#in a way this is like using a cell phone to photograph the moon

[clove-pinks]

Close enough to see the tassels on his Hessian boots!

[theoneandonlyastraeus]

A brief history of the early photos of the Moon

The Moon is the brightest object in the night sky, so when photography was invented, photographers were determined to get the first image of it.

The very first person to take a photo of the moon was known as Louis Daguerre, the man who invented the daguerreotype process, one of the earliest forms of photography. It was so popular that renowned U.S president Abraham Lincoln and poet Emily Dickenson had their photos taken in daguerreotypes.

He took the photo in 1839- however- a fire broke out in his laboratory and burned all of his work to the ground. This meant that the first known photo of the moon, was burned up, and destroyed forever. However, not too long after, in 1840, John William Draper took a photo using the daguerreotype process from a observatory, this photo of the oldest surviving photo of the Moon is shown below.

The following are photos taken around the same time, with their creators listed with them.

(John Adams Whipple and James Wallace Black)

(John Adams Whipple)

When Draper had a son (Henry Draper), he inherited his father's passion for astrophotography. Even with it being not too long after photography was first invented (1822), he took some remarkable photos of the Moon, and is well-known for taking some of the clearest and best photos of the moon for the 19th century, the detail on these images were (and still very much are) incredible for the time!

Shown below is Henry Draper and his most famous photos of the Moon.

Henry Draper's Observatory ^

As the years went on the quality of these photos got clearer and more consistent, since there were different ways to take photographs as the years went on. When a new century arrived, new photos were being taken of several planets in our solar system, such as Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Neptune, etc. An example of the new photos include the following image

(Weltall und Menschheit) Taken on a lithograph

(Soviet Spacecraft) 07 October 1959, Luna 3 captured the dark side of the moon on film, then developed it robotically and faxed photos to Earth.

Over one hundred years after the first photo of the moon was taken by Louis Daguerre in 1939, the United States landed on the moon. When they landed, they took this iconic photo, which was labelled as the "Greatest picture ever" in 1969. It was the first time a man had stepped on the moon, and it illustrates how monumental this image was to the American people.

Buzz Aldrin on the Lunar surface

Jim Irwin next to the lunar module that allowed them to get safely to the surface.

Even in 2024, we are still taking incredible photos of the different planets in our solar system (and beyond), they are much higher quality than those taken over one-hundred years ago. But that doesn't mean that those photos should be forgotten about- because without them, we wouldn't be where we are today. We wouldn't be taking photos of the moon like this incredible, jaw-dropping photo of it taken in 2024 by Astro-photographers Andrew McCarthy and Connor Matherne.

SOURCES:

https://www.1000museums.com/shop/art/henry-draper-charles-bierstadt-full-moon-from-negatives-taken-by-prof-h-draper-with-his-silvered-glass-telescope/

[script-nef]

Compensation | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

3k words; Dinner date [5/6]

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The door clicks behind you as you retire into your room after another day of work. Fatigue aches at your bones and the bed is soft underneath as you flop onto it. Investing in a cushiony blanket and mattress is probably one of the best decisions you made in your life. If not the best. 

Drifting away into dreamland sounds amazing. If not for All Might.

“A text is here!” 

“Toshinori…” Even though your favourite character is Hawks, there’s no way you’re not setting Yagi as your ringtone. Groaning, you blindly reach for the phone while not moving your smushed face. Comfort prioritises over the ability to breathe. 

Gojou: Hey! T minus an hour to our reservation! Get ready!

Ah, this. Gojou has made good on his promise to make up for the dinner you missed thanks to his theatrics. Something bubbles in your chest.

Since the beach incident, which ended fine with everyone happy and well-rested, something shifted. In the relationship between you and Gojou. Tensing in the neck, quicker palpitation sometimes. Like the feeling you had when you went on that flight to Shinjuku and also at the beach. Repetition is making it concerning. Maybe a trip to Shouko is overdue.

Gojou: Wear smth nice! Me: ? What? Gojou: They have a policy about ties n dresses or smth. Or we can show up in jeans n see how they react! Me: Let’s not. Gojou: K then! C you in 56 mins ;)

There it is again, the bubbles. Shaking your head to dislodge the feeling, you get ready for dinner.

Joints pop as you rise, lazily gathering towels and clothes. Something nice. If it’s a place with attire regulations, it must be pretty high-class. Or maybe he’s just messing with you to see what you would wear. Better not take any chances. 

Thirty minutes and your muscles are much looser thanks to the hot water. The fragrant smell of your shampoo and body wash puts you in a good mood as well. You quickly slip into a dress, a present Gojou got for you some time ago. It’s a soft and flowy one with intricate snowflakes decorating the ends. It became one of your favourites pretty quickly. 

Rhythmic knocks on the door alert you of Gojou’s arrival just as you’re done drying your hair. After checking in the mirror to see if everything is fine, you open your room door.

The only thing same about him from his usual self is the hair and smile. His casual outfit is replaced with a black suit, presumably the one he bought weeks ago when he tagged along with you to buy Ken-chan a present. Somehow it looks better on him now than it did before. Probably the antique hallway lighting than the department one, it just gives him a more cozy vibe. The blindfold is gone, replaced by sunglasses. His gorgeous irises are still hidden from your view. He cleans up well. 

“M’lady.” Bowing slightly, he stretches his hand out for you to take. You oblige with a giggle. The whole gentleman thing is cute.

“You’re on time for once! No, wait, you’re early!” Time seems to elude Gojou all the time. In the years you’ve known him, he’s never come to a meeting on time, let alone early. Especially ones about him by the higher-ups. There was one time where he didn’t even bother to come but Masamichi-san dragged him by the ear. Unfortunately, there’s no photographic proof which could have been used to mock him with.

“Of course I’ll come on time. Oh, you’re wearing the dress I bought you!” Gentleman vibe goes out the window, him returning to his hyperactive self. It’s still pretty cute. Where the hell is this coming from? There’s a constricting feeling in your throat. 

“Oh, you’ve never seen me wear it. It’s one of my favourites now, and I thought you’d like to see it. What do you think?” By now you’re out in the courtyard, illuminated under the moon. Skipping up ahead, you spin a bit, letting the dress flow out. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Gojou?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Eh?”

“You look… beautiful.”

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. You stop in your track, the clothing falling and resting against your legs. This is a Gojou you haven’t met before, one with such sincerity and tenderness. He steps up, taking one of your hands in his. Something tingles inside your stomach, like fireflies buzzing around and lighting it up with warmth. What’s happening right now?

“I mean it. You’re dazzling.” 

Fire burns under your skin, originating from where he’s holding you and threatens to consume your entire body. The flutter in your stomach is nothing compared to this. Time stops. The only thing you can hear is his breathing and your heart beating. 

Moonlight cascades over him, showering him in an ethereal glow. Snow white hair shines brilliantly and something seizes at your throat. He slowly lowers his lips to meet with the back of your hand, pressing a light yet somehow heavy kiss. 

You're not moving. Not breathing. It feels like you're standing on a sheet-thin glass, a bottomless abyss underneath you. If you move even a centimeter, take even the slightest of breathes, the moment will break and you'll plummet down. 

Lungs scream at you to breathe. You can't. Not while he's still holding your hand with such gentle sincerity. Heat travels to every cell in your body and the flicker inside your stomach gets unbearable. 

The moment finally ends when his lips detach from your hand. Air slowly returns as he runs his fingers over your knuckles. When he peers down at you, there's just a momentary flash of piercing blue behind his sunglasses that makes your breath hitch. 

"Shall we go?" 

Shooting you a sweet smile, he doesn't let go of your hand and marches on forward. You barely remember to keep up, brain scrambled and chest exploding.

“This is an exclusive place. How did you get reservations this fast?”

“My stunning good looks!”

“Gojou.” 

“Apparently someone cancelled their reservations. Looks and luck. What don’t I have?”

“Humility.

“That cuts me, [Name].”

Stifling laughter, you look out of the window and onto the street. A few weeks ago the view would have been amazing, but now that you’ve experienced flying, nothing measures up to it. There hasn’t been another flight break as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for one, since he was so busy, but the exhilaration of the trip never quite left your body. 

When you turn your attention back to him, there’s a lit candle on the table and Gojou’s resting his head on his hand, staring at you. The intensity can be felt over his sunglasses.

“What’s up with the candlelight?”

“No idea.”

Attempts for small talk are useless. A silence sits in the air. Not the comfortable kind that you normally have with him, working in your office while he takes a nap on the sofa nearby. Or the one when he unceremoniously interrupts a break in the garden by coming up and resting his head on your lap, enjoying a soak in the sun with you. Or when you’re eating in the cafeteria together.

Something is just off here. It might be because of… his act earlier. Just thinking about it is enough to bring the blush back. But no, it's more to do with this place. It's much nicer than your school, expensive chandeliers and tablecloths, the air of refinery that everyone else naturally oozes. But it’s distant, detached. It doesn’t suit you or him. Eventually, you break.

“Why did you bring me here?” The smile disappears off of Gojou’s face and his brow scrunches in confusion.

“I thought girls liked this kind of thing!”

"Well, yeah, it’s exclusive for a reason. But I… don’t feel comfortable here. I’m grateful that you brought me here, and I appreciate all the effort you put into this to secure a place for us. It’s just that this feels way too serious to make up for a missed meal. I feel terrible that you went through all that trouble for me. I’m fine with somewhere more casual and comfortable, not the most expensive place you can take me.”

“You think this is the most expensive place I can take you? I’m wounded.” Gojou grips at his heart but the easy-going smile tells a different story. You give him a tentative smile back, worried he might be offended underneath his smile.

“Unless you want to stay here? I’m fine with that as well, this is completely up to you.”

“Nope, it’s up to you. Wanna head out then?” He holds his hand out again. You take it without a second thought. 

“Where is this?”

“My favourite restaurant! They have the best dango for dessert. And of course, the main menus are good as well.” He’s so consistent. 

Customers and chefs alike stare at you two when you walk in. Which is expected when Gojou’s dressed in an immaculate designer suit that’s in complete contrast to the humble and cozy interior of the shop. Some avert their gaze when they realise they’re being rude, but you can see them sneaking a peek from the corners of their eyes. You’re not dressed up as Gojou is, but mortification still flushes your cheeks. It gets worse when he guides you over to a table, leading you to a table by hugging you from behind. This never bothered you before so why is it affecting you so much now?

“Here you go.” He pushes a chair back for you to sit in. A server greets you with a smile, handing over the menu then disappears again. “Is this place better?”

It really is. Spices and the smell of broth leak into the eating areas, triggering your taste buds and causing you to salivate. People chatter and yell and cheer, the cacophony of noises filling the place with livelihood unlike the cold silence of the previous restaurant. This is somehow more peaceful. A smile blooms on your face. 

“This is perfect.” 

The rest of the night is smooth sailing. Gojou knows your taste in food perfectly, expertly recommending which ones to try out. The food is impeccable and the dangos are exquisite, the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. Conversation flows easily once you’re comfortable and blocking out whatever the courtyard thing was. 

He's been away for a while due to a sudden influx in curses so it's nice to have some quality time together like this. With your belly full and warmth spreading over your body, you were ready to hit the sack. 

That is, if he didn’t offer sake to end the night. 

“Hmmm sleepy…” Alcohol doesn’t taste nice. Fuzziness takes over your brain, like thoughts are all mixing with each other and the room is spinning weirdly. Closing your eyes helps. Lights are way still way too bright and it feels like sweat is pouring off you by buckets. Someone’s calling your name but the wall is so nice and cool against your blazing skin. 

“Didn’t know you’d be this much of a lightweight. Hey, hey, you with me?” Gojou’s blurry face comes into view when you open your eyes. Giggles escape you for absolutely no reason. 

“Gojou!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I think you need to stop drinking. Nanami might never let me see you again.” 

“Your cheeks are so squishy!” It’s soft and smooth underneath your fingers, like he doesn’t have pores. Maybe you can’t feel pores with fingers but his skin is just that flawless. “Drop your skincare routine, baby skin.”

“You had like three cups, how are you this drunk? I already paid so let’s go back to school. Lift your arms?” You obey obediently and something warm encases you. A familiar and delightful scent assaults your nose. There’s a click, a lot of clicks, like someone’s taking a photo. You can’t be bothered looking to check. “Can you stand?”

“Mm…” 

“Guess that’s a no. Keep your eyes closed.” 

Your stomach lurches as you’re pulled onto your feet, supported by something under your arms. Cold air rushes onto your face and makes you whine. There’s a call of “thank you” which you reply in your drunken stupor with “I’ll be back!” Laughter comes somewhere from above. 

It’s dark enough outside that you can open your eyes again. Everything’s still a bit hazy but you can find your balance now.

“You think you can handle flying?” There’s really no way to tell other than to try it. So you nod.

There’s a blank memory between that decision and the moment you arrive at your doorsteps. Literally nothing. You blinked after making that choice and now you’re standing outside your room door. You would have fallen thanks to disorientation if not for Gojou supporting you by the small of your back.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He stands around while you get ready to sleep, helping you tie your hair and catching you when you lose balance. After washing, you stare at him and he stares right back. The stare-off continues. He finally gets the message when you point at the dress and walks out. It’s a struggle to get out of clothes in an inebriated state but after much wrestling, you manage. 

Climbing into the bed, you’re about to actually fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door. Groans answer it because it’s way too far away. The person opposite seems to get the message and comes in. You peek and it’s Gojou with a plastic shopping bag. Sitting down and making himself comfortable on the bed, he ruffles through the bag.

“Hey, you have to drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” He helps you sit up but pauses for a second. Your eyes flicker open. He’s looking at your body. “Are you still wearing my jacket? After you’ve changed?”

“Yup! Smells nice!” You bury your face in the lapel as if to prove a point. The grip on your arm tightens and he looks down. 

“It smells nice?” 

“Mhm. It's you. I feel like I'm being protected." He lets go of you, instead choosing to cover his face in his hands. His ears look red. Flicking it looks fun. "Gojou? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Drink the medicine." Even with your messed up, alcohol-ridden tongue, it tastes bad. Attempts at whining and escaping is futile because he's stronger than you. "There you go. Now sleep."

He helps you down this time, brushing your hair with his fingers and cleaning up after himself. It's nice and fluffy inside the covers. Gojou takes your hand again, pressing another kiss on the back of it. Shorter than the last time but the intensity hasn't changed. 

"Don't leave." It’s basically a whisper, but Gojou freezes immediately. There's no sound for a while and you can't see what's happening because of your drooping eyelids. Alcohol is great at inducing sleep. A rustling sound and his fingers interlocks with yours. 

“You want me to stay? I’d almost say you like me.” His voice is low as well, but still with a teasing lilt, like he's trying to help you fall asleep. So considerate. Always so considerate.

"Maybe." The word trails off into a mumble. Alcohol also gets rid of your filters and the understanding of when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Dunno… You're making me feel weird things…" Digging yourself further into the covers, you try to block out even the faint lamplight. Having none of that, Gojou pulls you out from the blanket cave, ignoring your whines.

"You'll suffocate in there. I'm fine with doing CPR but Nanami might not. What do you mean by 'weird things'?" 

"I don't know… There was like… this thing inside my stomach when you did the thing out in the uh… place. My insides felt itchy and weird thanks to you. Take that!" It probably could not have been more easier to catch your fist. "Noooo, you deserve to be hit! You did something to me… That's why I feel so weird when I'm around you. Ever since the beach trip… I sometimes get heart thumps when I see you… It doesn't make sense why I'm feeling this… I don't feel it with other people…" 

In an attempt to show how annoyed you are, you try to flail around on the bed but it comes out more as a tiny jiggle. Like a caterpillar. Gojou lets out a chuckle. It sounds like he’s laughing at you. Smacking him comes to mind but you’re comfortable right now so you’ll forgive him. By now you’re just mumbling into the blanket.

"Because like… it's the same. You know? This, this… whatever this is… Like in the movies, the fluffy ones. When the girl falls in love with the guy. They show like the whole thing with like the thingies… The close up, the blush, heartbeat getting quicker in the background… Thump thump, yeah? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence is his answer. You know he's still there because his hand is still connected to yours.

Sleep addles your mind. There's a whole lot of words popping up, like "Gojou" and "dinner" and "date" for some reason. But it's too late and everything is shutting down. Softly, slowly, you sink into slumber.

"Gojou?" Still nothing. "Hmmm you're asleep as well, huh? That's fine, that's good. You do so much to save everyone, you deserve a break. Like a hero… So brave, so selfless… Really stupid as well, so immature… Hn, maybe I do like you…"

"Say that again?" Oh, he's back. And he's gently shaking your hand, trying to keep you awake. But your consciousness is slipping away and soon everything turns into a pleasant hum.

The last thing you feel is something soft pressing against your forehead.

Next chapter →

[mxchellesworld]

godspeed- spencer reid x reader

synopsis; You and Spencer have been together for 5 years and are expecting your first child, but what happens when he takes time off and ends up in a Mexico prison

warnings; fluffy beginning, a little angsty, prison!spencer

part of the 6 fics for 600 celebration, thanks for all the love and support on our first blog! check out @doublekrecs for fic recs

enjoy my angels!

godspeed by frank ocean

Finding out you were pregnant filled your home with even more warmth. You and Spencer had been married for 5 years and thought it was the time to try and expand your family. The process had taken a while, lots of trial and failure, until the dream came true. Baby Reid was on the way. 

Though you weren't part of the team they immediately welcomed you to their ever growing family. The BAU was over the moon with the announcement of a new baby. Garcia had made herself in charge of being your right hand woman. She had made sure to plan the gender reveal to which you thought some of her ideas were a little extreme. But she insisted nothing was too extreme for her little genius. 

With Rossi's permission his back yard was filled with an explosion of pink and blue. Everyone and their families showed up. Spencer's mom was there and having one of her good days. Diana loved you and was so excited to meet her new grandchild. Soon enough a balloon was popped and pink confetti spilled everywhere. The night was filled with cheer and jokes about baby Hank putting on his big brother shoes. 

At 6 months the glow was gone but now came the countdown to little Sylvia's arrival. Spencer was gone more due to the team's ongoing battle with Scratch. It had cost them the loss of 2 family members but soon made more additions. You had faith in their abilities and knew an end would come soon. 

On the side Spencer was dealing with his mother's health. You knew he was going from trial to trial, trying to find someone who would provide nothing the best and keep her comfortable. It got to a point where he would constantly fly out to Houston. Him being gone never caused you to raise suspicions at foul play, however you were more worried about how he was keeping up. You knew Spencer was a silent fighter and never wanted to worry you or anyone else. But it was the same silence landed him in prison. 

_

It was the afternoon when you got the call from Garica. You were in the nursery folding clothes just enjoying the aura of the sun filled room. Figuring she was doing her usual check in when Spencer was gone, asking how you felt, if you ate, or planning to stop by with dinner, you picked up gingerly however you knew something was wrong when you heard her choke on a sob. 

"Pen sweets, what's wrong?" you asked in a worried voice. 

She took a deep breath before breaking the news, "Spencer is in Mexico..", you waited for her to continue. Why the hell would he be in Mexico?, you thought. "He's currently being held in jail for drug possession and potential murder charges."

It felt like your heart was coming out of your chest. How could this happen? It had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Drugs? You knew he was clean. He told you about his battle with addiction long ago and made a promise to speak up if he was having urges. The silence on the phone ended when Penelope spoke up, "Y/n?"

"I'm on my way to the office, you better tell them to keep the jet on the ground because I'm coming with," you hung up the phone leaving no room for discussion and sped to the bedroom to pack a bag. 

You were walking into the bullpen in no time. The team was sitting around frazzled trying to come up with ideas on how to get their friend back home. They all looked over with somber faces, you had a feeling things weren't going to be looking up anytime soon. 

Emily made her way over to you, putting her hands on your shoulders, "Y/n I promise you we will do everything we can to fight for him to come home. You have my word." 

All you could do was nod and fight the tears from slipping down your cheeks. 

_

While things weren't the best the team had managed to get Spencer back in the US. You went to see him almost everyday. Spencer was ashamed of being so far away from you. He was about to have his first child and he was locked in a cell. At night he fell asleep dreaming of putting the finishing touches on the nursery and speaking to his baby girl through the bump of your belly. What really kills him are the ultrasounds you bring show him how big she is. Keeping some normalcy he tells you facts about her development even if it's through tears. 

The stress of being on edge causes you to go into labor early. While the pain was unbearable nothing could top Spencer's absence. You were broken by the fact that Sylvia wouldn't be welcomed into the world with her father's bright brown eyes looking right into hers. She was perfect in every way, from the tiny curls at the top of her head to her tiny toes. She had to stay in the hospital a little extra time just as a precaution. 

It was a bittersweet moment when the team's letters came. Everyone telling him how pretty she was and reassuring that you would both be taken care of. JJ made sure to send a photograph of you holding her along with drawings from her boys. 

The day came for you to see Spencer. While he knew you'd be there he didn't expect the little bundle in your arms. The shade of her soft skin and nose appeared to be yours but the rest was all him. Curious eyes darting all over the place when she wasn't sleeping, wanting to absorb the world around her. You sat across from each other. His eyes on his baby girl the whole time flooding with tears until he finally looked up. 

"She's perfect."

You smiled as salty tears made their way down your face, "She's a fighter. Just like her daddy."

[ducklooney]

Finally finished, but this time colored. : D Yes, I published this drawing a week ago, it was just not painted, so I apologize for that. This time it turned out a little bad because I was in a hurry and I apologize for that. I apologize in advance for my bad drawing. By the way, I've already talked about what this is about and I'm showing the previous post: https://ducklooney.tumblr.com/post/647669331085459456/another-drawing-related-to-both-easter-and-my

This time I devoted a little to the fashion of the 80s and 90s, but related to cartoons and comics. Maybe my headcanon is about today, and it would mean that the Cabs, along with Daisy and Rosihna, were teenagers during the 80s and 90s. Donald, Jose, Panchito, Daisy, Rosihna (Maria Vaz), Donald and Jose's nephews and Daisy's nieces. Anyway, everyone here is definitely wearing clothes from the 90s in this drawing. ;) Yes, it is done during the night, where some spotlights work in a Latin American or maybe even Brazilian town, where they spend the night after Easter together. Yes, here in the drawing, the caballeros in 90s clothes (Jose wears clothes from comics similar to what he wears) are having fun with their girlfriends. Donald with a cap and a blue hoodle jacket as a DJ plays with Daisy Duck wearing a jeans jacket and jeans with her teenage-like hairstyle (inspiration taken from the Young Donald comics) and listening to music from the 80s and 90s. Panchito between Jose and Donald wants to catch up with them as he makes his good pose, wearing a red jeans jacket and Texas pants (even though he is Mexican). Ze Carioca (Jose) tries to get his girlfriend Rosihna to dance, and Rosinha just smiles, but still agrees to Ze's invitation. April Duck eats chocolate eggs, while Huey and Dewey use a custom from Central and Eastern Europe (primarily from Slovenian countries) as their ploy and joke, where as usual, on Easter Monday, boys spray girls and they also spray Daisy's nieces, before only May and June. May Duck listens to music through headphones from her cell phone and probably says to herself, "Idiots!" dedicated to Huey and Dewey. Louie Duck plays football (yes, spotlights work at night, and also the bright moon) with Jose's nephews named Zico and Zeca Carioca, and they all love sports together. Zico and Zeca especially like to play football (Brazil is known for that). Yes, both Zico and Zeca are the same number of years as HDL and they are also teenagers, with the fact that the two of them are just starting to differ, so I gave them a different color of cap. How exactly I imagine the two of them as teenagers, about that another time. Certainly, maybe next time, I will make special drawings related to these events in this picture, but I must say that I also took inspiration from various pictures and various fanarts (related to the clothes worn by AMJ, Donald, Rosihna, Daisy and Panchito) and certainly from the comics (Ze Carioca and his nephews) and that this represents in some way a blend of the Quack Pack and Ze Carioca comics with the Legends of the Three Caballeros. Yes, this represents in a way my view of what a Quack Pack should look like, but about that another time. Although late, I wish you another happy Easter! Also, even though it's over, I wish you a Happy Siblings Day! I mean this primarily about Donald and Jose’s nephews and Daisy’s nieces. And sorry for my long text. And I leave one unlit and two illuminated my same drawings that I photographed, just in case.

[phantomflower42]

Deciding The Technological Level of Your Setting

When writing a story, it is important to determine what level of technology your characters have access to.  That determines what tools or solutions a character may have to solve a problem.  It will also influence their hobbies.  Before going too far, consider what technology actually is.  It’s not all about electric gadgets.

What is Technology?

Technology is knowledge used to solve problems or create useful tools.  Phones and computers come immediately to mind, but there are others.  Roman aqueducts are an example of ancient technology helping to solve a problem.  Knives are another basic example.  Medical care is a very important technology.

Basic Factors When Deciding Technological Level

If your story is a fanfiction for another work, research what items wouldn’t look out of place in the setting.  Take a look to see what the characters use in the work when completing tasks or performing hobbies.  If the work takes place in a certain real year or time period, look up that period’s available items such as radios or printing presses, and head off from there.

Sometimes, the development level isn’t the same for all areas in a work or for all types of technology.  This is okay.  There are many reasons why this may happen.  Some areas are more studied than others.  Rural areas take longer than cities to adopt now inventions.

The Legend of Korra is set in an analogue of the 1920′s.  Characters drive cars, ride trains, listen to the sport of pro-bending on the radio, and have sepia/black and white photos.  But when Korra and her companions visit the Earth Kingdom in season three, it is heavily undeveloped compared to the other settings.  It is hinted the Earth Queen’s corruption stimmed its growth.

In Naruto and its sequel series Boruto, they do not have cars, tanks, modern firearms, or many modern style shoes.  But, the setting has TVs, refrigerators, wireless radios, batteries, satellites, color photographs, and eventually phones and laptops.  They explore the advancement of the setting in several of the Naruto light novels, especially the first one (Kakashi Hiden: Lightning in the Icy Sky).  In Kakashi Hiden, it is mentioned that the invention of an airship will cause many people to lose their jobs.   

If your work is an original fiction, first decide whether it has its own timeline or is based in the real world.  If it takes place in a real world place and time period, please look up what people in that area used.  If a particular field of science or theory is more advanced in your work than in that actual time period, determine how it would influence the technology in the story, study in related fields, and the social classes interacting with each other.

Should the tale be based in its own world, you have free reign.  How advanced of a setting do you want?  Is it set in the beginning of time, in a medieval era, in your setting’s equivalent of the Victorian or Edwardian era, in modern day, in the far off future, or even at the end of the world?  

Are certain types of technology more advanced than others?  Which kinds are banned or discouraged?  Are certain parts of the world more developed than others?  Are supplies of certain items limited and/or nonreplaceable? How does this affect the average person’s lifestyle? You decide.

Making Original Technology For Your Story

Sometimes, the technology shown in an existing work isn’t helpful for dealing with a certain task.  Maybe your original story needs a special tool for issues specific to the setting or an equivalent item for a modern gadget that doesn’t exist in your world. Sit down, and ask yourself a few questions.

Why is this item needed?  Does your character need a way to store cold food?  Are their culture’s medical techniques different from the norm?  Do your characters need a way to stay in contact while split up on a quest?  Need is the mother of innovation.

What does it look like?  What materials is it made of?  Is it bulky or sleek?  How large is it?  What color is it?  How is it shaped?  Is it expandable?  It is the item’s first version, or an improved model?  How well does it perform?

What situations are this item used in?  Who invented it?  Has it been made in bulk?  If so, how does it affect trade, medical care, communication, hobbies, or travel?  How common is it?  How expensive is it?  

Besides the benefits, consider the item’s weaknesses.  Does it run out of its power source in a certain period of time?  Does it need a long time to recharge?  Is the item fragile?  Is it prone to malfunctions?  Is it too bulky to be hauled everywhere?  Is your setting’s equivalent of cell service patchy?  Does relying on the item for too long cause health problems for people using it?

Technology and Magic

If the story is one where magic also exists, consider how the two interact.  It may depend on the individual setting.  Remember that magic can be considered a scientific field.  If in a world where magical and non-magicals live separately, magic users may use their power to invent versions of modern tech.

Oftentimes, magic is presented as incompatible with modern technology, or at least electronic devices.  In the book series The Dresden Files, the main character Harry Dresden is shown to short out any inventions past the 1950s.  He actually has to leave modern hospitals as soon as he’s mobile after injuries, in fear of his magic shorting out another patient’s life support.  This issue also forces him to drive an old-school car, use an ice box to store cold food, and go without a lot of modern conveniences like heated water or air conditioning.

In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, it’s stated that technology fails around large amounts of magic or largely magical areas.  However, the limits are not clearly established.  Harry Potter uses a watch until it’s destroyed in the Triwizard Tournament’s second task in the Black Lake.  He continues wearing it out of habit afterwards.  Those usually require batteries.  

Certain technology can run off magic instead of electricity, such as the Weasleys’ car or Colin Creevey’s camera.  Diagon Alley is in the middle of London, yet there’s no fuss about random blackouts in the area or the local security cameras shorting out.   

In other situations, magic may coexist alongside regular technology.  They can even enhance one another.  In Sailor Moon, the Sailor Guardians protected the Moon Kingdom before its destruction, and gain magical abilities while transformed.  Yet, the Moon Kingdom and later Crystal Tokyo are depicted as  high-technology societies; the Moon Kingdom had an artificial climate dome around it, and an advanced computer.

Consider what approach you want, and the consequences there of.  Settings where magic is supposed to be hidden have the risk of ‘outing’ magicals to non-magicals if electronics like phones or crosswalks fizzle out whenever they’re in public.  Modifying items with magic may be a special scientific field.  Imagine a person with a pacemaker or insulin pump wandering into a highly magical area, only for their medical device to fail on them.  Even a few bigoted magical folks would hate that they’re unintentionally causing harm.

Technology and Magic Subsection: Harry Potter

As Harry Potter fanfictions are very common, it’s important to address the series and its approach to magic and technology interacting.  As mentioned above, technology blacks out around high amounts of magic or highly magical communities, but limits on what is affected and what isn’t weren’t clearly established.  Battery-run items like Harry’s watch seem to work fine, but phones and bugging devices do not.  

In post-Deathly Hallows works, think of how jarring it may be for muggleborns or muggle-raised wizards to go from being able to text friends in a moment to having to mail letters to family members by owl.  New Hogwarts students despairing over not having Facebook anymore makes for a good joke, but consider practical problems.  

Say a girl with cerebral palsy has magic.  She uses an electric wheelchair because her limbs don’t work well.  She receives a letter from a wizarding school.  Let’s hope the girl’s parents and the school’s representative talk it over and find a solution to her dilemma before she sets foot in Diagon Alley.  She will otherwise be unable to move under her own power in a magical environment. 

Wizards are portrayed as ignorant to modern trends.  Arthur Weasley goes crazy over various gadgets.  He even wonders what people use rubber ducks for.  It’s implied that Harry Potter misidentified his cousin Dudley Dursley’s broken video game console as a Playstation One in 1994 when writing to Sirius Black.  The Playstation One was not released in Europe until September 1995.  Multiple wizards are shown fascinated with the Dursleys’ microwave when they visit at different times.  It is stated that pureblooded wizards resist adopting muggle tech unless there is no choice.   

That is not to say wizards are a technological blackhole.  Many items like radios, cars, and others can be enchanted to work off magic.  A lot of wizards enchant or create their own magical items.  Sirius Black and James Potter used a set of two-way mirrors during their school days, with the device acting similar to a cell phone.  They and their friends Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew eventually created the Maruaders’ Map, which showed nearly everyone on Hogwarts’ grounds and most of the castle.  The Weasley twins come up with Skiving Snackboxes so students buying them can skip class without too much trouble.     

Maybe Professor McGonagall goes soul-searching after the final battle, and tries finding ways to make the school more non-magical friendly.  She would have ample reason to do so; she would not want the Carrows’ days of cruelty to return in any form.  She may modify the wizarding wireless radios to cast local muggle stations or keep an enchanted phone in her office so non-magical families of her students can contact her in emergencies.          

Keep in mind that a wizard OC can’t sneak their modern video games into Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, but watches, certain cameras, radios, and handheld games with non-rechargable batteries could make it in.  Non-electric devices like notebooks, pencils, pens, paints, or board games have no restrictions.   

How Technology Affects Living Conditions

How advanced society is affects how housing and chores are handled.  Many modern perks like clean water, heating, air conditioning, refrigeration, and fast travel are taken for granted.  If the characters in your setting lack certain conveniences, think of how they will tackle different problems that usually require them.

For instance, a lot of people use electric washers and dryers to take care of their clothes.  Getting them cleaned, dried, and sorted is easy.  But, what if your world doesn’t have these items?  Do the local people scrub them by hand in a river or on a board?  How are stains dealt with?  Are herbs mixed with the clothes to freshen their scent?  Are they dried on a clothesline?  If it’s raining or snowing, what is done instead?

Think along similar lines for various issues.  Water might be boiled for safety, or mixed with alcohol.  Shades will be pulled if too hot.  A lot of food may be canned, cured, or otherwise stored in a root cellar when fresh cannot be bought.  Preparations for any trips may take a long while.  People will sleep under mountains of blankets to retain heat.  

Conversely, works set in the future may find all of this child’s play.  Think of how a lot of appliances can be activated now with a smartphone application.  Do robots grocery shop on the characters’ behalf?  Are clothes dried and sorted in one machine in a few minutes?  Can a room’s windows be programmed to show a certain background, like in the Hunger Games film?  Are fingerprint scanners used so characters may access restricted areas?

Think long and hard how the technology of your world will influence daily life.

In Conclusion

Technology is a powerful force.  Sometimes characters may solve problems too easily with it, but all time periods have some level of it.  It’s important to know what the limits of inventions in your setting are.  Otherwise, someone may complain ‘how did they end up with this issue when so-and-so gadget could have solved the problem?’, or ‘why is the ninja watching television?’.

Have a nice day.

[eyebeastposts]

Patreon Prompt 67

Weekly Prompts Available for $5 and up Patrons

Prompt: A snobby girl gets stranded at a farm and ends up TFing into an obese, slobby corn-man.

  Dina didn’t care how long her father had known farmer Ted, she still didn’t see the point of having to spend the weekend at his farm in the middle of nowhere. Instead of basking in luxury of five star hotels or extravagant mansions, Dina found herself wandering around the corn fields late at night in a desperate search for something to break up the monotony. Pulling out her cell she was reminded of the shitty phone signal in the area, reducing the state of the art technology to nothing more than a mirror to show off her perfect face and golden, silky hair. Grimacing as she recalled how farmer Ted had compared her luscious locks to the sheen of freshly grown corn, she continued walking to get away from a deluge of boring stories about how Ted and her father supposedly used alien signals to help grow crops.

  Her defiant wandering brought her to an unusual clearing in the center of the cornfield. Taking up the empty circle was a large plant that resembled a corn stalk with a single, massive bulb resting on the ground. Drawn towards the strange crop by her desire to snap pictures to show off to her friends, Dina approached ever closer. Getting within an inch of the stalk, she managed to get a single photograph of the bulb beginning to open moment’s before it swallowed her whole.

  Thrashing and screaming in hopes of breaking free, Dina could feel a strange sensation go through her. Her skin prickled with strange sensations, as if a hard substance was creeping along her form. Ignoring the feeling of her body bloating up and her genitalia taking on a strange warmth, she pulled away at the leaves of the bulb in hopes of escaping. With a animalistic shout that sounded like it was thrown out by an overweight frat boy, Dina finally stuck her head out of the plant to reveal to the farm what she had become.

  Under the light of the full moon, she could see the bumpy, yellow kernels that covered her body. The luxurious blonde hair she cared so much about had been turned into green leaves that cradled her plump cheeks. A butter-like substance sweated out from her pores, covering her sagging pecs and drooping belly in a greasy sheen. As Dina attempted to pull her wide hips out of the bulb, puffs of corn syrup scented farts came blasting out of her chunky rear. Another jolt was all it took for her corn cob-shaped penis to plop out from between her legs to reveal the true extent of her new form. Dina let out another scream for help, hoping his father and farmer Ted would know of a way to change him back to his old self.

[skrltwtch]

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

Hey! Thank you so much for writing that last thing for me! Still haven't read it lol, but I got so excited when I saw it was canon era! Could you do "Merry Christmas, motherfuckers" or maybe "well, there are worse ways my Christmas could have ended?" Thank you so much, and have the best day ever!

There are cuss words in this. Hospital stay, IV, stitches, staples and surgery are also warnings in this!

“You doing okay, Racer?” Spot asked, running a hand through his hair, before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Well, there are worse ways my Christmas could have ended?" Race looked up at him, a wide grin on his face, despite the pain he was in.

Christmas this year wasn’t what they had anticipated but when did things go according to plan. Race had been in excruciating pain for most of Christmas Eve into the very early hours of Christmas morning. Spot had dropped their twins off at Jack and Kat’s before bringing Race into the ER, only to discover his appendix was inflamed and close to ruptering. The only time things had gone as expected was their wedding day, three years ago. Even their twins’ birth didn’t go according to plan - getting a call just as they were supposed to jump on a plane for a quick get away before becoming dads.

Spot smirked. “You’re not wrong; at least you’re not dead, yet. You’re going to have a simple surgery and you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Stupid piece of skin that doesn’t have any use for anymore.” Race glared at his appendix, or where he thought it was located. “Stupid thing that got infected on our twins first Christmas and is close to busting.”

Spot shook his head. “It’s alright. Amelia and Beau won’t know the difference if we’re there or not. They’re safe with Jack, Kat, Ellie, and Aaron and probably have much more fun than we are.”

“It’s the semantics, Spottie. I’m a horrible parent because I’m not watching them play with their new toys and discover all the joys of the day.” Race threw his head back against the pillow, sighing loudly.

Getting out of his chair, he climbed into bed with Race, pulling him so his head landed on his chest. “Don’t beat yourself up, Race. There will be plenty of time for that as they get older. They’re 9 months old . . . they would’ve been playing with the boxes anyways. I’m sure they’re sound asleep right now, not a care in the world.”

Just as he said that, his cell phone dinged with an incoming text message. Pulling open his phone, he smiled at the photo Kat had sent over. “Hey, look at this.”

Kat had sent them a photo of the twins laying on the floor sound asleep, cuddling the stuffed animals Jack and Kat had gotten for them. “See, they’re fine and they don’t care that we’re not there.”

Nodding, Race ran his finger over the phone screen, smiling slightly. “Still it’s hard.”

“I know it is but like I said, at least you’re not dead.” Spot pressed a kiss to his head. “You’re going to kick this surgery’s ass and be back on your feet in a few days. Just think, you can order me around and wait on you hand and foot.”

Race flashed him a smile. “Something to look forward to.”

Spot smiled at that as a knock sounded at the door. A nurse poked her head in with a kind smile. “Mr. Higgin-Conlon?”

“Tony, please.” He nodded as she pushed open the door.

She smiled at the pair of them as Spot slid off the bed and stood beside it, gripping Race’s hand. “Tony, then. My name is Lina and I’m going to start preparing you for surgery.”

Spot turned her out as she started asking him questions about his health and medications. Every now and then he would feel Race squeeze his hand, and he would squeeze it back. There had been plenty of trips to the hospital in the seven years they had been together but this would be the first surgery for either of them. Logically, Spot knew Race would be okay but there was a tiny piece of him that was scared shitless that something would happen and he would be alone, living a life without Race.

The nurse finished quizzing Race and told them she would be back in a few minutes to take him down to surgery. Once the door was shut, Spot turned to Race, putting his forehead to his. “I need you to listen to me for the next few minutes okay?”

“O-okay.” Race’s voice was hesitant as he had never heard that forced voice that Spot currently had before.

“I love you, I am over the moon, batshit crazy about you. You need to pull through this because if you die, I will not be able to carry on. You’re my saving grace, my wide eyed soul and you give me so much strength. I cannot live in this world without you so Anthony Racetrack Higgins-Conlon, you kick the appendix’s ass and come back to me, you hear?” Spot’s chest heaved as he spat those words out.

Race reached up, hand behind his neck, putting his lips on Spot’s. A searing kiss was shared between the two of them before Race pulled back. “I love you too, pooks and I’m going to beat this. I’ve got too much life left to live and I’ve got at least two kids to watch grow up. You can’t get rid of me that quickly, Sean. I’ll see you in a few hours, handsome, and I expect you to give me a searing kiss, like the one I just gave you.”

Chuckling, Spot pulled him back in for another kiss, this time much more gentle. “I love you, snookums and I’ll be here as soon as they tell me I can come back.”

“Love you too.”

Just as the words left Race’s mouth, the door opened and the nurse came back in. “I apologize but it’s time for us to take Tony down. You can come down with us until we hit the last door.”

As they maneuvered the gurney out of the room, Spot kept pace with them, holding onto Race’s hand, squeezing it as they walked down the hallway. “I’m sorry but this is as far as you can go. We’ll give you a few seconds.”

They walked over to the side, giving them a bit of privacy. Spot leaned over to Race, leaning over to kiss him. “I love you and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Love you too Spottie. Don’t fret too much.” Race kissed him once more, squeezing his hand before they pushed him beyond the doors.

The doors closed behind him with a loud slam as another nurse came up and smiled weakly at him. “You can wait in the surgical waiting room if you would like. Someone will come talk to you when Tony’s out of surgery.”

He flashed her a smile before following her down the hallway to the waiting room. She motioned inside as he pushed open the door. His eyes scanned the waiting room, another couple waiting along with an older lady. He took a spot in the corner, away from the door, pulling out his cell phone. He opened the text message with Kat, letting her know that they just took Race back.

Within seconds, his phone was ringing. “Hi Kat.”

“Hi Spot. How are you?” He could hear the tiredness in her voice.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I’m alright. They just took him back.”

“Do you want me to come down? I could leave Jack here with the kids and come sit with you.” She offered, as he heard something in the background of her phone.

“No, no you stay with the kids. Don’t leave Jack all alone - he might kill you if you did that to him.” He chuckled. “They said the surgery would be about an hour and half so I won’t be here long. I’m going to go down to the cafe and grab something since I’m not sure how long it’ll be before Race can have any food.”

“The kids are alright. Please don’t worry about them.” Kat said. “Let me know if you need anything and I can bring it up to you.”

He smiled. “Thanks Kat. Keeping the kids is more than enough. I’ll let you know when he’s out of surgery.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t stress . . . he’ll be alright.” She said as they hung up.

He tapped his toes as his eyes swept the room. The door opened as a doctor came to talk to the couple, guiding them from the room, leaving Spot and the older lady alone in the room.

Opening his phone, he went to his photos, starting at the beginning. The album had over 1,000 photos in it, everything from photos of them on dates to their wedding to newborn photos of the twins, and every moment in between. He smiled, as he flipped through every one of them, letting himself get lost in the memories.

He stopped on a selfie of the two of them and laughed, thinking back.

“Spot, come on Spot!” Race whined, giving him a look.

Returning his look, Spot looked at his boyfriend. “Why does Kat want us to take a selfie again? And who came up with the ridiculously stupid name - selfie?”

“Uh . . .” Race rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepishly. “Kat didn’t really specifically ask for a selfie . . . I just kinda wanted one of us.”

Spot looked amused, grinning at Race. “So you use your friend to get something that you initially want? Way to go.”

“So you’ll do it?” Race’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

Spot didn’t say anything, but pulled Race closer to him allowing him to take the photo. At the last minute, Race turned and kissed Spot’s cheek as the photo was snapped.

Swiping through a couple of new photos before stopping on one that made Spot smile brightly.

Tugging on his untied tie, Race needed something to do with his hands. Spot came over and grabbed his hands, pulling him closer to him. Spot made quick work of the tie, before pushing to his toes kissing Race. “Can you believe we’re getting married?”

“No.” Race grinned. “Seems like we’ve been waiting for this day for so long and now it’s finally here.”

Spot smiled, kissing him sweetly. “I’ll be at the end of the aisle waiting for you.”

Their photographer has snuck in and snapped the photo without either of them knowing it until they got all the photos back. He glanced at it once more before locking his phone. Pushing himself to his feet, he headed out of the waiting room, walking in the direction of the elevator. Pushing himself in the back corner, he watched as others joined them on the descend.

Getting off at floor two, the scent of food hit his nose as he followed it. He leisurely walked through the cafe, looking for anything that at least sounded good. He grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips, checking out before finding a table by a window. Collapsing into the chair, he took a bite of his sandwich before looking out the window. The falling rain captured his mood perfectly - he felt like half of him was gone, and in reality that was true. He and Race had been joint at the hip since the day they became friends, people rarely saw one without the other.

He finished half of his sandwich, opting the throw the rest away. Grabbing the bag of chips, he headed back upstairs, hoping he hadn’t missed the doctor. Slipping back into the waiting room, he looked around realizing he was the only one in there. Settling back in his chair from before, he let his head drop back against the wall. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night due to the pain Race was in. He was up, soothing Race and giving him pain medicine trying to ward off whatever was happening.

He let his eyes slide shut, sighing. He heard the door open, cracking open an eye as he saw the nurse from earlier coming closer to him. “Sean?”

Sitting up, his eyes were wide as she looked at him. “I just wanted to let you know that Tony is out of surgery and in the recovery room. He did really well and he has a couple of staples in his stomach that will dissolve within a couple of weeks. We’ll come get you soon and you can see him. Do you have any questions?”

Shaking his head, Spot let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He smiled at her, watching her walk from the room, leaving him alone once more. Pulling out his phone, he quickly texted Kat and Jack giving them both an update.

The door opened once more, the same nurse poking her head in. “Sean? I can take you back to Tony now.”

Hopping to his feet, he noticed a pep in his step as he followed her back through the winding hallways to the recovery room. Pausing at the door, the nurse gave him a look. “He was awake a few moments ago when I came to get you but he’s groggy. He may not remember a whole lot from today but in a couple of hours he should be good to go.”

“Will he be able to go home tonight?” Spot asked, hopeful at having a little piece of Christmas with the family.

She bit her lip. “Though the surgery went well, we’ll have to see how he is. The doctor is hopeful that he’ll be discharged tonight but we’ll have to see.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for Tony.” Spot smiled.

“You’re welcome. Please let us know if either of you need anything.” She pushed open the door. “Also, when he fully wakes up, please press the red button on the remote on his bed - but we’ll be around in the meantime.”

He nodded, walking into the open door and heading to the only bed in the room. His eyes swept Race’s as his chest raised and lowered. Other than the IV in his arm, Spot would’ve never thought anything was wrong. Well, until he looked at his stomach and saw the white gauze taped there.

Sitting in the chair, he laced his fingers with Race’s, squeezing them gently. “Hey you. You made it through surgery with flying colors. They’re not sure if you’ll be discharged tonight . . . guess they’re going to watch you and make sure you’re alright.”

Laying his head on the bed, he relaxed for the first time since late the night before. He listened to Race’s even breath and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

Some time later, he felt something in his hair but his arm was too tired to swat it away. Groaning, he cracked open an eye, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Closing his eyes once more, he felt something in his hair. Pushing himself up, he looked over at Race, who had a big grin on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. How are you feeling?” Spot pushed himself to his feet, pressing a kiss to Race’s forehead, before sitting on the edge of the bed..

Shrugging, Race yawned. “A little sore but mostly groggy.”

Spot reached over and pressed the red button as he smiled at Race. “The nurse said you did really well. They’re not sure if you’ll be released tonight but we’ll see.”

Yawning again, Race hummed. “Okay. You doing okay?”

“Better now that you’re awake.” He smiled.

“Sap!” Race flashed him a smile as the door was pushed open.

The nurse came in, checking over Race as Spot stood back, allowing her to pass between them. She flashed them both a smile before telling them the doctor would be in before seeing about getting Race some food.

Spot sat in the chair, sighing quietly, keeping an eye on Race. He was glad he was going to be okay but just wanted to be home with his family. It would definitely be a Christmas they wouldn’t forget for a long time.

Thanks @deliciouspeachpirate for sending this in!!!

[kerwritesthings]

Dance Your Way Into My Heart

Summary: It’s more than just that feeling of love, it’s the actions, and the talk of forever

Word Count: just a little over 2.6k

Warnings: more soft, squishy, lovely words with a side of wedding fluff

Author Notes: So, this is my 10th ‘full-length’ one shot in this verse which boggles my mind since it’s ONLY been about a month (a day or two off actually – I first posted late the night of Jan 18!) since I started writing around this fool heart. I think he, and this place, the people and the creativity, really came to me when I’ve needed it the most. Sooo, now that the emotional nonsense has been blithered out. Here’s a little something for that…

Funny enough that this all hit me the Wednesday/Thursday before any of Josiah’s wedding stuff hit. Another pretty photo reblog from @rainbowshawn​ that set me on a spiral of ohhh shit I can see him singing at a super casual wedding like this and then the next thing you know I’ve busted out 500ish words on my Notes app on my phone while at a bar waiting for my friend before seeing Moulin Rouge on Broadway that night, total aside THE SHOW IS AMAZING – listen to the OBC album cause it’s bomb, however I digress. 

As always, these can be read as stand-alone one shots, but they all fall under the umbrella of this verse of mine. Reading the previous would provide some context. Masterlist can be found here!

As soon as she asks, Shawn immediately said yes. He's such a sucker for love and weddings and basically anything to make you happy. So, when your best friend asks you if you’d think he would be willing to sing at her wedding, you mention she would need to talk to him and ask. So, she flies up for a weekend under the onus of coming to hang out with you. However, she takes him to lunch one afternoon just the two of them, his favorite place downtown, nervous and anxious. However, you understood it was a shoe in. It was sweet though she wants to go the extra mile with him.

“You knew?” he asks, flopping down on the couch next to you, head immediately falling in your lap as soon as he gets back home. 

“Mmhmm,” you mutter, hands automatically winding through his hair. “Told her she needed to talk to you though. Maid of honor duties only go so far you know. What did you say?”

“Yes, duh. Of course, yes,” he replies, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into your touch. “Didi is your best friend, she’s the closest thing you have to a sister. Of course, I’m going to sing for her for her wedding. Plus, it’s going to be so super chill and laid back. I told her to give me a few things she and Tomas like and I’ll work around with that. I also told her I want first dance duty. No wedding band or DJ should have your bestie’s special moment.”

“You’re something else and I love you. Thank you, sweetheart. It means a lot to her. And even more to me,” you whisper, leaning down to dust a kiss to his forehead, another to his nose before reaching his lips.

Didi can’t stop raving, gushing and thanking you and him. The key smash texts are adorable and you both appreciate the lovely case of rosé champagne she sends over. Tomas, separately, takes him for a boys night at Maple Leafs game next time he’s in town as a personal show of thanks for helping his future wife. Shawn takes his role seriously, copious notes and hours locked away in his studio practicing or grumbling some days. It’s heartwarming to see how much care he took in this. “At some point, she’s practically going to be my sister-in-law, so yeah,” he blushes, after explaining the latest iteration of songs he’s going through. “Plus, it’s her wedding day. Needs to be epic and as perfect as possible. I’m going to make sure it’s that.”

He says it so nonchalant, so matter of fact, and without hesitation: At some point, she’s practically going to be my sister-in-law. It hits you square in the gut. You both know how deep your feelings run for each other, and you’ve had a few abstract talks, a few serious ones too, along with a more pointed talk specifically about the future. But you’ve never heard him speak of it with such assured conviction. Like it’s happening soon. You just look at him, jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. 

“You’re gonna catch flies like that my dear,” he smirks, tapping his pointer finger up under your chin to close your mouth. Before you can reply, he leans in to kiss you sweetly, slowly and thoroughly. 

“You know you’re my forever,” he sighs against your lips, just a hair away from yours. He presses a soft, quick peck to both corners of your mouth before one squarely against you. “I’ve thought about it a lot more lately. Since Santa Barbara and our breakfast by the pool, really. Of us doing this ourselves and what our wedding would be. I know the new album and the tour, and all that shit is a thing happening, but I also know you mean everything so…”

You don’t know what to say, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You just look at him, hand coming up to cup his cheek. 

“This is not going there now, because this would be a lame as fuck as a story to tell on how I proposed to you, but just know. I’m thinking about it. Really and truly,” he reveals through a bright smile. “I love you, so, so much baby.”

You can’t help but shift your arms around him, face nuzzling into the side of his neck. This boy of yours. He’s something extraordinary. 

At the rehearsal dinner, you spy him and Didi in deep conversation before you’re all due to sit down for dessert. 

“He won’t tell me what they decided on, Didi either,” you explain to Didi’s sister Renee, as you head towards your table. “They’re being sneaky little shits, but you know Dee.”

Renee laughs, “Are you really surprised? After you’ve been friends for this long? It’s sweet of your man to be willing to do all this for them. I’ve already warned all cousins and the brothers’ idiot dates they are not to fawn over him, that he’s beyond happily taken by the maid of honor, and that if I see cell phones obnoxiously in the way at any point this weekend, I’m breaking them in some way.”

You hear his laugh before you feel his arm wrap about your waist. “This is why Renee is the best. She won’t take anyone’s shit. Even from her own family. Thanks girl. Appreciate you having my back,” he smiles, fist bumping Renee. “I owe you one.”

“Holding you to that, Mendes,” she grins widely. “Just make sure this one doesn’t lose her shit this weekend taking care of my sister. But I will gladly use that marker, especially next time your hot friends are around. Speaking of, I should go check on my parents, make sure my brothers haven’t done anything stupid.”

“Is Didi driving you batty?” he asks, guiding you into your chair. “She seems okay tonight.”

“Crowd around, her parents, Tomas’ family, she’s holding her own but there was some stupid family shit earlier,” you exhale, grabbing a hold of his hand to lace through yours, before tipping your head against his shoulder. “It’s nothing that I didn’t expect to deal with this weekend. She’s nervous, worried, second and fifth guessing things. I get it, this is a lot. She just wants to be married already.”

Shawn dusts a kiss to your temple, “You’re such a good friend. You’re lucky to have each other. Tomorrow’s going to be great. Worse case, steal my flask and get her a little saucy before she walks down the aisle.”

You elbow him with a giggle, “You would suggest that, but you may be onto something. Thank you though.”

The next morning is a whirlwind of champagne, bobby pins and lip gloss with a soundtrack full of laughter and a lot of fighting back tears. You also may have sung along to your boyfriend’s last album, dancing around like you would do in her room when you were kids to your favorite songs. Didi’s suite is a buzz with her sister holding down the fort, cousins popping in and out, along with her mother and her future mother-in-law. At one point, after the glam team is gone, you finally have a moment alone with your best friend while her mom and sister go to grab her dress.

“I am so happy you’re deliriously happy,” you whisper, hugging Didi tightly before more folks come in. “You two are good together and I’m glad you found him.”

Didi sniffs, “Thank you, I know I’ve been insane, and you’ve been a saint. Your boyfriend too. Shawn has put up with me changing my mind on stuff like 17 times and he’s just rolled with it. You’re a lucky one too. He’s so fucking over the moon for you girly. Soon roles will be reversed, and you’ll be able to pay me back with your own crazy.”

You both scurry about to get into your dresses. With the wedding taking place at the botanical gardens, Didi decided she didn’t want fussy for anything around the ceremony. Her dress is a stunning V-neck sheath of flowy creamy, buttery chiffon, tiny flowers woven through her hair in place of a veil. Tomas’ grandmother’s necklace, a vintage diamond and pearl strand, lays just at her collarbones. You try not to cry but think back of the two little five-year-old girls who would play wedding in your grandparents’ back yard. “Oh Dee,” you sniff. “Tomas isn’t going to know what hit him.”

She smiles, her eyes just as wet, and reaches for your hands. “I couldn’t be up there without you, bestie.” You hear the flicker of a camera, knowing the photographer is back catching your moment and you’re grateful. “Your boy either. I know you hemmed and hawed about black for a wedding, but this dress is great.”

You’re the only one standing up with her, she didn’t want anyone up there with her other than you. Renee understood and was happy she didn’t have to wrangle a groomsman. She picked a black maxi, swirled with larger flowers in shades of pink and white. Your hair was up, a flower like the ones in your dress tucked in the mass of curls her stylist pinned about. Your bouquet is in a similar palate, while Didi’s has some purple, her favorite color, woven through. 

“Let’s go get you married,” you say handing off her bouquet and tucking her arm under yours. 

“Hey pretty girl, funny seeing you here,” he quips, his lips dusting against your bare shoulder, before tracing a finger across your back. You’re all outside the courtyard waiting to enter for the start of the ceremony. You turn to face him. He’s a vision, because of course he is when isn’t he, in black floral-patterned button down, similar to your dress, along with dark pants. What’s more interesting is that his beloved acoustic strung across his chest.

“I may have told Didi I would play all her walk-in music too,” he nods bashfully. “I wasn’t going to let them use Apple Music or Spotify or even worse some awful wedding singer.”

“You are something else, Shawn,” you reply, squeezing his hand tightly. “Really want to kiss you but I can’t mess up the gloss.”

He places a whisper of a kiss on your forehead, “Love you. I need to go get into place. Atmosphere music. Think I may sneak in one of my own in there before the processional stuff.”

You laugh, pushing him towards the archway of greenery, “Go be wonderful.”

He’s set up at the back of the courtyard, seats all set in front of him. He’s weaving melodies, no singing, just soft rhythms from his guitar. The space is perfect, green and lush and smelling lovely, a swath of flowers at the end of the path where Tomas waits. You make your way down and turn to watch for your best friend. However, before she arrives you take a moment to appreciate Shawn. He catches your eye, smiles and winks, mouthing love you before he sees the wedding coordinator waiving over at him. 

He starts in on “Marry Me” when Didi arrives at the back of the aisle with her Dad. Your breath catches in your throat, the combination of seeing your best friend and hearing your boyfriend hits you hard. She starts making her way down when he begins on the chorus. You see Tomas out of the corner of your eye, and he’s got a hand over his mouth, eyes brimming over with tears. The ceremony is the perfect balance of exactly what Didi and Tomas are. Their vows are intrinsically them. They look every way that a couple getting married should. Glowing, in love and only eyes for each other. It’s hard not to let a tear or two out. 

The reception is in the atrium of the gardens, under a massive domed stained-glass skylight, still lush with flowers and greens. Everything has been exactly as Didi has hoped. Meanwhile, your boyfriend is mysteriously missing. You’re sipping champagne with Renee and her boyfriend of the moment, while looking about for him. 

“Last I saw him he was setting his guitar up before the rest of the musicians came in, don’t worry,” Renee starts, clinking glasses with you. “He’ll be back.”

He makes his way back into the atrium, and surprisingly he’s changed, a little dressier now in deliciously fitting black suit pants and a white button down, the glint of his silver chain obvious even from where you are. You excuse yourself from the group and steal Shawn away before he needs to soundcheck for their dance. You just want to have a moment with him before everything gets crazy, heading out to the patio just off the atrium, which is blissfully quiet. You wrap your arms around his waist and just hold him. 

“You okay baby?” he asks, as he starts to sway with you, shifting your arms around his neck so he can pull you closer. 

You nod, smiling, “I just needed you for a minute without all that is all.”

“You can have all the minutes you ever want or need,” he says, kissing you lightly. 

“Sorry to break this up, please believe me I am, but my sister has decided she wants to get a move on,” Renee calls from the doorway. 

“Duty calls for both of us,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him once more. “Save me a dance or two?”

“All the slow ones at least,” he agrees, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’ll see you out there.”

Didi didn’t want a whole production with entrances, she wanted a few bars of song then for her and Tomas to start dancing straightaway. So, poised at the edge of what they have set up as the dance floor, with a good angle to see them once they walk in, as well as your boyfriend, you wait. Shawn starts playing, something floaty that that doesn’t sound familiar to you. The pair make their way in and as soon as they hit the center of the floor, he begins. 

“Not talkin' 'bout a year, no not three or four. I don't want that kind of forever in my life anymore,” he sings gently. “Forever always seems to be around when it begins, but forever never seems to be around when it ends. So, give me your forever, please your forever. Not a day less will do, from you.”

The song is beautiful, he sounds amazing, Didi and Tomas as just love personified as they dance. He fades out slowly at the end, a light strum to close out. 

“Thank you for letting me be such a special part of your day. That was Ben Harper’s Forever. Didi, Tomas, congratulations and love to you both,” he expresses, blowing a kiss to the two of them with his hands, you can see his emotions clear across his face. He heads back, as the band starts up, packing away his guitar before making his way over to you, now at your table.

“Wow,” you sigh, hand coming to the nape of his neck to sink into his curls. “That was something else, my dear. Didi fucking owes you.”

He blushes, ducking his head bashfully. “I’m just happy I could give them that moment. First dances are something really special. They deserved to have the best moment possible. Plus, that’s an awesome first dance song, not the usual. Makes it even better.”

“My hopeless romantic,” you muse, tracing haphazard patterns over the top of his hand that rests on your knee. 

“Just you wait,” he smiles, kissing you. “Now, I’m on good authority the next song is a slow one, so may I have this dance?”

He stands, holding his hand out for you. 

“You can have every single one, all of them from now on.”

TAG LIST: @whenidance​, @parkerdavis​, @sinplisticshawn​, @hollandraul​, @fallinallincurls​, @itrocksmysocks​, @rainbowshawn​, @lasingphomustra​, @illumecherry​

*Always feel free to ask to be added to the tag list! 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #371

“some of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses”

What is one song you feel as though you sing particularly well, if any? Probably none, lol. What was the last lengthy task you completed? I love these unique questions I've had lately, but damn, are a lot of my answers "I don't know," lol. What type of photography do you enjoy looking at? Do you take any photos yourself, and if so, what types of things do you prefer to photograph? I love floral and wildlife photography. Landscapes, too, and I have a great fondness for boudoir for reasons I've mentioned in previous surveys. I like taking nature pictures, mainly. Have you ever gone out for the Black Friday shopping rush? Did you enjoy it, or not so much? Or, what’s the busiest shopping day you’ve ever experienced? Hell no, that's a hard pass. I'm sure the busiest shopping experience I've had was like at the mall or something around Christmas, idk. Do you enjoy reading diaries or stories you wrote from when you were younger, or does it embarrass you? If you’ve kept them, was there a particular reason for hanging on to them so long? NO. I DON'T. BECAUSE I CRINGE INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION. I keep a lot of it for memory's sake, but goddamn, is it always embarrassing. What would you say was your first true hobby? What about your most recently developed one? Um... the first thing I really remember is video games. I played Spyro like, a LOT, along with other childhood games. I was just really into gaming at a young age. Is there one thing that throws off your mood more than others, whether it be lack of sleep, lack of food, heat/cold, etc., and when was the last time you felt especially cranky? THE HEAT. I become so irritable. I was needlessly cranky a few days ago for whatever reason. What kinds of things are you likely to complain about? My legs hurting, more than anything. Also being hot. Do you like to put any extra effort into your food in terms of presentation, or do you prefer to just put it on a plate and eat it as it is, no frills? Ha, no. It's not gonna look fancy in my stomach, so whatever. Have you ever dated someone who had kids? No, and I very much doubt I ever would. Are there any candles in the room with you? No. Does the last person you kissed have tattoos? No, but I tell her all the time that dainty nature tattoos would be THE most beautiful on her. When was the last time someone called you pretty? I think when I last updated my Facebook profile picture. Do you like the color pink? It's my favorite! Does your cell phone have a case on it? What color? It came with this thin purple one. What was the last song you had on repeat? "Moon Baby" by Godsmack. Ever kissed someone your parents hated? No. Your most recent ex says he/she hates you, you say? I wouldn't *say* anything, I'd break down sobbing. Would you feel hurt if your last ex was in a relationship? No. Have you ever had to choose between two people? Yes: Jason and Juan. Juan and I dated for less than a day not all that long before Jason and I got together, and Juan was pretty upset. He was nooot a fan of Jason due to a shared ex-girlfriend. Jason, meanwhile, just didn't care. What is the saddest thing that has happened to you? What about the happiest? I think the saddest thing has to be my breakup, especially when you know just how madly in love I was with him and had endless trust that he would never leave, and then he was gone in a flash one night. The happiest is, in turn, my recovery from said split. I found strength in myself and felt hope for once as I learned coping mechanics and got a psychiatrist that was worth a shit in my partial hospitalization program. What was the last new drink you discovered that was delicious? *shrug* Do you have a YouTube channel? Yes. I don't make videos anymore, though. Were you happy as a teenager? God no, my depression was awful. What do you do for your mom on Mother’s Day? Sigh. Not enough. I just tell her happy Mother's Day, give her a hug, and try to be an extra good daughter. Do you know anyone who follows a raw vegan diet and lifestyle? No. Can you go see a doctor alone or do you like to take someone with you? I can do it alone (but only have once), but I like to bring my mom with me still. Would you have sex with someone of the same gender as you? I'm bi, so. Have you ever had a concussion? One or two, I can't remember. How many dresses do you own? Zero. Do you know anyone who has a pet gecko? Yeah, my friend Summer has a darling leopard gecko. I want oneeeeee. They look so damn derpy and adorable, and their chill demeanor is something I really like in pets. Would you ever go bear hunting? No. Absolutely never. Do you prefer drawing or painting? Any particular reason why? Drawing, for sure. At least you can erase stuff, and paint is just so messy. Do you like raisins? NO THANKS MAN. Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? Nope. Do you forget to flip the page of your calendar at the start of each month? I don't have a calendar. Are you racist to any race? Nope. Have you ever intentionally hurt an animal? I've given cats and dogs a small pop on the rear, but nothing more than that. I hate doing even that, but with the language barrier and all, sometimes it's the only way to get your point across. Do you own any autographed memorabilia? No. Have you ever dated a twin? No. Oreos or Chips Ahoy? Oreos. Have you ever considered being a cop? Yeah, no thank you. What’s your favorite superhero movie? Maybe Logan. I thought it was very emotional and just overall a good movie. Name somebody you know who deserves a better life than they have: MY MOM. Name something that you’re good at but don’t like: uhhhhhhhh Name something that you’re bad at but DO like: Dancing, maybe. Which is worse: Stale chips or flat soda? Stale chips, for sure. It's certainly not my preference, but I can drink flat soda. Who’s the hottest guy and hottest girl out there? M-Mark Fischbach. :') Girl... let's seeeeee... maybe Alissa White-Gluz from Arch Enemy. GodDAMN what a WOMAN. ❤_❤ Do you ever trip over your pets? Yes, because he just looooves to follow me at my feet. What’s your relationship like with your exes? Aaron, Juan, Jason, and Tyler: nonexistent. Sara and Girt: great. What was the last thing you turned down doing? Going to my nephew's t-ball game. I always feel bad when I say no when Mom asks if I wanna go... but at least the kids know I just don't handle the heat well. Are you a party animal? Faaaaar from it, my friend. Who are you the biggest fan of? m-m-m-mMARKIPLIER You’re DJ for the night - first track to get everyone going? Uhhhh maybe "Party Hard" by Andrew W.K.? Have you ever been hit on by a pushy person? I think Juan was kinda pushy, but not to an uncomfortable degree. He respected what I felt. What accent do you find attractive? Most attractive, British. But I also really like Scottish and Irish. Also French accents in women I tend to find very beautiful-sounding. Have you ever had feelings for a friend's partner? Yes. What’s your favorite thing to do that doesn’t cost much? Drive around take pictures, maybe? Let's, uh, ignore the whole gas crisis in this answer. When in danger are you more fight or flight? Flight. Do you feel self conscious about a certain body part? *gestures to entire body* Have you been accused of being manipulative? Yes. Have you ever considered violence to solve your problem? No. Are you romantic? I personally think so. If you are a smoker, how long does a pack typically last you? If you aren’t a smoker, does anybody you are close to smoke, & if so, are you against the fact that they’re a smoker? I don't smoke. To answer the next part, yes, like my dad and stepmom. I wish they would stop so badly, like it's literally going to kill them both. Do you have more subscribers or more people that you are subscribed to? On YouTube? I'm definitely subscribed to waaay more people. Is there anything that has been drilled into your brain since you were young & you finally decided to stop listening to? How did it feel once you decided to listen to yourself over what you were told? Yes: "finish your plate." Teaching your kid to eat beyond their comfort can be very destructive, and I'm glad I never stuck to that once Mom stopped enforcing it. If you are currently in a relationship, what is one thing that seems to be unique or different about your relationship with this person, compared to other relationships in general? If you are currently single, is this more of a choice or is it more just the way things are going, not really something you chose? If you are neither “single” or officially in a relationship, what are your feelings on your current situation? I'm single, and it's just how it is. I know realistically I wouldn't tell what felt like the right person no, but it really is probably better that I stay single and keep figuring my shit out. Think of somebody famous that you have a lot of respect for. What is something that you really admire them for? To name just one thing I admire in Mark, his relentless "I'm going to do this no matter what" attitude is very inspirational to me. He lets like... n-o-t-h-i-n-g get in his way. If somebody were to leave a harsh comment on a survey you took, judging you on one of your opinions, how would you react? I'd get pretty self-conscious, just because I in general take judgment quite poorly. I obsess over "what if they're right, and you're just an idiot?". Are there any other sites you use to find surveys to take? What sites do you use? I mainly use Tumblr and LiveJournal, but in times of great desperation, I'll use Bzoink and just google surveys as well, haha. Have you sent or received any friend requests on Facebook lately? Not sent, but I got one from someone I had no mutual friends with the other day. Safe to say I declined it. Can you recall the last time you turned down an offer, of any kind? Uhhhhh no. Which fruit would you say you eat the most often? Apples. What was your pet’s last vet visit concerning? Roman has been to the vet once to get neutered (and I think shots?). I took Venus many years ago because I thought she had a respiratory infection. Thank god, she didn't. Which animals do you tend to go check out first at pet stores? The reptiles, snakes in particular. Have you ever been a victim of a house fire? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever had to wait before being seated at a restaurant? Like, over an hour. Have you ever had a cavity before? How about a root canal? A tooth pulled? Braces? Cavities and braces, yes. What is your favorite zoo animal that you would like to set free? Probably polar bears. Like especially here, it gets so hot in the summer, and the poor things sometimes only have a bit of snow in the shade. Like... they can't be very happy. Especially when you see those videos of them playing in snow, and then you think about situations like our zoo here... ugh. What kinds of artifacts fascinate you? I really think old figurines built with like clay and stuff are cool. But all artifacts I find to be very intriguing. It's so interesting to see that the desire to create has always been with us as a species. Is there anyone that you’ve visited in jail? No.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

where the love-light gleams

summary: logan is disappointed (but not surprised) when his husband tells him that he won't be home for christmas. virgil encourages him to celebrate, but logan just isn't in the christmas spirit without virgil by his side. it'll take a miracle to get him into the holiday spirit - a christmas miracle. (OR: an analogical holiday gift fic for my spouse squad secret santa!)

a/n: this is my spouse squad secret santa gift for @shesavampirequeen!! she wanted analogical, and i am HAPPY to deliver! the plot of this fic was inspired by a commercial for indeed 

cw: mild angst, brief description of sensory overload 

word count: 4130

read it on ao3! 

December 20th - 5 days before Christmas 

“So what you are telling me is that you will not, in fact, be home for Christmas?” 

Logan does his best to school his expression neutral, even though logically he is aware that Virgil cannot see him. There is a reason he typically opts to call people on the telephone (when he has to resort to calling them) as opposed to video-calling. Personally, however, he finds that keeping a neutral expression is the best way to maintain a neutral tone of voice, and he desperately needs to do so lest his husband feel any guiltier than he most certainly does. 

“I am so sorry,” Virgil says, voice shaking just so to indicate that he’s anxious or guilty or both. “I know I said I’d be home this year, I really thought I would be, I swear, but - but it’s just that my boss justtold me that the conference dates were adjusted last-minute, because of the snow, and I didn’t have the option to say no because he always steamrolls all over me, and I -” 

“To quote you, Fuck your boss,” Logan says, taking care to enunciate his speech. 

“Listen, I share your sentiments,” Virgil says. “But listen, Lo, I am so, so sorry that I got your hopes up for nothing, I -” 

Someone shouts off-screen, and Virgil sighs. “And that would be my coworkers, who are apparently incapable of finishing any project without me. I’ll talk to you later, alright? I love you, more than all the sand on the beach.” 

“And I love you, more than all the stars in the sky,” Logan responds. Despite their current predicament, he can’t stop himself from smiling at the sappy line. “Be well, my darling.” 

He hears Virgil laugh once, softly, before the phone beeps to indicate that the call has been dropped. Logan pulls his cell phone away from his ear, locks it, and then lifts it to illuminate his lock screen. It’s a photo of himself and Virgil from their wedding day, standing under an arch of twining ivy lit with gleaming fairy lights. The full moon is positioned perfectly over their heads. It truly is a stunning photograph; despite his boasting and faults, Remy is an excellent photographer. 

Logan allows himself five seconds to smile sappily at his phone screen before unlocking it with a sigh and tapping on the FaceTime icon to call his brother. The screen rings a few times, and then it picks up to show Emile grinning at the screen. His hair is dyed pink, flopping messily into his face. “Do you how do? Emile speaking!” 

“Hello, Emile.” 

“Oh! Hey, Lo! What’s happening?” 

“I just called to give you logistical information concerning the upcoming holiday. You will need to set two fewer places for Christmas dinner this year, as Virgil and I will not be attending.” 

“What? Why not?” 

“Virgil’s job necessitates him to stay out of state longer than anticipated. He will not be home for Christmas.” Logan is proud of the way he keeps his voice from shaking. Emile frowns at him, so he suspects that he has not concealed his disappointment as well as he’d hoped. 

“I’m sorry, Logan. I know that must be really disappointing for you.” 

“It is unpleasant, but expected. Virgil’s boss is very mercurial, and his schedule is not very consistent. I was, in fact, expecting him to be home for Christmas this year, but it is not out of character for him to express such a change.” 

“Well, why don’t you come on your own, Lo? I know you don’t like travelling on your own, but my house is only a couple train stops away from yours! We’d really love to have you this year . . .”

“Thank you for the offer, Emile, but I am afraid I must decline.” 

“Why is that?” Emile says. Logan frowns at him. 

“Do not attempt to . . . what is the phrase? Do not attempt to ‘therapy me’ into telling you what is wrong, Emile.” 

“Hey, I’m just looking out for my womb-mate!” 

“Please do not call me that. I am your twin.” 

Emile laughs, eyes scrunching up. “Seriously, though, Logan, tell me why you don’t want to come?” 

Logan exhales forcibly through his nose. “I find that my holiday spirit is significantly diminished with the knowledge that I will not be seeing Virgil on Christmas after all. And since you and Remy are coming to our house for New Year’s festivities, we can exchange gifts then. It will not be that big of an imposition.” 

“Logan, I don’t want you to isolate yourself on Christmas.” 

“I am not responsible for the isolation,” Logan mutters. 

“Lo . . .”

“I do not blame Virgil for his fluctuating work schedule. I know that he does his best to be home when he says he will be home. But this does not reduce or relieve my distress at his absence, and I do not wish to ‘drag down’ the rest of the party because I am pining for my husband.” 

“Are you sure, Logan?” 

“I am quite positive. If I change my mind, I will let you know.” Emile likes it when he tacks that onto the end of his conversations. 

“Okay, Lo. I’ll see you soon no matter what, alright?” 

“Alright, Emile.” 

“I love you!” 

“I love you as well.” 

Logan stares at his lock screen fondly for a few more moments before he sets his phone down and goes about his day. 

*~*~*~*~*

December 21st - 4 days before Christmas

Logan pushes his shopping cart through the grocery store, eyes scanning rapidly over the brightly colored shelves. He catches a bright yellow SALE sticker on the shelf below his favorite type of jam, and eagerly sweeps an armful into his cart. 

Turning the corner, he pauses over the produce section. He should really pick up a vegetable for dinner tonight, something that will complement the pork log that’s currently sitting in his freezer. He reaches out and picks up a head of cauliflower, twisting it in his hand and humming. He can roast it in the oven and bake it with cheese, just the way Virgil likes. It will be a wonderful homecoming surprise for - 

His heart twists and clenches in his chest. It does not matter if he makes the cheesy cauliflower tonight, because Virgil is not coming home tonight. Virgil will not be home until almost the new year; Logan will be lucky if he sees Virgil again this year, given the general hectic nature of holiday traffic. 

Logan still buys the cauliflower, because he has just spent the past two minutes manhandling it and he doubts that he is allowed to leave it in the store now. He places it in a plastic bag and ties it up with more twist ties than are strictly necessary. Logan hates cauliflower; he only makes it for Virgil, and Virgil is no longer going to be home in time to eat it. 

He sets the cauliflower down with slightly more force than is strictly necessary, determined not to cry in the middle of this supermarket. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see a text message from his husband. 

Vee <3: hey there, loganberry. work is shitty, and i hate being here, and i wanna come home and snuggle you in our bed, but i can’t, but i want you to know that i love you and i don’t wanna be here 

Logan smiles fondly at the message, running a single finger along the screen. 

Me: I appreciate the reminder, Virgil. I love you too, and I also do not want you to be where you are.

He slips his phone into the pocket and heads toward the checkout line. The cauliflower taunts him from where it sits in his cart. He does his best to ignore it. 

*~*~*~*~*

December 22nd - 3 days before Christmas 

Logan reaches up behind the ornate faceplate of the grandfather clock and pulls out a tarnished key. He slips it into the prominent keyhole and slowly creaks open the old wooden door. There is an odd amalgamation of things tucked away inside the clock, but Logan sifts carefully through the detritus until he finds what he’s looking for: a second, smaller key, still gleaming and new. He carefully locks the clock back up and hangs the old key on its hook before making his way to the bedroom. 

He unlocks his closet door, slipping the key into his pants pocket. Carefully hidden among the clothes and shoes and spare blankets and keepsakes are the presents he’s purchased for Virgil over the course of the past several months. He normally wakes up early in the morning, while Virgil is still sleeping, to wrap his gifts. 

It is strange, taking the boxes and setting them on the neatly-made bed while the sun is still bright and shining. Most years, Logan finds himself quietly cursing Virgil’s observant nature and the fact that he has to creep around with his husband’s gifts if he wants them wrapped to his satisfaction. This year, he wishes he was awake before the crack of dawn. 

He has the same paper he always uses to wrap Virgil’s gifts, a reflective deep purple with small silver bats embossed on it. He buys a new roll every November and leaves it in the hallway closet, right next to the midnight blue paper with gleaming gold-foil stars that Virgil wraps his gifts in. 

It had hurt, reaching into their hallway closet and pulling out his wrapping paper while seeing Virgil’s roll leaning in the corner gathering dust. Normally, his husband has already wrapped his presents and the roll is dusted off; Logan had closed the door with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. 

His phone rings as he’s carefully pulling the paper away from the tube and laying it along the bed. He pins it down with a box and pulls out his phone, smiling when he sees his husband’s contact name flashing on his touch screen. He swipes his thumb across the Accept Call button. 

“Hello, Virgil.” He can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. 

“Hey, Lo! How’s it goin’?”

“I am wrapping your Christmas presents right now. I will leave them under the Christmas tree as I always do, and you can open them when you come home.” 

Virgil huffs a soft laugh. “You know that won’t be for a while, right?”

“I know,” Logan says softly. “But I cannot stop myself from participating in traditions.”

“How are you even gonna be around for that? Aren’t you going to your brother’s for Christmas?”

“No,” Logan says. “I am not.” 

“What? Why not? Did something change that I’m not aware of?” 

“No, of course not. You are not going to be home for Christmas, so I will not be celebrating with Emile.” 

“What are you talking about, Lo?”

“I do not want to celebrate the holiday without you, Virgil. I am not interested in taking the train by myself to spend my holiday in a small, too-loud, too-crowded house with people I barely know. I will celebrate quietly, here, in our house.”

“Logan, you can’t give up on Christmas just because I’m not there,” Virgil presses. “Seriously, I’m gonna feel so shitty if you give up on seeing your family this Christmas because of my fucking work schedule.” 

“I will see Emile again at New Year’s, since that will be hosted at our home. I do not need to subject myself to the horrors of traveling without you.” 

“Logan, sweetheart, please -”

“I have to go, Virgil,” Logan says, biting down on his lower lip to prevent himself from crying and giving away how upset he is. “I will speak to you later.” 

“Logan, please, don’t hang up on me -”

“I love you,” Logan says softly. A pause, and then Virgil sighs. 

“I love you too, Lo. And you know that I’d do anything for you, right? I’m sorry that I can’t be home for Christmas, but - but I - I love you so much. So, so much.” 

Logan lets Virgil press the End Call button, cradling his phone against his face for a moment. He closes his eyes and briefly lets himself imagine that it is his husband’s hand warm against his cheek. He knows that it is not, but he allows himself the be surrounded in the delusion before setting his phone down and returning to wrapping the presents. 

*~*~*~*~*

December 23rd - 2 days before Christmas

“Hello?” 

“Lo! Hey. 

“Hello, Virgil. It is always a joy to hear your voice.” 

“Logan, listen, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“You’re probably not gonna like it. I’m just warning you now.”

“Virgil, I am willing to listen to another delay in your schedule -”

“No! God, no, nothing like that, Lo. I just - I think you should go to Emile’s Christmas shindig thing.”

“Did you just use the word ‘shindig’ unironically?”

“So what if I did - Lo, did you hear me?”

“I did indeed. However, I fail to see the point of me going. As I have explained before -”

“I know, Lo, but listen, I was talking to Emile and he’s - he’s really sad that you won’t be there.”

“He . . . is, is he?” 

“Yeah. I - you should really go. Please, Logan? I know you, I know you’re isolating yourself because you don’t want to drag everyone else’s holiday down with your missing me. But you deserve to see your brother and have fun at his holiday party. You haven’t gone in a while, and I know how much you love him.”

“I . . . do love my brother dearly. But it - it feels wrong , somehow, to be celebrating with my brother and friends while you are stranded elsewhere at an impersonal hotel convention center and -”

“Lo, remember to breathe, please?"

“. . . . I am sorry, Virgil.” 

“No need to apologize, my starlight. Just . . . please, go and have fun with your brother? For me? As long as at least one of us is having a good time this Christmas, that’s more than enough for me. ” 

“I will call Emile and see if there is still a place for me at the holiday party.” 

“You know you don’t have to, right? I just - I want to make sure you have a happy holiday.”

“I will never truly have a happy holiday without you by my side, Virgil. But I suppose that I can try my best to be merry.” 

“That’s all I wanted, Lo. Do you still have a train ticket?”

“Yes. I purchased a ticket for tomorrow’s train. I had been planning on cancelling it, but I never got around to doing it. I suppose that is for the best now.”

“Yeah. Oh, fuck - my boss is calling me, I have to go. I love you, Logan.”

“I love you, too, Virgil.” 

*~*~*~*~

“Do you how do?” 

“I still do not understand why you insist on answering the phone in such a ridiculous manner.”

“Lo! How are you, womb-mate?”

“I will hang up the phone right now if you continue.” 

“Seriously, what’s up? It’s not like you to call in the middle of the day like this.” 

“I . . . I was just . . . wondering if you still had . . . a place for me at your holiday celebrations?” 

“Of course we do, Lolo!”

“My train ticket is for tomorrow, would - would it be possible for someone to meet me at the station? And is it still feasible for me to sleep over at your house?” 

“Absolutely! Rem, you’re still clear to meet Lo at the train station, right?”

“If you are not capable of doing so, it is fine -”

“Nonsense! Remy’s gonna meet you at the station, okay?”

“That is acceptable.”

“See you tomorrow, little brother!”

“We are the same age.”

*~*~*~*~*

December 24th - 1 day before Christmas 

Logan carefully slides his Marie-Kondo file-folded clothes into the little duffel bag on his bed. He zippers it closed after carefully laying his Ziploc-bagged toiletries on top, pulling his backpack into reach and poking through it. He checks off his laptop, chargers, planner, the novels he’s currently tackling, a few notebooks, his backup headphones, his wallet, and his train ticket. 

His phone pings with a text from his brother. When does your train leave?

Logan quickly fires off a response - I will text you when we pull out of the station - and carefully pulls on his winter coat, taking care to button each of the gleaming black buttons before tucking his dark blue scarf into his thick coat and tugging on his gloves and earmuffs. 

He slings his backpack on and picks up his duffel bag, making sure that he locks the door securely behind him before tramping down the three and a half blocks to the nearest train station. The clouds are low and iron-gray in the sky as he makes his way slowly, slowly through the crowds of people. The earmuffs do a decent job of keeping out unwanted noises, as well as keeping his ears warm, but he still knows that the second he’s on that train he’s clamping his headphones on and blasting classical music to kingdom come. 

The attendant glances up at him with a bored, half-awake stare. “Name and destination, please?” 

Logan tells her, sliding his ticket across the counter to prove that he has it. She pops her bubblegum at him (he pretends it doesn’t send a visceral shiver down his spine) and stamps the ticket with a rubber marker. “Happy holidays, or whatever.”

“Happy holidays,” Logan mumbles, gripping his ticket tightly (but not so tightly that the paper tears). 

He shuffles onto the train and settles into a window seat, placing his bag next to him to deter anyone else from trying to sit next to him. His headphones come out, hold for seven seconds to turn them on, wait for the beep and the friendly female automated voice to say Bluetooth. Connected! and then pick up the phone and hold his finger against the sensor to unlock the screen and tap tap tap at the music app and relief, finally, as Gustav Holst’s The Planets starts to flood into his ears. Logan exhales, looking up as the train slowly fills with people. 

He’s prepared for movement, but he still flinches when the train lurches forward. 

Outside of the conductor taking his ticket and hole-punching it, Logan is left in relative peace. He reads and annotates three more chapters of his book before the motion sickness starts to kick in, and he leans back against his seat to sleep the rest of the way. His phone vibrates with a silent alarm ten minutes before they pull into his stop, and he makes sure that he has all his belongings gathered together. 

The train screeches to a halt, and Logan carefully turns off his headphones, pausing the music and tucking them into his backpack. He peers through the rush of steam and smoke flooding the train platform, trying to spot someone familiar. 

He purposefully chose a seat near the door when he sat down; as soon as the conductor announces that they are allowed to leave, he gathers his bags and hurries out the door. He minds his step carefully as he descends onto the platform, swiftly moving out of the way of other passengers. 

“Yo! Logan!” 

Logan turns his head to see Remy leaning against a railing. He sports his signature aviators and leather jacket, and Logan does not understand how he is not freezing. “Hello, Remy. Are you not cold?” 

“Colder than a witch’s teat,” Remy responds easily.

“Why did you not dress warmer? Surely you knew the weather forecast before coming to retrieve me.”

“Of course I did.” 

“Why, then, did you dress the way you did?”

“The aesthetic, bitch.” Remy lifts a Starbucks cup and slurps at what even Logan can recognize as an iced coffee. He shivers, grins, and takes the duffel bag from Logan’s hands. “Let’s go.” 

*~*~*~*~*

December 25th - Christmas Day 

Logan wraps his hands around the warm mug of spiced cider Emile passes him, smiling at his twin. “Thank you, Em. I am sorry that I am not as festive as you and Remy and the rest of the party . . .” 

“There’s no need for that,” Emile says, ruffling his hair gently. “We know that you miss your husband, and I know how you are about crowds. I’m not upset with you at all.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically at his twin. “Thank you, Emile.”

“No problem, little brother!”

“We are the same age,” Logan calls at his retreating back. He takes a sip of the cider in his hand and smiles to himself. Remy is a pastry chef at a local restaurant, and it is clear in everything he makes. The cider is the perfect blend of spicy and sweet; Logan detects cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and even a hint of ginger among the rich apple flavor. Remy’s spiced cider is one of his favorite things about the holiday season. 

The party goes on around him, friends of Emile’s and Remy’s passing in and out of the rooms with plates of food and glasses of cider. The lights are all dimmed, so the living room is lit primarily by the large Christmas tree and the multiple strings of Christmas lights and fairy lights hung tastefully around the walls. 

Remy comes by about an hour later, with the tell-tale flush of alcohol high on his cheeks. He hands Logan a plate of various holiday foods and desserts, laughing and reaching for his glass of brandy. He’s singing along loudly to the Christmas music playing from the kitchen, and he’s kind of off-key but it’s still an essential part of Logan’s Christmas. 

He quietly snacks his way through the tasting platter Remy had brought him. Despite his initial reservations, he truly is happy to be here. Logan knows that even though he is still missing Virgil, he is happier here than he would have been sitting alone at home. 

Someone touches his shoulder, and Logan exhales softly. “I am alright, Emile. You do not need to ignore your party guests for me.” 

“Oh, Lo,” a familiar gravelly voice says, just a hint of a laugh present. “There’s no party guest I’d rather pay attention to than you.” 

Logan whirls around, empty paper plate falling to the ground as he stands up. Virgil is standing in front of him, still wearing his heavy leather bomber jacket, rolling suitcase at his feet. Before Logan can react, before he can even breathe, Virgil’s arms are around him. He lifts Logan up into the air, twirling them around as best he can in the limited space before leaning back and gently rubbing his nose against Logan’s. 

“Hey there, my star,” Virgil hums. Logan feels the tears welling up in his eyes, and for once he makes no effort to fight them back. He leans in and kisses Virgil, taking in his chapped lips and the warmth of his hands on his hips and the softness of Virgil’s hair as he locks his hands around his neck. 

“You - you’re here,” Logan whispers. “But - but you said - you said -!”

“I know what I said,” Virgil says. “I never meant to intentionally mislead you, Lo. I truly didn’t think I’d be home for Christmas this year.” 

“What changed?” 

“I’ve been applying for new jobs for a few months now. Better jobs. Jobs that are closer to home.” Closer to you, he doesn’t say, but Logan can read it in the crinkle of his eyes. “One of them got back to me while I was out on that shitty work job. I got hired, Lo. I’ll be running the IT department at a local college, which means that I’ll only have to travel there and back. I - Lo, I won’t be gone anymore.” 

Logan laughs wetly. “You - you’re - you’re home. You’re home, and I - this -”

“I got the call about getting the job on the twenty-third,” Virgil says. “I quit my old job right there and then, I hopped on the first bus I could, and I came right home to you. That’s why I was so insistent on you coming to Emi’s holiday party. I knew his house was closer than ours, so I thought I could make it here to surprise you.”

Logan presses his mouth to Virgil’s again, locking his legs around his husband’s waist as Virgil sits on the couch where Logan had been. One of Virgil’s hands comes up to cup his face, and Logan shivers happily when he feels the cold weight of Virgil’s wedding ring press against his cheek. 

“I love you,” Virgil breathes. “I love you, Logan. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Logan replies, and Virgil leans up to kiss him again and again and again.

[dorminchu]

WIPs [James Bond, Pokémon Lost Silver]

Wahey! Here are two mostly brand new scenes below the cut, just to prove I'm not dead! Note: Please view the post on the main page for correct formatting.

INSULT TO INJURY CHAPTER I: A THOUSAND DETAILS [REVISED]

Graduation from Oxford was a quick, unemotional affair. Madeleine had no extended family to invite—no one else of import, besides her short-term friends. The matter of her attendance was something to be addressed and then forgotten about. It was a little tragic. She tried not to let this show on her face when she had to make her commencement speech.

The ceremony went along as expected. Things were not as interesting when she could pretend her life was just as safe and boring as anyone else’s. As she was wrapping up an individual figure in the stands, no more remarkable than any other, caught her attention. It was an older man, perhaps in his early fifties, hidden partially behind sunglasses and a smart dress-hat. With a nauseating thrill she recognized his hat as well as his smile, the angles in his face a little more pronounced. To Madeleine it was like he was sneering. She did not let this discovery rattle her. If she hesitated it was on account of the crowd and her nerves and nothing else.

But when she was done, succeeded at the podium, she could only think: How long has he been standing there? Why didn’t I notice? They did not speak to one another, as it would surely draw unwanted attention. Not that it mattered. His presence was enough of an affront; why give him further opportunity to wound her pride by acknowledging him outright?

“I’m sorry,” she’d said to her roommate, “I’m really not feeling well. Just take me home.”

Even then, when she was perfectly alone, the memory of him took up residence where physical space would not permit. She tried to dredge up some residual emotions for the man who less so resembled a father and more an anonymous pen pal in recent years. Perhaps it was best for his pride if she continued to avoid him, rather than put him in a situation that would force him to admit his own daughter's indifference.

Her cotenants would be out for a while, glad to be around other normal people who didn’t skirt around crowded rooms, casing the doors and windows. Most of them, by now, thought Madeleine to be frigid, or else exceedingly studious. They’d given up a long time ago trying to invite her along on group dates—it was a losing proposition. She did not drink anything. She didn’t talk unless someone initiated and then she was perfectly reasonable. She would quietly, scrupulously vet what was offered. The other women were under the delusion that she was trying to compete with them, and the men were usually uncomfortable being scrutinised without a lick of pretence. Madeleine found it a little funny, but she was the only one.

So she didn’t mind being left behind. Most of the time. She looked around the room. It had served its purpose during her enrolment. Now it seemed intolerably small, like a holding cell. She had never thought about it this way before. Suddenly she wanted to be anywhere else.

At times such as these, she almost wished she hadn’t decided to go straight-edge—then, maybe, they would keep some alcohol in the flat. She had no friends she could call on without inviting scrutiny. The only other comparable colleague was Arnaud, a fellow Sociology major in her year. She found him tolerable enough to engage in polite conversation, though she did not want to give him or anyone else the wrong idea.

Or, hell, why not? She could use a drink.

⁂

Three years to that day, they were still talking. Well, her colleagues at Oxford would have likely referred to them as friends-with-benefits with a healthy measure of condescension—but this was misleading. It would imply some level of emotional investment. For Madeleine, he was a means of insurance. Whenever he turned up dead or missing, she’d know it was time to move on. Now, Madeleine was not completely heartless. She had taken Arnaud’s advice and transferred over to the 8th arrondissement, with the understanding that they would be rooming together. And Arnaud was easy to get along with and she could afford him the same courtesy. She had someone to come home to and he knew enough about her work ethic from their college years, and her demeanour, to not ask where she had been. She knew enough surface-level information about him that she could still keep up appearances with his friends, as well as her own colleagues at the office—to be discarded, once he outlived his purpose. The clinic was within walking distance from the flat. Open to the general public, rather than more exclusive clientele, but that suited her fine. Each day bled into the next and the seasons changed in rote, predictable manner. She’d go to bed and wake up thinking: Maybe today will be it. They’ll come to collect me. But it had been three years. The lack of apparent danger soon directed her thoughts towards various methods of escape. Usually, Madeleine found solace in identifying the root of other peoples' troubles; a faulty marriage brought on by substance abuse, or more permanent debts that could not be repaid so easily. Most were less extreme and involved simple conversations that were, in Madeleine’s view, no more impactful than the change in weather. She kept no photographs. She had a work computer that stayed in the office. She stuck to using burner phones. She did not discuss her life before Oxford or the Sorbonne with anyone. The only décor was a pot of faux flowers from an elder client; for her falsified birthday, of course. There was even a little hand-written note. The longer the pot stayed on her desk, the more disingenuous Madeleine felt. She'd investigated it a few times when she was alone, looking for wires, but never could prove her suspicions. She got rid of it anyway, just to be safe. The client never brought this up again but Madeleine could souse the hurt in her eyes the next time they met.

LOST SILVER: HIDDEN

Part of the wall had a give to it like rotting flesh. It caught on his fingers, porous and thin. Momentarily freed from the push of the unown Gold threw his body into the weak spot.

It didn’t stick to his skin but tore as like wet paper. Clean break.

Falling forwards into an empty void. Crashing on all-fours. The unown were gone. Ground had no texture but simply existed beneath him, impossibly smooth and cold. There was no light from the tunnel behind him. All the sound fell away from his ears. He felt himself screaming just to hear something but could only feel the physical strain in his lungs and throat. Unown frequency reached him through tinny speakers—overridden by static. He put his hands to his ears. It did not stop. He could feel the blood pounding in his head. Suddenly the tiny screen lit up. His hands caught on plastic. He clutched it desperately, staring into the harsh, inexplicable light of the LCD screen. A voice broke through static:

“Where do you think you are?”

Gold froze. He—

—falling forward again. Jerked out of time and space as though by an ally’s Teleport—familiar loss of footing followed by an abrupt solidity beneath his knees. Shock giving way to nausea. The last time he’d teleported anywhere was at the behest of the old guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and his abra, back at Indigo Plateau. He doubled over. His chest felt tight. He began dry-heaving, desperate for air—the serrated, raw feeling in his throat and chest told him he’d been screaming.

Dry, dusty earth beneath his fingers was baked over. The fresh air he drew into his lungs tasted warm. It was dusk. A thin layer of perspiration on his face and his palms. His stomach settled gradually into queasiness. He didn’t remember teleporting or what he had been doing before his arrival. He couldn’t recall why he was here, either.

“Hey, kid. Finally awake?”

Gold blinked. He straightened himself out and tried not to look as shaken up as he felt. The man in a lab coat and glasses looked down at him impatiently.

“We’ve been waiting for the last hour.”

Gold had no idea how to respond. His legs were shaky. He held up a hand to wave off any attempts at sympathy. “Teleport,” he got out hoarsely.

The man scoffed. “I don’t need an apology. I’ve got all the notes on my desk about what to expect down there. Nothing a tough guy like you can’t handle. We’ll be inside whenever you’re ready.”

The aide was nicer. “Gold, right? Prof. Oak’s told me about you.” She looked around his age, maybe a couple years younger. Her hair was dyed an intense shade of blue and pulled into twin ponytails. She was dressed for the season—just a pair of bright yellow athletic shorts and sleeveless red shirt, white jacket. Her body was toned—Gold had the fleeting thought that she could have been his twin, but her accent struck him as native to Kanto. She had her own POKéGEAR, too; clipped neatly on her bag, rather than on her wrist.

“Oh, uh—has he?”

“Only good stuff, don’t worry.” She extended a hand. “You can call me Kris. That other guy is Mr. Ito.”

They shook. Her gloveless hand was warm and soft, which surprised him. Gold noticed her belt—two standard pokéballs, a moon ball and a lure ball respectively. “You’re a trainer, too?”

“I’m more of a researcher. Lately I’ve been working on the Unown Mode feature of the POKéDEX. We’ll have to set yours up first, before you go down there.” She reached out towards the ‘DEX at his hip, suddenly very businesslike. Gold hesitated. She smirked. “What? I’m not gonna screw it up, I’ve done this enough times by now.”

“I never said—”

Kris inclined her head without waiting for an excuse. With a sigh, Gold handed over the POKéDEX. Kris walked over to the nearby desk. She clicked on a lamp and studied the screen for a few seconds. She whistled. “Wow! They weren’t kidding. Two-hundred and fifty on—” Mr. Ito clicked his tongue and she scowled “—yeah, okay.” She toggled through the settings with an air of aggression that suggested this was not the first time she’d been reprimanded. Gold’s amusement was undercut by the hope she didn’t break any of the buttons. Then again, he knew from firsthand experience that it could take a lot of punishment. “You’re pretty handy with that.”

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER SIX one | two | three | four | five trigger warnings apply

HORIZON POLICE STATION 3:20 PM

Hugh sat with his elbows on the desk across from Scully, fingers interlocked in front of his mouth, his brows knit in pensive, tortured reflection.

They were alone in the dim, chilly police station, and the rain outside had begun again in earnest, all the more livid for having given up this morning’s skytime to the sun. The station had been a schoolhouse in a previous incarnation, and green chalkboards still lined one wall, a faded, dusty black-and-white photograph of Truman lurking crooked above them. Theo was off somewhere, chasing down a rogue preteen who’d gotten ahold of a can of spray paint, leaving Scully with a set of keys and instructions for the finicky coffee maker. Not that she needed it with all the caffeine swimming in her blood already, or the jolt of pissy adrenaline that bickering with Mulder always gave her.

Scully hugged her elbows against the cold, letting the revelation settle between them.

“You’re sure?” Hugh’s voice was soft, unsteady. “You’re sure she was pregnant?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Scully said soberly. Anna’s body, or what was left of it, was still in the next room, piled like compost into a biohazard bag in the fridge. Maybe it was because of the nightmare, or because this might very well be her last case... but it had affected her more than she would have expected. The absolute carnage of it, the impossible task of trying to arrange the raw-hamburger heap of torn flesh and skin into something readable, something that might give her any insight into what happened that night.

From what little she could ascertain, the characteristics of Anna’s remains would, hypothetically, match the tearing patterns of beaks and talons. But she still wasn’t ready to admit that crows could have done this. It was too sensational, too extraordinary to believe.

She thought of Anna’s pale face, marred almost beyond recognition, cold and lifeless below her on a surgical table that had previously only ever seen ailing family dogs and diseased sheep.

Anna’s pale face, above her in the night, screaming, tortured, falling apart.

In the painstaking process of sifting through the meat, she’d almost missed the cluster of soft, tiny bones, a small ribcage, the shards of a miniature skull. Anna had to have known.

She shivered, willing the image away.  

“Mr. Daly…” The man was frozen, blank, completely unresponsive. Scully looked him over⁠—his hunched shoulders, his three-day beard, the dark circles under his eyes⁠—and her heart went out to him. It was almost inconceivable that she’d found him so unnerving at their last encounter. She reached out and gently touched his arm. “Hugh…”

He shook her away, a muffled sob rising from his throat, and cast his eyes downward. “Please don’t make me look at her. I can’t bear to see her,” he said, and the utter defeat and devastation in his voice humbled Scully further.

As she watched him try to pull himself together, try to wrestle with the demon of his grief, something expanded and softened within her. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been able to; something about growing up with her father’s stoic, expressionless mein meant that she could hardly bear it when grown men cried.

“Hugh… there’s no need to look at Anna’s body. You don’t have to see her. Theo, Rhiannon, Marion… they’ve already given us a positive identification.” He sucked in a breath, then let it loose. “But if you can think of any reason, any reason at all, why Anna might not have shared the news that she was pregnant with you… we need to know. I need to know.”

“Ehm…” he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know why Anna would have kept this from me. I really don’t. We weren’t… actively trying to become pregnant or anything, but there were no... I mean, we were married. There were no… precautions taken, either.

He wiped at his eyes and placed his hands face-down on the table, breathing deeply. “Miss Scully… Agent Scully. Back at the farm… yesterday. I am such an ass. Such an intolerable ass. I’ve been an utter mess since Anna…” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I beg of you.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“I should have never spoken to you in such a disrespectful way… I’m so sorry. You’re here to help me.”

Scully, almost unconsciously, let one of her hands fall lightly next to Hugh’s. They were farmer’s hands, scarred and calloused and square, and she found herself appreciating the sheer masculinity of them. “It’s okay,” she said after a moment, and meant it.

“Have you ever… lost somebody? I mean, like this? Unexpectedly? Tragically?”

Scully looked at her hands, then back up to his face.

Hugh’s red-rimmed eyes remained on hers, bright with spent tears and deep with acknowledgement. “What happened?” he asked.  

“It’s a long story,” she said, quietly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said, under his breath. “I’ve seen my fair share of unbelievable things, Miss Scully...”

She took him in, all of his unsophisticated honesty, the unpretentious poetry of his voice, like a peasant prince in a fairy tale. “It’s, um… it’s Dana,” she said mildly. “Call me Dana.”

“Dana,” he said. “Please. I can’t be here. Not with… not with her in the next room. And I’m in dire need of a coffee. The Half-Moon’s just fifteen minutes north, can I buy you a cup? It’s the very least I could do.”

Just then, her phone shrieked from her pocket, shrill and unpleasant and demanding. She slid her hand from beside Hugh’s, fumbled around for the wailing hunk of plastic, looked back at the man across from her… and ended the call.

“Sure. I could use one too.”

KICKING HORSE B&B 3:30 PM

The rest of the drive back to Rhiannon’s was silent, save for Neil Young’s nasal crooning and a few distant, ominous rolls of thunder. Mulder’s mind was doing somersaults. He tried to worm his way into Marion with a few tentative questions, but she was quiet and resolute, determined to keep him in the dark, and he knew better than to push her until precisely the right moment.

Kicking Horse stood tall and proud over the wheat and wildflowers, the lake like a silver coin in the distance. Mulder eased the truck up the driveway and killed the engine. Immediately, Marion reached over and yanked the keys from the ignition, throwing the passenger door open and clambering out. He followed her up to the porch, where she unlocked the front door with shaking hands, mumbled a goodbye, and practically sprinted back to the truck. Before Mulder had a chance to organize his thoughts, the truck growled back to life, and she was already driving away.

He watched her disappear into the fields, and then opened the front door.

The house was dark with the coming storm, the watery afternoon light stretching shadows across the walls. “Hello?” he called, shrugging off his trench and hooking it onto the old brass coat tree. At the sound of his voice, Hypatia’s long white face appeared from the top of the stairs, and she barreled down to greet him with a low whine. She writhed in excitement, mouthing at his hands as he knelt to unlace his shoes. “Get outta here,” he scolded, brushing her away.

As he stood up and toed his shoes off, leaving them in a muddy jumble at the entrance, he noticed a slip of paper on the hall table, bright against the dark wood. He picked it up. An old receipt for fertilizer, a note scribbled onto the back. The handwriting was an unfamiliar loopy scrawl, barely legible.

Fox, Dana - If I’m not back before you, please make yourselves at home. R

Mulder crumpled the note and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, fishing out his cell in the process. He thumbed star one on the speed dial, and stood, gnawing his lip, anticipating the soft, staticky bleed of Scully’s voice over the line.

One ring, two, and then it disconnected abruptly. She must still be at the station.

He didn’t like it, any of it⁠—the fox, Abel Stoesz, Marion’s tear-stained, panicked words on the highway. Scully, clearly affected by the results of the autopsy, likely in the middle of questioning a man who made her uncomfortable. A man who, despite the lack of evidence pointing towards him, Mulder was beginning to think of as a suspect.

Get a grip, he admonished the part of himself that wanted to run to her, find her, make sure she was okay. She was the most capable woman he had ever known, and cancer didn’t negate that.

He checked his watch, and decided he should probably eat something. Hypatia trotted after him as he moved into the kitchen and plucked an orange from the bowl on the countertop. He dug a fingernail into the rind and peeled it off in one go, unsuccessfully searching for a garbage bin before tossing it into the sink. The dog stared at him.

“What?” he asked, and she turned tail and paced off into the conservatory. He figured he didn’t have anything better to do until he could get ahold of Scully, so he followed her.

The conservatory was quiet, save for a few lyrical pings of rain against the curved glass. The air was rich and heavy and alive, sweet and spiced with the scent of nectar and herbs. Mulder pulled in a deep and cleansing breath, and padded along the cool tile in his socked feet, munching sections of his orange, surveying the greenery. Next to a potted rose bush, a thick vine of near-ripe tomatoes climbed up a rickety trellis. A box of rosemary sat next to a planter of sage.

As he leaned in to better inhale the green fragrance of it, he received a sudden, unbidden image of his father’s mother in the garden in Quonochontaug, her knees caked with dirt, her wide-brimmed hat casting her face into shadow. Samantha running towards her, braids whipping in the wind, half-bloomed peonies tucked into the breast of her overalls.

He was lost in the memory, turning it over and smiling sadly to himself, when something caught the edge of his attention.

The barest wisp of movement from the kitchen, barely discernible out of the corner of his eye. He turned sharply, but there was nobody there. His nerves tingled. The dog stared up at him with warm, steady eyes.

A deafening crash of thunder overhead startled him, and then a moment later, a gentle rush of rainfall obscured the sky. Mulder shook himself out of it. He finished his orange, sucking his fingers clean, and returned to the kitchen.

The dog followed, watching.

He walked past the island and into the dining room, trailing his fingers along the worn surface of the table. The fireplace yawned in front of him with a mouth that was cold and black and empty. Without Rhiannon, the house seemed to take on an energy all its own, and Mulder found himself with the unshakeable sensation of being watched. Of being noticed.

The sitting room was dark and crowded with mismatched furniture. There was an overstuffed floral couch bearing a cluster of beaded pillows, a wooden rocking chair wedged into a corner and piled with quilts, a Victorian loveseat squatting under a lace-curtained window. Mulder located a vintage glass-bellied lamp and switched it on, making his way over to the wall of books.

He lingered over the contents, wary of Hypatia’s stare from her chosen perch on the couch. Outdated veterinary texts were wedged in between leather-bound photo albums and volumes of poetry. The collected works of Shakespeare were arranged in a tidy row, sandwiched between Interview With the Vampire and The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem. 1984, The Story of O, Jane Eyre. Mulder narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of Rhiannon’s scattered reading habits.

He eased a fat photo album from its place on the shelf and let it fall open, balancing it in the crook of his elbow. The pages were black, old-fashioned, the photographs held in place by small, ornate brass corners. His eyes fell on a faded snapshot of a little girl, around 9, freckled and smiling in the sun. Her hair formed a boisterous marmalade cloud around her cherubic face, and she was missing a front tooth. The photograph beside it showed a woman swooping in to scoop her up, and Mulder realized from the striking resemblance that this must be Rhiannon and her mother. He thumbed through the pages, watching Rhiannon grow.

Rhiannon as a gangly teenager, sitting on the porch railing, her skinny legs dangling. Rhiannon astride a horse, hands knit into his mane, bareback and barefoot. Rhiannon in taffeta on her way to the prom, with a young, blond, beaming man hooked by the elbow. The first man, in fact, that Mulder had seen in the album at all. He looked familiar, and as Mulder studied his face, he realized it was Theo, football-thick beside Rhiannon’s thin frame. Mulder recalled the look they’d shared at dinner the night before.

On and off, maybe? Divorced? Hopelessly and painfully in love, but never managed to sack up and just make it work?

Mulder closed the album with a grimace and slid it back into its spot, tipping out the next one. The first page featured a yellowed clipping of an obituary.

Morgana Elizabeth Bishop Morgana Elizabeth Bishop, 53, of Horizon, Montana, departed this earth suddenly on Thursday at her home. A practicing midwife for 30 years, she was well-loved and well-regarded by the citizens of Glacier County, many of whom she helped to bring into the world. Born in 1932 to the late Agnes Bishop, Morgana spent her life in service to the community of Horizon. Morgana is survived by her daughter, Rhiannon Bishop. Funeral services will be held at 7 p.m. on Sunday at the historic Kicking Horse homestead.

The photograph above it featured a woman that looked like an older version of Rhiannon, with a few more lines around her eyes and a sallow, sunken look to her cheeks. 1932... 53… the obit must have been from sometime in 1985. Rhiannon most likely would have been in her 30s. Mulder turned the page, and was surprised to see a jump in time.

Marion peered up at him from the cusp of 16, already tall, her arms crossed on the porch of Kicking Horse. Her smile was tight and wary. “1991” was looped in white chalk beneath the photograph. Mulder fingered the corner of the page, intrigued, and continued.

Hypatia as a puppy, her nose hooked over Marion’s shoulder as Marion pressed a kiss to her ear. Marion’s long braid reaching the small of her back. A candid shot of Marion and Theo washing dishes in the sink. A rueful-looking Rhiannon opening a present at Christmas, a pine lit up behind her.

And then Anna appeared. She posed on the porch with the half-grown dog, teenage-chubby and extensively freckled. Anna and Marion in the barn. Anna and Marion laughing and posing in front of Marion’s Chevy. Anna in the grass, sleeping, a book tented over her face, with Hypatia curled beside her, snout resting on her thigh.

Mulder turned another page, and found it blank. No photos of Marion graduating from the police academy, or in her uniform, like you might expect any proud foster parent to display. None from Hugh and Anna’s wedding. None of Hugh at all. A good third of the album remained empty.

The wind knocked against the window, and a chill ran down his spine.

He realized with some confusion that he’d been humming something, and stopped himself.

The water is…

But then he heard it again⁠—a small, thin voice, shifting in and out of his periphery. But no, he wasn’t exactly hearing it… but he could sense it, could almost even make out a tune.

… cannot get o’er….

He shook his head to break the spell. It was probably the rain, the thunder, the winds. Turning his attention back to the album, he studied the last photo of Anna, looking for shadows of turmoil, hints of anything.

There was a flicker of light in the corner of his vision, and his eyes jolted upwards. He went still, suddenly aware of his heartbeat, of the hairs on his forearms. On the couch, Hypatia flattened her ears and whined. Nobody was there. He willed himself to calm down. He was just getting spooked. It was just his imagination.

Or was it?

“...Anna?” he tried out loud, his voice cracking. He ran through the lore in his mind, looking carefully around him, holding his breath, his stomach twisting itself into a fist. Places could hold memories, energetic signatures. Spirits repeating their earthly paths, walking hallways and doing the dishes. Spirits reaching out for help, for closure.

He glanced down at the photograph one more time, and then he saw it again, in the corner of the room. Not quite a shadow, not quite a light, not quite a shimmer, but something that somehow contained all three. If he looked at it straight on, it disappeared. Hypatia keened. The surface of his skin prickled.

He slowly replaced the photo album, and moved towards where the glimmer had been. “Anna, are you here?” A glimpse of movement in the hall, drawing him onwards, drawing him upwards. He pursued it, the floor creaking under his footsteps.

The rain picked up outside, falling harder, faster. His heartbeat followed suit.

He tiptoed up the stairs, slowly, the faces of the Bishop women following him from their frames. Brotherless, fatherless, sonless. He was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t necessarily a design choice.

In his periphery, the glimmer seemed to slip into Scully’s room. He followed it in, his hand resting instinctively on his sidearm. The bed where they’d laughed the night before was still rumpled, which struck him as strange. Scully was usually tidy to the point of absurdity. No matter how seedy the motel, she’d unpack completely, hang her clothes up, make the bed before the maid could get to it.

Hypatia whined uneasily behind him, and he turned to her. She pawed at the threshold of the door, but would not follow him in. Her ears lay flat and quivering against her head.

Mulder looked once again around the room. With a swell of guilty curiosity, he slid the top drawer of the bedside table open. Scully’s folded pajamas, a pair of stockings still in their packaging, a makeup bag, a black journal, an extra clip. He touched the journal lightly, as if he could absorb her thoughts through osmosis.

And there it was again, that wisp of something in the corner of his eye. He slid the drawer shut and followed it out, moving slowly, carefully through the hallway. Past the tiny bathroom, past the faces of the dead, all the way to the base of the spiral staircase that led to the tower. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then began the climb, an unexplainable sense of dread burning hotter and hotter in his chest.

Hypatia was at his heels, trying to get in his way, blocking his path, whimpering. And then, without warning, her demeanor changed, and she began a low, persistent growl. Mulder glanced back at her. Her lips were peeled back to bare her long, white teeth, her body locked in a tense crouch. He stared at her a moment, palmed his gun, and continued.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. Mulder jiggled the handle with his free hand. Locked. Hypatia snarled and yipped, but didn’t advance. Mulder dug in his pocket for his lock pick. Just as he was about to withdraw it, there was a voice from the bottom of the staircase.

“Fox.”

Mulder jerked in surprise, almost drawing his gun up. Rhiannon stood, arms crossed, at the base of the staircase. The dog cowered behind her.

“That door is locked for a reason,” she said, frost edging her voice. Shame and suspicion crept up his neck. “This is my house. Please respect my boundaries.”

Mulder nodded and pressed his lips together in a small smile. “Bad habit. Sorry.”

Rhiannon retreated and he returned to his room, immediately trying Scully’s cell again. The call was cut short. He flung the phone hard down onto the bed, and dug into his duffel bag for his laptop.

Something wasn’t right.

[mustangshelby04]

Boston Boy - Chapter 17

Lisa held her son tightly as he sobbed.  He was in hysterics.  Helena was back out at the nurse’s station again demanding to speak with anyone that could give her information on what was happening with her daughter.  Scott was pacing furiously around the room.  Lisa had demanded that he be allowed back since he was family.  

“Why won’t they tell us anything?” Scott growled.

“Those nurses are useless!” Helena snapped as she marched back into the room. “She’s my daughter for crying out loud!”

“I refuse to believe she’s anything but ok.” Lisa said.  This caused Chris to let out another sob. “Would they tell you anything about the baby?”

“Nothing.” Helena said. “The doctor hasn’t cleared them to divulge any information.”

Finally, forty-five minutes after Chris had been dragged out of the OR, Dr. Beauchamp came into the room.  Chris jumped to his feet. “What’s going on?  Where’s my fiancée?  Where’s my baby?”

“Kate’s in recovery.” Dr. Beauchamp said. “Her blood pressure bottomed out. We think it was a reaction to the booster and the anti-anxiety meds after a hard labor.  We had to give her a shot of adrenaline to bring her back.”

“Is she ok?” Helena asked. “Is my daughter ok?”

“She’s on her way to ok.”

“What about the baby?” Lisa asked.

“Your granddaughter is doing good.  She’s in the NICU right now just as a precaution since she’s pre-term. Chris, you can go see her.”

“What about Kate?” Chris asked.

“I’m headed back there now.  Once I feel she’s stable enough, we’ll move her back in here.  This is Nurse Rose,” Dr. Beauchamp gestured to the middle-aged woman with brown hair in pink scrubs standing in the doorway. “She’ll take you to your daughter.”

Chris looked at his mother and Helena. “Go!” Lisa prodded, pushing him towards the door. “We’ll be right here.”

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate’s eyes fluttered open again and she realized she was back in the birthing suite.  Her nose itched like crazy, but when she went to scratch it she noticed her hand was shaking fiercely.  She remembered waking up once before covered in warm blankets and heating pads and shaking even harder than she was now.  That room hadn’t been as nice as this one.  She giggled at that random thought.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Helena said.  Kate turned her head to find her mother sitting on the bed with her. “Welcome back.”

“Mom?” Kate croaked.

“Hang on.” Helena turned and grabbed the cup of ice water off the nightstand. “Drink this.” She helped Kate sip on the straw and the cold liquid felt amazing.

“Why am I shaking so bad?”

“We almost lost you, baby.  The doctor had to give you adrenaline.  She said you would probably be shaky.”

Kate looked around the room. “Where’s Chris?”

“He’s with your daughter down in NICU.” Lisa said, coming to sit on Kate’s other side.  Kate realized that Scott, Carly, and Shanna were also in the room. “They’ll be on their way here soon.”

“Daughter?  We have a daughter?”

“Chris says she’s perfect.” Scott said, standing behind his mother.

Kate started to cry and Helena pulled her close and held her. She stroked her hair soothingly, whispering comforting words to her. “Why does my nose itch so bad?” Kate complained.

“That’s the morphine.” Carly said. “It may do wonders for the pain, but it made me itch like crazy.”

The door opened and a nurse wheeled in an empty bassinet. Chris walked in behind her holding a tiny bundle in his arms.  He smiled brightly when he saw Kate was awake.  Lisa stood up to give him her spot and Chris timidly sat down.  Lisa and Helena ushered Scott, Carly, and Shanna out into the hallway to give the new parents some time to themselves.

“Hey.” Chris said to Kate. “You wanna meet our daughter?” Kate smiled, a sob hitching in her chest.  She reached out to touch the perfect little cherub cheek, but her hand still shook.  She jerked it back, scared to even touch her daughter while she was like this. “Hey, it’s ok.  Shh, it’s ok. Dr. Beauchamp warned us that you would be pretty shaky and that it would take a little time to wear off.”

“I can’t even touch her.”

“You will.  The shaking will stop and I’m not going anywhere.” Chris gently slipped his shoes off, trying not to jostle the baby or Kate, and slid all the way onto the bed, still cradling their daughter.  He settled back on the raised bed, his eyes never leaving their daughter’s face.

Kate laid her head on his shoulder and stared at their little Jelly Bean. “So, you’re the one that’s been throwing dance parties in my belly.”

Chris chuckled. “She looks like you.”

“No.  She looks like you.  Look at her nose and her lips….”

“Look at the shape of her eyes.  That’s all you, baby.”

“What did you name her?”

“I haven’t.”

“Oh.  How long was I out?”

“About four hours.”

“Wow.”

He finally tore his eyes away from their baby. “How do you feel?”

“I itch.” Kate rubbed her nose again. “Especially my nose. Carly said that’s a side effect of the morphine.”

Chris chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Other than the itching?”

“Tired, mostly.  I’m starting to feel sore.”

“We should call the nurse, then.”

“No.  I’m ok for right now.  I just want it to be the three of us for now.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

Kate held her hands up, but they were still trembling slightly. “I do, but I’m still shaking.  I don’t trust myself yet.”

“It’s ok.”

There was a knock on the door and then Doctor Beauchamp walked in to find Kate and Chris smiling at their tiny baby. “Glad to see you’re awake, Kate.” She said, starting to do an examination. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.  Sore. Itchy.”

“I can imagine.”

“What happened to me?” Doctor Beauchamp gave her a rundown of everything that had happened. “I died?”

“No.  Your heart didn’t stop, but it came very, very close to it.  You’re going to be hanging out here for a couple more days so we can monitor you.”

“What about our daughter?”

“She’s perfect.  We only had her in the NICU for a short time as a precaution since she was, technically, premature.  She was six pounds, four ounces and twenty inches long.  Her APGAR was nine.”

Kate nodded. “When can I hold her?”

“You could hold her now, but I understand if you’re worried about the shaking.  That should go away in the next couple of hours.  I’ll get the nurses to bring you in some antihistamines to combat the reaction to the morphine.”

“That would be great.”

“Whenever you need more, just hit this button here.  I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.” Doctor Beauchamp walked to the door. “Should I tell your families to come back in?”

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate woke up and realized it had been the baby that had woken her.  Chris was asleep in the bed next to her and she decided not to wake him.  Getting slowly out of bed, she walked around to the bassinette on his side and lifted their daughter into her arms.  She walked into the nursery and sat down in the glider.

It had been five weeks since she’d been released to come home. Chris had been amazing taking care of her and the baby.  She had pretty much lived upstairs for the first two and a half weeks while she recuperated.  She had finally ventured out into the world for her first check up around three weeks. The doctor wanted her back again next week.  Lisa and Helena had also gone home.  It was just Chris and Kate there now.

Kate looked down at her beautiful little girl.  Madison Amanda Evans had been a dream.  She was the complete center of her parents’ world. Her grandparents were enamored with her. Her aunts and uncles had fallen in love with her instantly.  She looked like a perfect mix of Chris and Kate.  

Danielle had come over and she and Kate had done a newborn shoot. Chris had taken one of the photos of him and Kate sitting on the floor of the nursery in front of the crib, her holding Madison and the two of them staring adoringly at her, with Gally and Dodger on either side of them, and posted it as an announcement on Twitter that their little Jelly Bean had arrived.  The photo had blown up.  Kate, who didn’t post on Twitter but once in a blue moon, had gained almost a million followers overnight thanks to Chris tagging her in it.  The media outlets had been showing it almost non-stop.  Chris and Kate were even discussing selling some of the photos to a magazine for his charity, Christopher’s Haven.  

Madison began to get fussy, so Kate helped her to latch on and the two of them just stared at each other. “How are you so perfect?” She ran a finger down her daughter’s little cheek.  After a few minutes, Madison began to drift of, but she was fighting it. “You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?” Kate smiled and began to softly sing “A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes” to her.  She watched as Madison closed her eyes and finally fell asleep, still suckling.  Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway watching her. “Creeper.”

“Sorry.” Chris smiled. “You weren’t in bed and Maddie was missing. I heard you singing and couldn’t resist.”

Kate noticed the cell phone in his hand. “Did you take a picture?”

“I may have.” He looked guilty as hell.

“Did you take a video?”

“I may have done that as well.”

“Just don’t post it.”

“They’re strictly for me.” He walked over and knelt down watching Madison as Kate detached her gently and moved her to lay on her chest.  She let out a little burp in her sleep and her parents chuckled.  Chris took another picture, a close up of Madison’s face against her mother’s porcelain skin.

“Coulda sworn I’m the photographer in this house.”

“You’re a little busy.  Besides, your phone and camera are filled with pictures of me and Maddie.”

“True.” Kate chuckled as she stood up.  They walked back into their room and laid Madison back down in her bassinette.

As they laid in bed, facing each other, Chris reached out and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I love you, Kat.”

She smiled and placed her hand on his bearded cheek. “I love you, too, Chris.”

“Let’s get married in October.”

“That’s two months away!”

“We can do it!”

“We have a newborn.  I have a job to get back to next month.”

“It doesn’t need to be anything big.  We can do it in the backyard of Ma’s house over the weekend. Just us and our families.”

“Chris….”

“Kate, I want to marry you.”

“I want to marry you, too.”

“So, marry me in two months!”

“Why two months?”

“Because October 24th is our one-year anniversary and I want to marry you before then.”

“You’ve already started planning this in your head, haven’t you?”

“October 22nd.  It’s a Saturday.”

“There’s so much to do!  Even for a little wedding.”

“We can do it.”

“I think you’re sleep deprived.”

“That’s beside the point.” She laughed. “Marry me, Kat?”

“I’ve already said yes to that question.”

“Marry me on October 22nd, Kat?”

She stared at him in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city below. “Fine.  Ok. I’ll marry you on October 22nd.”

Chris pulled her to him tightly, kissing her fiercely.

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate looked at herself in the mirror as Danielle took pictures. She was standing there in an ivory lace, tea-length wedding dress that had quarter-length lace sleeves and a boat-neckline.  Her dark blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in her natural waves.  She was wearing pink ballet flats and her grandmother’s string of pearls that her mother had brought up to Boston for the wedding.  Madison was being held by Lisa and she was wearing a light pink dress with a poofy skirt littered with little silver polka dots.  There was a delicate flower at the high waistband and a matching flower on her hairband.  At three months old she looked so much like her father, it was ridiculous.  She was waving her arms and making noises at her mother.

Kate laughed and lifted her up. “Hey my gorgeous little Jelly Bean. Are you ready to go see daddy?”

“Daddy is ready to see you guys.” Lisa said.

Helena and Bill walked into the room. “You couldn’t have picked a more perfect day to get married.” Bill said. “It’s beautiful outside.”

“Is Killian here?” Kate asked.

“They just got here.” Helena said, playing with her granddaughter.

“Then it’s time to get this show on the road.”

“I’ll see you out there.” Helena patted her daughter’s cheek and headed out to the backyard.

Lisa kissed Kate’s cheek. “Welcome to the family, Katie.  I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Lisa.”

Lisa walked out and Bill turned to Kate. “You ready, Katie?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Kate kissed Madison’s cheek and then looped her free arm through Bill’s arm.

The backyard had been strung with fairy lights everywhere and they were beginning to glow in the early twilight.  There were three tables set up in the yard.  One round one had a little two-tiered simple white cake on it with plates and champagne glasses.  Then there were two long tables.  One with a buffet of Chris and Kate’s favorite foods and the other for the guests to sit at and eat.  Scott had rented a sound system and music was playing from his iPhone.

Chris’ father, Bob, and Scott were standing with Chris and the Massachusetts justice of the peace in the middle of the yard.  Chris was wearing a dark blue suit with a black button up shirt and a silver tie.  April and Amy were standing opposite them in dark blue, long-sleeved, empire waist, lace dresses.  Lisa, Carly, and Shanna were standing with Helena, Killian, and Maura.  Hailey was walking around in front of Chris dropping flower petals everywhere.  Ethan, Miles, and tiny Stella were all playing a little way away.  They had no interest in the romantic goings-on happening with the adults.

Kate walked up to Chris and he grinned at her and Madison. “Hi.”

“You look beautiful.” Chris said. “You both do.” He kissed Madison’s cheek and she gurgled happily at him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today we have gathered together to celebrate the marriage of Christopher Robert Evans and Kathleen Amelia Allen.” The justice of the peace started the ceremony, but Chris and Kate weren’t paying attention.  They were too enamored in each other and their little girl.  It wasn’t until Chris heard his name again that they started paying attention. “Chris, will you take Kate, to be your lawful wedded wife?  Will you love, comfort, honor and protect her; forsaking all others to be faithful to her until death do you apart?”

“I forever and always do.” Chris said with a huge smile on his face.

“Kate, will you take Chris, to be your lawful wedded husband?  Will you love, comfort, honor and protect him; forsaking all others to be faithful to him until death do you apart?”

Kate smiled back. “I forever and always do.”

“The bride and groom have chosen to recite their own vows. Chris?”

Chris took a deep breath. “Kate, a year ago I was walking down a path with my head down, not paying any attention to the world around me and you stopped me dead in my tracks.”

“By knocking me down into dog shit.” Kate giggled.

“That dog shit was the best thing that ever happened to us.  It set me on a new path that I will never have my head down on again.  I know this hasn’t been the most conventional relationship, but it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced.  I promise you that I will always take care of and cherish our relationship.  I will love you today, tomorrow, and forever.  I promise that I will always be open, honest, and faithful to you.  I love you so much, Kat.”

“I love you, too.” Kate said, wiping his tears away before dabbing at her own.

“Kate?” The Justice said.  

“I have to follow that?  Jeez!” Everyone around them laughed. “Ok…. Wow.  Chris, I first saw you in 2005 when you were in this little movie called Cellular.  I was a sophomore in college and I was having a rough time and this guy on the screen just drew me in.  I didn’t know what it was about him, but I just…. Well, I loved him.  Then a year ago, he walked into my life and he loved me back and he gave me the absolute greatest gift in the world.” Kate kissed their daughter’s head. “Thank you for not taking any of the outs I kept giving you. I would’ve missed out on the greatest love story since my grandparents.  I promise that today, tomorrow, and forever I will love you for better or worse, in sickness and in health.  I will love you and cherish you well beyond my last breath.  I love you, Chris.”

“I love you, too, Kat.”

The justice of the peace had them exchange rings.  Chris had chosen a simple white gold band with a small sapphire on top and he had two bands specially made for Kate.  Her bands were each wrapped with little diamonds and sapphires and they squared around her engagement ring to make them more comfortable to wear together.  His hands shook as he took off her engagement ring and placed her new bands around it.

“Until now Kate and Chris have spent each moment of their lives as separate individuals.  But from this day on, and every day after this day shall be shared and spent as one.  By the power enthroned in me, by the state of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now kiss your bride.” Helena came and took Madison from Kate and Chris pulled his new wife to him.  Their lips locked in a fiery kiss as everyone applauded them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Evans.” The applause got louder as the couple shared another kiss.

The reception went by in a blur.  They danced their first dance to “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” by Elvis. Kate smushed cake into Chris’ face and he kissed her as he rubbed the cake on her face.  The party went late into the night.  When the newlyweds left in a town car, they went to the Boston Harbor Hotel where Chris had rented an insanely fancy suite that looked out over the water.  Lisa was babysitting Madison for the night so they could have their wedding night to themselves.

Kate leaned back against Chris’ chest in the giant soaker tub. The bathroom light was off and the place was lit by six candles around the room.  There were two champagne glasses sitting on the edge of the tub. They had just spent the last hour and a half consummating their marriage all over the suite before retiring to the large tub to soak their tired muscles.  He rubbed her shoulders gently, trailing kisses up and down her neck. “That feels amazing, Mr. Evans.”

“Not as amazing as you look, Mrs. Evans.” Chris kissed her shoulder. “Are you happy?”

“Insanely.”

“Me too.”

Kate was quiet for a long moment. “I miss Maddie.”

“I do too!”

“Should we call your mom?”

“Maddie will be asleep right now.  We’ll pick her up first thing in the morning.”

“Ok.”

They were quiet for a long time. “If you had told me a year ago that I would be married with a kid now, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

Kate chuckled. “If you had told me a year ago I would be married to YOU with YOUR kid, I would’ve slapped you for talking crazy.” She shifted slightly to look up at him. “I meant it, Chris.  Thank you for never taking any of the outs I kept throwing at you.”

“I wasn’t ever going to let the greatest thing in my life get away. I love you so much, Kat.”

Kate’s lips met his again in a slow passionate kiss. “I love you, too, my Boston boy.”

Tag List

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@jamielea81

@southerngracela

@kelbabyblue 

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@deidrashouseofpain

@thevelvetseries

[flutteringphalanges]

                                              Mirabile Visue

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Sister Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 7/?

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: You guys are simply amazing! Thank you so much for your feedback! Sorry for the delay, I have a few new Dracula stories so I’m trying to balance out updates for all of them! Also, my current avatar/icon was designed by the marvelous mitsukatsu! It's an adult Sorina. Any artwork you’ve seen related to this story has been created by them! Also the photograph in the chapter is done by her also! Go check out their tumblr! You won’t regret it! Here is the next chapter, as promised! -Jen

                                            Chapter Seven

                                      Zoe Van Helsings's Residence

                                                    Present Time

"What kept you?"

Sorina was never one for the spotlight. Besides her relationship with Jack and their occasional outings, she held to her privacy. No social media-mostly because Zoe had insisted she avoid it, attention was something she never sought. So now, the three pairs of eyes who stared her down with immense concentration left her feeling more or less uncomfortable. Especially, since they belonged to none other than her own parents and aunt.

"Why are they here?" Sorina asked, her mouth still dry from the shock of it all.

"Why were you out?" Zoe countered, arms folded. "You know the rules. How many times do I have to drill it into your mind. The world is a dangerous place, Sorina. You can't just go prancing about without asking-"

"I shouldn't have to ask, I'm one hundred and twenty three years old," she spat back. "Were you tracking my phone?! And again, why are they here?! How did they even get…"

"She invited us in," Agatha interrupted. "Your father can be very...persuasive," she through a disapproving look towards her husband.

"I offered to go find you myself," Dracula shrugged, the corner of his lips curving into a smirk. "Had a feeling where you were, father's intuition, but decided to give Zoe the choice. I walk into a club full of human feeling rather parched, or she could allow us both inside to wait for your return. I think she made the right call, wouldn't you say, Doctor?"

"Just come inside, Sorina," Zoe exhaled, pinching the brim of her nose. "If we keep arguing, it'll be dawn before we stop."

"Don't have to ask me twice," the young woman grumbled, pushing past the other adults. "All I wanted was one night! One night to feel the least bit normal. And with Jack! I'm sick of being stuck at the Foundation, mulling over this sorry excuse of an existence!"

"This Jack character," Dracula ventured. "I'm rather keen on learning more about him."

"I'm going to my room now," his daughter growled, ignoring his statement. "All of this has made me tired. Just stay out of my way," her eyes flashed to her parents. "I don't care what you do, I don't care if you stay here, just give me space. That's the least you can do!"

"Sorina," Agatha began. "We…"

But the halfling had already climbed the steps, reaching the second level. The parents exchanged looks and Dracula offered his wife a small smile. But Agatha didn't return the gesture. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair. One minute her daughter was a happy, lively three year old, and now, what seemed like moments but had actually been years, she had developed a hatred for them. Who could blame her? She couldn't begin to imagine what it must've felt like to believe she'd been abandoned.

"She'll come around," her husband said, taking her hand. "Give her a chance."

"I'm starting to question that," she admitted, her attention shifting to Zoe. "I hate to impose on you, but could we burden you with staying the night-or, day rather? Our apartment is still being fitted to meet our needs. I understand if you don't-"

"Basement," Zoe mumbled. "I can't offer you much else. I'm doing this for Sorina. Not you. Even if she is upset," she gazed up towards the stairs. "If you met your true death, I think she's suffered enough hurt to last her lifetime."

"Thank you," the vampire smiled. "We won't stay longer than necessary."

"Oh I know," Zoe replied simply. "I'll just rescind your invitation if you do."

Dracula opened his mouth, clearly about to make a snarky reply when Agatha grabbed his wrist tightly. "Enough," she said firmly, eyes boring into his. "Be gracious and let's go. I'm feeling rather off. I think a nice rest would help."

The doctor watched closely as the two vampires made their way to the basement door. Grasping the handle, the count twisted it open. When Agatha wasn't paying attention, he threw Zoe a dirty look before disappearing into the darkness. When they were finally gone, the woman sighed, leaning tiredly against the wall. As she debated whether or not to go and confront Sorina, her cell phone began to buzz from within her pocket.

"Dr. Zoe Van Helsing, who's this I'm speaking to?"

"Dr. Van Helsing? I'm one of the researchers at the Harker Foundation? We ran some tests on the blood samples you collected? You're going to want to hear this…"

                                                        XXX

"I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty. Do you know what that's from, Sorina?"

The little girl looked up curiously from where she sat in her father's lap. It was late and her mother had already gone to bed. Sorina, however, could not find the will to sleep. Instead, she curled up close to her father, relaxed by the warmth of the flames in the fireplace.

"No, Papa," she admitted.

"It's from William Shakespeare's play, King Lear. It means, my little one, that I, and your mother, love you more than anything else in this world," he murmured, stroking her head. "More than the moon and the stars. The sun. More than everything. You are our most valued treasure. Nothing will take away our love for you," he smiled. "Even if we aren't there."

"Aren't there?" Sorina asked, straightening up. "Where are you going, Papa?"

"Nowhere, Micul mea liliac," he assured her. "I just want you to know, that no matter what, no matter the distance, the time, the place, you are always in our hearts as we are in yours. You can remember that, yes?"

"Yes, Papa," she promised, smiling. "I love you."

"I love you too, my darling Sorina," he murmured, touching his forehead to hers. "Forever and always."

Forever and always.

Sorina woke with a start, sitting up abruptly in bed to find Agatha standing at one of her dressers. The woman looked just as surprised, something held in her grasp. Before her daughter could utter a word, the vampire spoke up.

"Sorry, I thought you were fast asleep," she gave a small smile. In her hands, Sorina could make out a picture frame. "Is this you? Well, of course it is, but when was it taken?"

Slowly, the girl rose from underneath her covers. Why she had not snapped and demanded the woman leave, she was unsure. Walking to her side, Sorina took the picture carefully from her mother and examined it. It was faded, black and white, but she remembered the outfit so well. A blue hat that complimented her curls, a matching mid length dress that fell just below her knees, and a pair of oxford shoes she'd been given as a Christmas present.

"1934," she said, brushing her fingers against the frame. "We were holding a dinner party-well, Uncle Abraham was. I was allowed to attend. One of those rare occasions. There was a photographer and everything. I felt free that night, normal. I was passed off as a distant relative, it was exciting really…" Sorina sighed, the nostalgia of it all bringing both comfort and sadness. "That was before the war really struck England. Before life became...much harder."

"I'm sorry I was there," Agatha replied, hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on Sorina's shoulder. She didn't flinch away. "I cannot begin to imagine what it must've been like."

"No," the girl whispered, tears beginning to cloud her vision. "No you can't. You don't know what it's like to watch those you love die time and time again. To witness such horrors, forced to hide like some prisoner. To believe that after all this time...after everything…"

The picture clattered back onto the dresser as the former nun wrapped her arms around her daughter. Sorina's cries turned into sobs as she buried her face into her mother's shoulder. Agatha held her tight, almost as tight as she did their last night together on the Demeter. Sorrow. Pain. It ran from the girl's body onto hers. So many years. So much agony built up.

"It's okay now," she murmured. "Everything is going to be alright."

"Mum," Sorina whimpered. "Mum, I missed you so much!"

The two held each other tightly, finally finding the comfort both had sought so hard for.

                                                      XXX

"Pregnant? There's absolutely no way that's possible!"

"The results don't lie, Dr. Van Helsing," the researcher responded on the phone. "Agatha is indeed pregnant. The only explanation we can gather is that she conceived prior to being turned. Then in that comatose state-vampire sleep, whatever terminology you wish to use, the fetus too became dormant, its growth only restarting when its mother was awakened. I've...well, we've never seen anything like it."

"Can you tell how far along she is?" Zoe breathed, glancing behind her at her closed bedroom door.

"A few weeks," he replied. "A month at most. Do you think they're aware?"

"If they were, I'm sure we would've known by now," the doctor said quietly. "So this...anomaly, is it dangerous? Is it like Sorina?"

"It's too early to tell," the researcher responded. "But we need to keep her monitored. Something this unpredictable can't be ignored. She needs to come back to the Foundation. By any means necessary. If she won't come willingly…"

"I know," Zoe interrupted, resting her head on her palm. "I'll handle this...let me see what I can do."

"Keep up posted," the man said before the phone clicked off.

The doctor stared down at the floor, her mind racing. So much had happened in so little time. And now this. A pregnant vampire. Sorina's mother. A sibling. Hadn't she been given enough on her plate. She inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes. God forgive her.

                                                            XXX

Jack Seward sat at his desk, casually enjoying a bag of crisps as he clicked through online videos. Despite being wide awake for so long, he didn't feel nearly tired enough to call it a night. As he moved his hand to click to the next viral sensation, his phone buzzed.

"Hello, Jack."

The young man's brow furrowed. It was odd, a number he didn't recognize. Perhaps one of his friends got a new phone? He pushed the chips aside and paused the video, his fingers moving against the keys.

"Hi, who's this?"

He watched as the typing icon blinked. The moment the message appeared, his blood ran cold.

"Count Dracula. Or, you may better know me as Sorina's father. I think it's about time we became acquainted."

Until that moment, Jack thought it was just a saying when people claimed to wet their pants when they were scared. Good thing for modern society. It was about time he put that washer and dryer to good use.