supply for six hours. She’s heated too, because it’s cold down that far.”

I nodded, tucking the information away as he pulled up alongside several other vehicles by the docks.

“Well, let’s go meet everyone and get this show on the road,” he said, smiling as he got out of the Jeep.

Stuart and Rob seemed a bit surprised that I was a woman, but Yoshi and Pat took it all in stride. We made our introductions, I answered questions about my background, and they outlined what they wanted to accomplish that day. It was as Todd said – we’d ride out on the research ship to the site, then dive down in the submersible and see what was what.

I wasn’t nervous at all, not even when we boarded the ship and headed out to sea. I was comfortable with the ocean, with the vastness of it. When we reached the site, and Stuart put the anchor down, I was a bit surprised to feel this little hint of unease. Chiding myself silently, I gathered up the necessary equipment and climbed into the bright-yellow submersible behind Pat.

“Piece of cake,” the older man said, winking at me as he took his station in the submersible.

“Done this before, have you?” I asked.

He grinned at me. “Been down in this girl plenty of times. I was one of the testers when she was built, to ensure she could withstand the pressure. She’s safe.”

“You’ve been in the Trench?” I pushed.

An odd look crossed his face briefly, and he covered it up with another grin. “Sure,” he replied. “Kind of eerie, but nothing to it. Course, we didn’t go all the way to the bottom that day.”

I found his wording somehow less than comforting, and remembered that Todd had told me he wouldn’t invite me along on a suicide mission. Maybe Pat’s odd look was from me asking if he’d been down there after he’d just said he was one of the testers on the sub. Somehow, though, I didn’t really believe that.

And then we were diving.

Yoshi turned the cameras on so we could see what was outside the sub. The quality was better than I expected, and it showed more than I thought it would as well. I watched the monitors, mentally ticking off the different species of fish that swam past.

Then I saw the top of the trench come into view, and that tiny thread of unease came back. “We’re going down today, then?” I asked.

“Sure,” Todd replied.

Gradually, the blue ambient light darkened as we descended, and the lights the cameras were equipped with came on. But even those lights weren’t quite enough to penetrate the darkness in that trench.

“So, tell me, Dr. Masume,” Yoshi began, “what do you see here?”

I focused on the screens, waiting to see something I recognized.

And then we heard something very strange.

If I had to describe the sound, I would have said it was like an enormous bubble leaving to go to the surface. Only, there was no bubble.

“That’s it – that’s the noise?” I asked, forgetting about identifying life for Yoshi.

“Yep,” Pat answered, not looking at me. The big man seemed uneasy, almost like he knew what it was.

“Hey, we need to bring you back up,” Stuart called over the radio. “Got a surprise squall, and she’s moving in fast.”

“Roger that,” Pat radioed back.

“So, what do you think?” Todd asked, grinning.

“I think we’re going to have to dive again, to have a hope of identifying what made that sound,” I replied.

My dreams were strange that night.

I was back in the trench, but it seemed a lot darker than I remembered. I wasn’t in the submersible either – I was swimming, without a mask or oxygen tank. Just ahead of where I was swimming, I could make out a large rock formation that was darker than the rest of the trench. Intrigued, I swam up to it … and an enormous eye snapped open in the formation.

I woke suddenly, sitting straight up in bed and gasping for breath. What the hell was that?

“Babe … you alright?” Luke asked softly, sitting up in concern.

“Yeah,” I told him, still vividly remembering that eye. “Yeah, just a weird dream.”

I didn’t sleep very well after that, and so I was up two hours before I normally would have been. Needing something to do, I got on the computer and started researching the denizens of the trench in hopes of maybe finding a source for my sudden unease. Surely, I had glimpsed one of the more unusual forms of life and forgotten about it, and it had resurfaced in a dream.

But I found nothing. Nothing that came close to explaining what I saw in my dream. And somehow, I didn’t really believe it was just a dream.

When Todd picked me up at eight, I was still subdued.

“You okay, Lily?” he asked, looking at me.

“Todd, what’s down in that trench?” I asked bluntly. “Pat’s uneasy about it, Stuart seems put off by it as well, and the rest of you are too eager to get down there.”

He sighed. “We caught a glimpse of something in camera about six months ago,” he finally said. “I don’t know what it was, but it was big. Scared the shit out of Pat and Stuart both, hell even Rob ain’t too keen on the trench now. Pat’s in the sub because the three of them drew straws and he lost.”

I felt my hair stand on end at those words from him. They saw it, my mind echoed. “I’m going to tell you something, though I’m not sure why,�� I heard myself say. “Understand that I am not and have never been prone to strange dreams or nightmares. I don’t do any drugs, not even aspirin, and I’m not a heavy drinker either. Last night, I saw something in my dream. It was huge, blacker than the trench itself, and it looked at me.”

“Holy shit,” Todd muttered, clearly shaken by that. “That’s way too close to what we saw on the camera.” He paused, glancing over at me. “Do you have any ideas, any at all no matter how far-fetched, as to what it may be?”

I thought about that eye, and the formation I’d seen that wasn’t a formation at all. I made myself recall every last detail. “Dragon,” I finally said. “What was in my dream … was a dragon.”

We didn’t talk any more about it on the drive to the research ship. Logically, it wasn’t possible. Dragons did not exist, nor had they ever. It had to just be a dream, and as far as the object their camera picked up, that could have been a fluke. Cameras weren’t perfect – maybe a shark had gotten too close, or some other large variety of fish, and the camera had glitched, so it made it look bigger than it was.

That and dragons, according to the mythos surrounding them, were land creatures. It made no sense that I would dream about one in the trench.

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I boarded the research ship and noticed that I wasn’t the only one looking under the weather today.

Everyone, even Yoshi, wore almost identical expressions. They looked shell-shocked, with that thousand-yard stare.

What the hell had happened in between when we left and today?

We made the journey out to the dive site in silence, and I couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen this time. An involuntary shiver went through me, catching Pat’s eye.

“Yoshi, I don’t think today’s a good day to go down there,” Pat announced, looking to the lead scientist of the group.

“We must go down today,” Yoshi said, something in his voice sounding obsessive. “Today might be the day we find the source.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Pat mumbled.

“We will be fine,” Yoshi stated, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “Our submersible is well-constructed. Our cameras are the best NOAA has to offer. We will be fine.”

Stuart put out the anchor and his team set about making ready to lower us down into the ocean … into the trench itself this time. The thick steel cable that kept us tied to the ship had been inspected twice, and all the wires that transmitted data had been gone over as well. Their team had done their best to ensure our dive was successful, in short.

Yoshi, Pat, Todd and I boarded the submersible, and took our seats. The hatch was sealed, and then we were lowered into the waiting water. This time as we dove down, I didn’t watch the monitors for sea life.

I was afraid of what I might see now.

Down we went, into the Mariana Trench. A counter notified us of how deep we were at any given time. Another machine told us what the pressure was on the sub. Yet another one displayed how much battery life we had to run the equipment, including our precious oxygen and heat. The last one displayed how much oxygen was in the tanks.

I watched those numbers increase, the deeper we descended, and felt suddenly ill. This was a fool’s mission I was on – I was suddenly sure of it, but Yoshi had been quite adamant about going down today so there would be no talking him out of it.

Nearly two hours later, we reached the bottom, oblivious to the very real danger we were in.

Topside, Stuart, Rob, and the entire team watched as our live feed went black.

“What the hell?” Rob muttered, and picked up the radio. “Hey, Yoshi – are you guys alright down there?”

Radio silence. Nothing.

“Yoshi, Todd, Pat, anyone – can you hear me?” he tried again.

But only silence met his ears from the other end.

“Fuck!” he swore, punching the desk. “We’ve got to get them out of there.”

Everyone moved to the enormous winch to start hauling us back up, while Stuart and Rob looked on in worry. The winch moved too freely – it should have been reeling in a lot slower than it was. Then, quite suddenly, the end of the steel cable came out of the water.

Our lifeline had been severed. We were stuck at the bottom of the trench until NOAA came to rescue us.

[tanuki-kimono]

Japanese folk tales #49 - Cheers!

Find my tales tagged here or visit my blog for both english and french versions.

Wish me to cover a special youkai or subject? Contact me, I’ll try to accommodate ^^❤️

Once upon a time, in the old city of Edo, stood an old shop which sold many antiques. It was a beautiful establishment, renowned for its masterpieces and rare work of arts.

One summer, as its owners were out visiting family for the week, they decided to trust their beloved shop to their best employee.

Days went by, uneventful and quiet, until a rich customer pushed the curtain and entered the shop. The man stuck up his nose haughtily, and ordered in a high pitched voice:

– I am searching for landscape paintings. Show me your finest scrolls.

The clerk bowed and quickly presented him the best items they had. But, no famous painter’s name, no breathtaking drawing seemed to satisfy the rich patron.

With impatient gesture of the hand, he would dismiss all scrolls:

– Borringly common, poorly execute, oh and this calligraphy is simply awful… And they say this shop is the best around. Don’t you have anything worth buying, boy?

The employee was getting fed up with this difficult customer but kept his professional smile on. He bowed again, apologising profusely to hide his discomfort. And decided to change tack:

– My lord, I know you were searching for a landscape, but something different might please your eyes?

And he unveiled another hanging scroll. The rich man’s eyes shone with envy.

Emerging from a pale mist, an ethereal woman stood elegantly. All dressed in white, with a forlorn face and no feet to be seen, there was no mistaking: the beauty was a ghost lamenting her past life.

The customer could not hide the desire lacing his bored voice:

– How much for this one?

The clerk stated the price, willingly increasing the sum, sure the man was going to harshly haggle over. But, the rich man simply nodded impatiently:

– So little? Well, here is half of the sum, I’ll bring you the rest of it tomorrow. Don’t you dare sell this scroll in the meantime!

And he was gone.

The clerk looked with disbelief at the money in his hands. The scroll was not worth that much! Slowly, a radiant smile blossomed on his lips:

– Tonight, I’ll drink on this moron’s behalf!

Later on that night, after a long drunken evening at the local bar, the clerk made a very inebriated return to the shop.

He bashed into fourniture, sloppily shushing uncaring cupboards and stools. And finally came to face the ghost on the hanging scroll.

The man bowed, nearly falling head over heels:

– You, you you! Congratulations pretty face: you’ve conned that idiot well!

He cackled like a fool and raised his hand, as if proposing a toast to the mute lady:

– We should celebrate! Come on, get out of here and let’s share a cup, partner!

The words had just left his lips, that the drunken man felt a cold shiver ran down his spine. The smothering summer heat had suddenly dropped, replaced by icy tendrils. Gone were the city’s sounds and the crickets’ songs. The clerk giggled nervously.

All oil lamps ignited at once. The man startled and backed up on shaky legs. The hair on is nape bristled when his eye caught something moving.

He turned his head, he found himself face to face with a woman. She smiled sweetly:

– I’ve heard about a party. You are the one searching for a drinking companion?

The clerk hazy mind could not process much farther than « oh god, she is so beautiful ». And he quickly dismissed the eerie fact that the hanging scroll was now all blank.

The man giggled again, blushing heavily:

– I couldn’t dream of a more charming companion tonight.

The woman beamed and clapped her hands with utter joy. She quickly drew out a bottle of sake and two cup, seemingly from thin air.

And that’s how the confused clerk, too drunk to be scared, found himself drinking alongside a ghost. They drank, the sake flask never empty, and they sang, and they danced, joking like old friends.

When morning finally came, rays of sun shook the clerk awake. He rose, his throat sore and his head pounding. He was nursing the hangover of his life.

– What a dream! I was truly hammered yesterday…

He grumpily made his way across the shop, until he stood in front of the hanging scroll. The ghost lady was there, but nowhere near as graceful or lovely as the day before.

She had sat down, blanketed in her ethereal mist, holding her head between her hands. The clerk cracked a laugh:

– It seems I am not the only one with a nasty hangover!

The painted woman could not make a sound but the man clearly saw her groaning. She covered her eyes, turning away from him. The clerk panicked a bit:

– Hey, don’t get back to sleep! The rich idiot his coming back today and I need you prim and proper or he won’t purchase the scroll!

The lady sighed and begrudgingly rose. She rearranged the mist around her and took pose, head high and murder in her gaze.

– Yes, I know same here, the light is killing me. I’ve got such a headache!

With her fingers, the woman mimicked tears rolling down her cheeks. He blushed:

– I know dear, I’ll miss you too. You know what, if you can, just come back anytime. We had the party of our life last night, aren’t we?

The ghost woman smiled truly and nodded vigorously before stopping suddenly. Her face has gotten a greenish hue. The clerk laughed for real, lovingly mocking her:

– Who would have thought ghosts could get hangovers!

Notes:

Japanese art has several subdivisions. For example, if sansui designates paintings showing landscapes, ghosts and monsters pictures are called yurei-zu. Those types of pictures were especially popular during late Edo period.

Japan has always had a great fondness for ghosts and monsters, part superstition, part thrill-seeking. A famous parlor game of the time was the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai (100 ghost stories gathering). People would reunite at night and light one hundred lanterns. Then each person would tell a ghost or murder story. At the end of their story, the storyteller would extinguished one lantern – until 99 tales had been told. People thought that telling the last one would conjure an evil spirit.

Nowadays, this tradition is still sometimes done during summer – Japan traditional ghost season. This association is mainly due to the dead festival (Obon) which is held in July or August. Japanese also love the bone chilling feeling of monsters stories, movies or haunted houses – cold shivers of fear blowing away the smothering summer heat!

[pictures sources: 1 / 2 ]

[nivalvixen]

Framed, pt 4

Also on AO3

"Mr. Stilinski, a word before you start your day," Rafe said, practically standing in front of Stiles so he couldn't go inside the room. "Won't be a minute, Sean," he added to Stiles' instructor over his shoulder.

Sean nodded, though Stiles wondered if he looked a little too pleased that he was going to be delayed. He held the strap of his messenger bag a little tighter as he followed Agent McBastard down the corridor to the empty lunch room.

"I passed on your message; Scott says hi. Can I go?"

"Look, we both know that Derek didn't murder all of those people."

Rafe's words stopped Stiles short and he looked at him, suspicious, but not stupid enough to answer and incriminate himself.

"I looked for Miguel Juarez Cinqua Tiago when I got back to San Francisco, Stiles. As you probably know, I didn't find a thing about him. What I did find were pictures of Derek Hale. Don't look surprised; the FBI have access to more databases than you will ever know about. I found pictures of Hale soon after the fire that killed his family, and guess who he bore a striking resemblance to?"

Stiles gulped. "Uh... My cousin?"

Rafe's expression turned stern. "Don't play games with me, Stilinski. I will win."

"What's the prize? Hell, what's the damn game?" Stiles snapped.

Stiles was so angry that he didn't even notice that his messenger bag strap was melting in his his hand. The thought of Derek being used as a pawn in Agent Dickbag's shitty little game was enough to make him feel sick and so very angry.

Derek was more than a pawn, more than a king, more than anything to be used like this, and Agent Wanker had no idea what he was doing by putting Derek's life in harm's way.

"You've put a man's life in jeopardy again because you can't grow a pair and talk to your own son, is that it?! Either talk to Scott or don't, but stop fucking around like this! And stop hurting Derek!" Stiles said, his voice loud.

"Stiles, calm down. I'm not - " Rafe started to say, but Stiles put a hand up to stop him from coming any closer, and the agent was thrown clear across the lunchroom, crashing into a table and several chairs.

Stiles' eyes went wide. "Holy shit." He looked from Rafe to his hand, then to his ruined messenger bag. He regretted the bag more than hurting Rafe, honestly.

Rafe groaned a little and stood up slowly. Stiles couldn't bring himself to move, but stayed at the other side of the room; he was still pretty pissed off, and even if knocking Rafe unconscious would make him feel better, it would probably mean an abrupt end to Stiles' time at the Academy.

Stiles wondered what Rafe was going to do; there was no way he could explain this rationally or lie or bluff his way out of it. He hadn't even touched Rafe, yet he'd gone flying.

Shit, shit, shit. He might as well go home now.

Rafe stood and straightened out his clothes, brushing himself off. He wiped at a spot of blood that had appeared at the side of his mouth, accidentally having bitten his lip when he landed. "Get to class, Stiles."

"W-what?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"Go to class. I want to talk to you at the end of the day, about that, and... Beacon Hills."

Stiles stood taller at his words and glared.

Agent McJerkface had spent one month in Beacon Hills and suddenly, two years later, he's decided that he wants more information?! Stiles was beginning to doubt he'd ever got into the FBI on his own merit, only because Agent McShit was too scared to do a damn thing for himself. It was a thought he didn't want to dwell on for too long, and he had to remind himself that he was in the FBI, he belonged here now.

"Why don't you look for that in those databases you mentioned?" Stiles sneered, leaving to go to his class.

Along the way, he held the two broken straps of his bag and believed that they would mend. It ended up being crooked as his emotions were still a little over the place, but it was better than nothing.

Rafe sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Nice one, Rafe," he muttered to himself. He looked up to the camera in the corner of the lunch room and headed to security. At least he could deal with that in a professional manner.

...

"What are you focusing on, Stilinski? You've barely said a word in an hour; didn't think you could be so quiet."

Stiles looked up at the other recruit, blinking at the sudden adjustment from black text and white paper to bright fluorescent lights and white washed walls. "Uh. Sorry?" he said, realising that it was the woman he'd accidentally spat on on his first day.

She didn't seem offended that he obviously didn't remember her name. "Tomika Jones. If you shorten my name to Tom, I will kick your ass during every sparring session we've got."

Stiles grinned and tried not to laugh too obviously. "Not a problem, Jones. Do I dare ask if you have a cat?"

Tomika rolled her eyes at him. "Shut up. And hurry up, dammit, it's time for lunch. Think Agent McCall will be there again?"

Stiles shrugged. "Probably, he's gotta eat too."

Tomika adjusted her bag and frowned at him slightly. "You don't like him, do you?"

"You can tell?"

"You've got a tell on the side of your mouth. It's small, but obvious if you look hard enough."

"You've been looking at me?"

Tomika rolled her eyes. "You're my competition, of course I am. But don't flatter yourself, you're not my type."

"Who is your type?" Stiles asked, hoping to keep distracting Tomika from the fact that he hadn't answered her initial question.

"Well, do you have a sister?"

"No... Oh, got it. I have friends who have sisters. And some girl friends too, though... I think you with either of them might just be terrifying."

She grinned at him in response. "Now that's my type."

Stiles resolved to never let Tomika meet Cora or Lydia.

Agent McShitstain wasn't at lunch, much to the disappointment of the rest of Stiles' peers. Tomika didn't seem to mind as much as the others, drawing people into conversations instead. As Stiles listened and watched, he noticed that it wasn't just polite small talk; Tomika was gathering information from each person.

The questions were small things like how they liked the weather, what their favourite food was, how long their commute to Quantico took, but it gave surprisingly clear pictures of each of their peers and where they came from. More importantly, Stiles noted that Tomika never seemed to answer the questions herself.

Stiles wondered how much information she'd gathered from him so far, and just what she planned on doing with it.

...

It had been three days and Derek had only had small texts from Stiles with updates on what he was doing at the FBI and how his research was going, but very little about Derek's case with the supposed mass murders he'd comitted. Eventually, after unsuccessfully attempting to distract himself with a hot cup of tea and a book, Derek gave in and rang Stiles' number.

"'Lo?"

Derek looked at the time and winced. He'd forgotten about the time difference and while it was a Saturday, Derek still felt bad for waking Stiles up. "Sorry, Stiles. I'll call back later."

"Der'k? No, wait. 'S'good. Just... shit, one sec," Stiles groaned, sitting up with his body sore and aching and probably bruised from top to toe.

Tomika hadn't been kidding about kicking his ass during sparring (he'd called her Tom once by accident, honest!), and Stiles regretted not taking Coach up on extra training sessions for lacrosse over the summer. He was fast and while Stiles could dodge a fist (or a kanima's tail, or a Nogitsune's long fingers reaching out to him), Tomika was just as fast, and she had no qualms about using her full strength to hit him.

"Are you all right?" Derek asked, worried.

"Got my ass handed to me yesterday during sparring. I'm fine otherwise. Well, my pride and ego are hurt as well," Stiles admitted, standing up slowly and testing his limbs gingerly.

The spell and poultice he'd used to help reduce the pain and bruising had worked better than he expected, but they hadn't removed everything, just sped the process up somewhat. He was glad he wasn't blemish-free because that would be difficult to explain to every single person that had seen him get his ass beaten. (There were a lot; it seemed that watching the new recruits beat each other was something of a hobby for the other FBI agents.)

"You're only human."

"Yeah, well, so are they. I think. Tomika and Patrick might not be," he mused, frowning. "I meant to call you about the case yesterday, sorry, Der."

"That's all right," Derek said, more genuine than he expected. He sat down and sighed before asking, "Have you found anything of use, or should I start heading for the border?"

Stiles snorted. "Great, you wait until I leave to get a sense of humour."

Derek looked down at his feet and smiled.

"I haven't found out who's framing you, but I've excluded a few people. Argent's still pretty high on the list," Stiles said, looking to the string and notes he had tacked to one wall.

"Which one?"

"Both Gerard and Kate; they're tied for first in the world's shittiest competition, but, hey, what're you gonna do?" he said, trying for light-hearted and probably not coming across that way in the slightest. Stiles flexed his limbs, hoping to ease his muscles. "I'd frame an innocent person for your hands right now."

"What?"

"Y'know, your magic hands, with the healing thing you do."

"Oh. Right."

It took Stiles a second to realise exactly what he'd said and he wanted to smack himself on the head. "Uh. So... how's things in BH? That hellhound plan working out?"

"Scott and Lydia are dealing with it and the last I heard, Parrish was willing to use himself as bait or mediator, possibly both."

"Ah, good idea. So what've you been up to?"

Derek looked around the loft to the stack of books he'd read, the spotless kitchen he'd cleaned three times in the last two days, the duffel bag still unpacked by the front door. "Not a lot, honestly. I thought I'd be missed, I guess?" he said, scrunching his eyes shut at the admission.

"You were," Stiles replied, his voice soft but certain.

Derek opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to determine if Stiles had meant for him to hear that. "I missed you too, Stiles."

Stiles smiled. "Glad to hear it, sourwolf."

...

End of the fourth chapter.

Next parts: five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty