#oh yeah. the showing did happen but it was brief & i overheard the guide say that this unit isnt available anymore

[orcelito]

Did some apartment unfucking

Done in a very stressed hour and a half

But it is done.

[nxrthmizu]

| snakes | Suna Rintarou

»»——⍟——««

song | Trust Fund Baby - Why Don’t We 

pairing | Suna Rintarou x Reader 

words | 1.8k 

warning(s) | The reader has undertones of someone who’s sort of mean and sadistic? The story also relates the reader to a snake. I like snakes. I think they’re cool. But if you’re scared of snakes and you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being referenced to a snake,,, don’t read, I guess?  

author’s note | I rewrote this five fricking times and I still hate it but I’m not writing this again so have this 

»»——⍟——«« 

Confidence. 

He could feel it radiating off you in waves. Your presence diffused into the gym, alerting every person in the room of your arrival. Attention was drawn to you like moths were drawn to the light, every pair of eyes magnetised to your form by the gym door. 

Kita instantly rushed over to greet you politely, the details of your conversation too far away to be heard. For a brief moment, Suna registered just how well the two of you looked together. 

L/N Y/N, the representative and top student of his class, the newly-elected second-year secretary of the student council. No one doubted that you would take the president position in your third year, not with the ‘perfect student’ image you had going on. 

Kita Shinsuke, also top in grades, captain of the volleyball club, well-liked by the staff and students alike due to his politeness and nature. 

The two of you looked like a perfect imitation of what a modern royalty would be like. A combination of grace, elegance, and a face that was hardly fazed by anything. Something similar to bitterness ate away in the bottom of Suna’s heart as he turned away, muttering about putting more practice into his blocks. 

“What was she looking for you for?” He overheard Aran asking. 

“Oh, she’s filling in some missing information for our club. She came over to clarify some details.” Kita answered easily. 

Suna wasn’t really surprised when a couple third years, belonging to the student council committee- Showed up on the doorsteps of your shared class, asking to see you. Later on, he learned that the entire council body had brought up your name when asked which second-year should be elected as the secretary. You were well-known, even among the third years, as someone who possessed high intellect and organisation abilities, so it wasn’t a shock that your name was the one that nearly everyone suggested. 

If only they knew. 

If only they knew that you weren’t completely that ‘perfect student’ act that you’d put up. 

If only they knew just how cunning, sly, and sarcastic you really were. 

»»——⍟——««

If Suna had to describe you in one word, it would be snake. 

You were the definition of elegance, grace, and beauty. Every movement you made was meticulously calculated and not a single joule of energy was wasted or passed off as inefficiently used. There was never a hair out of place, and your skirt was never creased, no matter how long you had been sitting at your seat. 

Of course, Suna hadn’t always thought of you as a snake. It was only after that one fine summer day in his first year that his perception of you took a 180 turn, revealing to him what you truly were like. 

He had been on his way home, bag slung over his shoulder, when he caught the slight noise that seemed like a whimper. Never one to leave his nose out of someone else’s business, Suna slunk around, careful to stick to the shadows until the shocking sight befell his eyes. 

“So, you’re the one who’s been bullying [your brother’s name]?” The voice that dripped from your lips was distasteful, as if the junior high student that you had cornered in the alley was a filthy peasant compared to your royal status. “You don’t look very fierce now, do you?” 

If sarcasm was an art, then you’d probably be a DaVinci-level expert. He would even go as far as calling you a prodigy. And if there was a championship for the world’s most sarcastic human being, he would instantly sign you up. There was no doubt that you’d take home the no.1 trophy in that category (not that you weren’t already taking home trophies in other competitions, of course, he overheard that you recently dominated an advanced maths competition). 

“I— I’m sorry!” The student shivered under your piercing gaze. “I— I won’t touch him again, I promise—!” 

The laugh you responded with was overly sweet, combined with something from a Disney movie villain. If the movie also, by chance, happened to have ‘horror’ as its’ genre. Your eyes carried a maniacal threat that Suna believed wholeheartedly that you were capable of carrying out. “Bold of you to assume I’d even let you do it again.” You whispered, just loud enough for Suna to catch your words. 

The junior high student scrambled off, too busy getting away to notice Suna by the entrance of the alley. He slipped away before you reappeared at the beginning of the alley, having fixed your hair and flattened your skirt. 

You looked like a snake that had just finished a very satisfying meal. Suna could hardly believe that he had just heard you— the pride and joy of every teacher, the ‘perfect student’— spitting insults and threats at 200 words per minute, all while maintaining a ‘polite’ and ‘sweet’ tone. 

He was a little breathless after the whole ordeal. He could barely imagine what you would say to him if you’d caught him listening— But damn, part of him wanted to find out if he could withstand your literature-form venom. Truly, you were a snake— A creature that could hold its’ elegance even as your tore your prey apart (verbally). 

Suna always liked snakes. 

»»——⍟——««

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with L/N, Kita.” Aran teased, Suna overhearing as he stepped into the locker room for morning practice. Freezing in his tracks, the middle blocker curved right round the bend, staying out of sight. “There’s been a lot of rumours about how nice the two of you look together.” 

The volleyball captain only hummed in response, which, for some reason, pissed the hell out of Suna. 

“Come on, tell me something.” The other third-year complained. “She’s really pretty, I’d totally see why you’d go for her.” 

Something about the situation made Suna’s blood boil. He bit back his rising anger, setting aside the cause for the moment. Why was he getting so riled up? He never cared much about things in general, anyway, so... So why was the image of you and Kita, matching polite smiles on your lips— Why did it make him so furious he had to physically resist the urge to punch a wall? 

“The two of you do look nice together, though.” Aran continued as Suna pushed down the urge to strangle his upperclass-man. “Gives me the vibes of—” 

Before Aran could finish his sentence, the dark-haired middle blocker marched into the locker room, apologising for how loudly he had slammed the door open. “Sorry.” He drawled lazily, restraining the lava-hot anger in his blood. “I pushed too hard.” 

»»——⍟——««

You didn’t even blink, much less jump when Suna appeared abruptly by your desk. Instead, you simply set down your pencil and gave him a warm smile. “Can I help you with something?” 

Ever the helpful class president, Suna bit back to himself. No, no, he wanted you to like him. Not get a bad impression of him. “Do you... Think you could help me with the physics homework?” 

“It’s due tomorrow.” You said slowly, both of you aware that the assignment was well over forty pages. “Have you... Tried it?” 

“Yes.” He answered. “I’ve got a few questions I need help with. Are you free to stay back today?” 

This raised a tentative eyebrow from you. “Don’t you have volleyball practice?” 

Dammit, why did you have to have such a good memory. 

“Academics are more important than the club sometimes.” He shrugged. “I’ve got permission to skip.” No, he didn’t. 

“Alright then. I’ll meet you in the library after school.” 

»»——⍟——««

He watched you through hooded eyes as you reviewed his work. So you did know how to let loose, Suna murmured to himself in amusement, eyeing your untucked blouse and the beige sweater you’d thrown on in a defence against the library’s air-conditioning. 

“You’ve got most of the parts down, which bits do you need help with?” 

The rest of the time was spent going over the questions, your patience filling the silence along with his occasional ‘ohs’. Your handwriting flooded through his homework in neat rows, providing an easy-to-follow, step-by-step guide on how to work through the questions, for revision purposes. 

“So.” 

You broke the silence, the two of you walking side by side, leaving the school together because he offered to buy you some food as a payment for the tutoring. 

“Are you going to tell me why you faked confusion and asked me to tutor you?” 

He winced. How could he forget that you were always straight to the point? 

“What do you mean?” The look on your face clearly said ‘feigning ignorance, eh?’. 

“I’m going to be frank with you,” You deadpanned. “You’re among the best at physics in our class. Some of the questions you asked me to help you through were ones that had been discussed in classes, and I know that you are listening even though you have your head on the table.” 

Alright, so he had under-predicted exactly how observant and attentive you were. 

“Then why did you agree to help me?” 

“You saw me that day, didn’t you?” 

He stopped walking. “Which day?” 

“That day. In our first year. When I threatened that junior high kid in the alley.” You stopped too, to turn your expressionless gaze on him. “You’ve looked at me differently since that day. I heard someone else’s breathing at the alley, but I didn’t see anyone so I figured they’d ran. I guessed it was you.” 

“... Yeah.” 

“You don’t seem to mind.” 

“Mind what?” 

“The fact that this...” You gestured to yourself. “Is a lie. This whole ‘perfect student’ image is an act that I put up to please my parents. I’m actually someone who has really mean thoughts. I could be a really toxic friend. I’m also probably a sadist.” 

Suna blinked quietly at you, running your words through his head a couple more times for good measure. “You remind me of a snake.”

In that one sentence, you realised that if there was one person in the world that was going to be fine with your personality the way it was, that person would probably be Suna Rintarou. The two of you continued your walk to the takoyaki shop Suna offered to buy you food from, continuing meaningless chatter on the journey. 

“Is that a good or bad thing?” 

“I like snakes.” 

“That’s cool. Me too.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know, I think they’re pretty cool. They’re like spiders, except they’re not insects. I don’t like insects very much.” 

“Hmm. I like snakes cause I think they’re really elegant. And pretty.” He paused for a moment. “Like you.” 

»»——⍟——««

taglist. @mrs-kuroojinguji @procrastination-lady @miel-meraki @shoyosun @aka-a-shii @shibayamasbae @churochuu @seijohlogy @dearsukuna @whootwhoot

Haikyuu!! gen taglist. @owlywrites @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @our-tall-slytherin-queen

[sparkleofpizza]

My oh my - Jason Todd x reader

A/n: Hey guys, this is the first time I am writing for Jason. Every time I listen to My oh my by Camilla Cabello I can’t help but imagine a story about him, so I just had to do it. Also, there is a part in here that I got inspired from Gilmore Girls because I am team Logan and I wish they ended up together.

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, song inspired

Summary: They say he likes a good time, he comes alive at midnight, my mama doesn’t trust him, he’s only here for one thing, but so am I 

Word count: 3.2k

It was very cold for a Spring night, even for Gotham. The moon was a full circle displaying in the sky, shining so bright, the streets wouldn’t even night lamps for you to know what’s in front of you - of course that wasn’t enough for a city like this. 

You heaved a sight, surprise white smoke didn’t come out of your mouth. You felt as if your bones were freezing, hands stuffed under your arm pits as you were crossing them, trying to provide some warmth. God, why did you agree to go out on a night like this?

When your best friend and roommate Ari, called you earlier that day to declare you were going  out, you were very very tempted to say no. Then you remembered all of the hard work you put into the last paper for a class at University, and decided that maybe going out with her wouldn’t be such a bad idea. What you didn’t expect was for her to barge into your bedroom an hour before you were supposed to go out, and pick up clothes that provided too little warmth. She said where you were going, this outfit would look nicer than the jeans you had picked. 

A street race wasn’t where you thought you would spend your night. Damn Ari and her crazy ideas. 

She overheard there was going to be a street race near Crime Alley, and that most people from University would be there so she said it would be cool for you two to go too. Well, it did sound a bit cool, if you were being honest. Street race? Sounded something from a movie, and you didn’t have many exciting memories to one day cherish and tell your kids and grandkids, maybe this could be one. If it ended badly, it would be one hell of a story, if it ended ok, then it would still be a cool story. 

But now, there you were, standing alone in a crowd because Ari left to go to the bathroom with another girl from your shared class. You knew you probably should’ve gone together because you don’t ever stay alone in Gotham, specially at night. But hey, these are college people, your college people. Nothing bad would happen, right?

You took a sip from your drink, hoping the alcohol would do that thing where it warms you up and makes you feel fuzzy. 

“Hey, princess. What are you doing here all alone?” 

You turned your head to the side finding none other than Jason Todd. He had a red cup similar to yours in hand, his signature lather jacket, black pants and boots. His hair was that fluffy mess, and he look good as always. 

You met Jason a few weeks ago at the University library, you both reached out for the same book. He said he was waiting for his little brother and was bored so he decided to take on the opportunity of free good books, he wasn’t a college student. And ever since you two kept bumping into each other. 

Your cheeks warmed up at the words that left his lips. Princess. He had been calling you that ever since you two met at the library. You tried to push away the surprised look on your face at seeing him here, it does look like his kind of place. He looks like the kind of guy who enjoys adventures and adrenaline.

“I came here with my friends, but they went to the bathroom.” you said, smiling at him “What about you?” 

“Well… I don’t have a date with me tonight, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You adverted your eyes to the side, taking a deep breath, totally embarrassed. You didn’t meant it like that.

“Oh, that’s good?” It sounded like a questioned, God you are so awkward 

He smirked at you.

“Glad to know you think it’s good I’m single. I happen to think it is good that you’re single, too.”

You frowned. Was he thinking that just because you didn’t have a date for the night, you weren’t able to have a love life? 

“What makes you think I am single?” You questioned, hoping your frustration didn’t leak into your voice

“I am hoping you are. I mean, if you are dating someone, that person is an asshole for not being here with you tonight, this isn’t one of the nicest places in Gotham.”

You nodded, a small smiling tugging your lips. That was a nice safe, you had to give it to him.

“Is there a nice place in Gotham?” You ironized 

You were born and raised in Metropolis, you were used to big cities and the down side of it, but Gotham? That was another thing completely different. A giant hole in front your high school because Superman and his cute little sidekick Superboy were fighting some bad alien? Ok, you can deal with it. A guy dressed up as a clown who laughs way too hard and torture people for fun while he fights a guy dressed as a bat? That you cannot deal with. 

You didn’t understand why Jason thought what you said was so funny. He laughed, trowing his had back.

“I mean, did Batman just woke up one day and was like hey, what if I dress up as a giant bat and start beating up criminals? What was going trough his head to choose a bat?”

Jason couldn’t believe you were making fun of Bruce without even knowing it. It brightened his day so much, and the fact that you had no idea only made it better. He was going to tell the old man all about it later, so he could laugh even harder.

You smiled as you watched him laugh. He looked so beautiful.

“Are you cold?” He asked once he stopped laughing, he saw goosebumps in your arms 

“Yeah, I forgot to get a jacket before I left my dorm.” You admitted sheepishly 

Jason smiled at you, he had a nice smile. He shrugged off his lather jacket and placed it over your shoulders. It was warm from his body heat, and it smelled incredibly good.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him “But aren’t you going to get cold?”

“I can handle being a little cold, and if it gets too much, we can just hug each other?” He shot up his eyebrows 

You you were sure you looked like a tomato.

Jason smiled at you. He had taken an instant liking at you when he meet you at the library, something about the way you smiled at him saying he could have the book and you would just get it after he was done with it, and how your voice sounded so sweet and your eyes looked at him like he wasn’t bothering you by taking the book you wanted. He was waiting for you to lash out on him when he said he was just wanting for his brother, something like “you don’t even go here and you are trying to get my book?” He was trying to get rid of those bad thoughts, he was used to being pushed aside and treated like he was a pice of shit bothering people on the street. He sometimes, specially after his death, forgot that maybe there was still nice and polite people in Gotham. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize you were a good girl, a good nice girl. He mostly ran into you at the library and at the coffee shop at the campus. You always smile sweetly at him and wave. The first time Tim had caught that action, he stopped in his tracks and stared at Jason like he was an alien and he had just now realized it. You two were completely opposites, and obviously his brother would find it odd that you were waving at Jason Todd. 

And meeting you tonight at a street race? That was not what he was expecting your next meeting to be like. He was there to gather some intel about the gangs that was participating and what Black Mask and the Penguin wanted with them. Finding you here was rather concerning, this didn’t seem to be your element. And it wasn’t, from what he had learned in your brief conversations during your random meet ups. 

“Have you ever been to a street race before?” He asked, voicing a bit of his thoughts 

You shook your head, hoping he wouldn’t find you pathetic “No. I normally don’t do this kind of stuff, I don’t know how Ari managed to convince me to come.”

He smiled “Yeah, this doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. But it is a good thing, I mean, this is kind of dangerous.”

“Oh God.” You muttered under your breath “Dangerous as I could end up in jail or I could end up dead in an alley?” 

He decided not to answer. The first answer was that the GCPD was corrupted and that they wouldn’t really care, the vigilantes in the city did most of the job. That wouldn’t be a good start. And the second answer was that you could end up dead in an alley, and the probably would make you feel a bit scared, and he didn’t want to make you afraid of being there, because he couldn’t exactly say he could and would protect you if something bad happened. You would think he was just trying to show off, when in reality he actually really could. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Jason asked you after having watched a part of the street race

He, now, had a good idea of why Penguing and Black Mask were interested in those people. He had nothing better left to do, and hey, there you were right by his side even after your friends had returned. You were still taking to him, and using his jacket.

You thought for a moment before nodding your head. You told Ari you were heading out with Jason, and she gave you a knowing look before asking you to text her when you got back to the dorm. 

You walked between the crowd of people with Jason right in front of you. At some point, he reached out for your hand and kept holding it, guiding you to God knows where. You had no idea why you agreed to this, you barely know him and you knew enough bad stories to know you shouldn’t be leaving with him. But he was so nice with you all of the times you talked, and he was soooo good looking. 

You stopped in front of a motorcycle. He pulled the keys out of his jeans’s pocket and smile at you, handing you the helmet and climbing on top of his bike. 

“My dad always told me to never ride a bike with a boy.” You smiled at him, playing with the helmet in your hands 

Right now, Jason thought you looked breath taking, and all he wanted to do was kiss you. He wasn’t surprised at all by his thoughts as he had thought them before and before. What surprised him was the flirtatious tone on your voice, he couldn’t help but feel more attracted than before. You were polar opposites, and that was everything he needed in his life ever since he came back, someone to help him maintain balance.

“So what are you going to do, princess?” He questioned in a hushed tone

“Tonight I don’t want to be the girl that does what her parents says.” 

And then you had placed the helmet on your head, and climbed on top of the bike, right behind him. You could feel Jason’s warmth, you were so close to him, and that cologne smell? You could stay like this, having your chest pressed agains his back.

“Then I suggest you hold on tight.” 

He sped up, making you giggle in his ear as your arms wrapped around his body. 

After spending most of the rest of the night together, around 4 am, Jason walked you to your dorm. You were still wearing his jacket, and you definitely didn’t want to take it off. 

You had went out to get some food after driving around for a while, and spend most of the time sitting at a booth on a fast food, eating fries and sipping on milkshakes. He was a great company, and you enjoyed the way you could talk about a lot of things and never seem to run out of things to say. 

You leaned on your doorstep, staring up at him with a small smile tugging on your lips.

“Thank you for tonight. I had a really good time.”

“Me too.” He smiled back at you “What do I have to do get to spend more nights like this with you?”

A devious smile took place in your face, you had no idea where de boldness came from, but the words flew out of your mouth before you could even properly think about what you were doing.

“If you kiss me, I might let it happen.”

And Jason didn’t wait a second to comply. His hands cupped your cheeks, bringing your face closer until your lips met. You stood on your tiptoes, meeting him halfway there since he was so tall. Arms wrapped around his neck, enjoining the warm feeling that spread on your stomach. 

You pulled apart when air became necessary. You smile at him, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Goodnight, Jason.” You said, unlocking your door

“Goodnight, y/n.” He watched you walk into your dorm and stayed still until he listened to your door being locked again, just to make sure you were being safe 

You felt as if you were walking on clouds. You couldn’t believe you had just said, what you had just did, what had happened tonight. It all seemed like it was part of some movie. 

“You’re only arriving right now?” Ari groaned from the couch, making you jump in scare since you didn’t see her there “I was worried you didn’t text.”

“Sorry. I thought you would be out longer than me.” You pulled off your shoes “Did you have fun at the race after I left?”

“If I had fun?” She sat up on the couch “Did you have fun? I want to know all about your night with Jason Todd!”

You giggled, not quite believing it just yet. You sat on the arm chair, feeling your back muscle relax against the comfortable cushion, bikes don’t really provide back support and that kind of made your muscles sore. You wrapped his jacket tighter around your body.

“It was really nice, he is a nice guy.”

Ari smiled at you, asking you to keep talking, so you ended up telling her everything about your night with him. Usually, this was the other way around, she would tell you about her dates and what they did, if it was good or not. You are the single friend, always the single friend, this was a good change of scenario.

“I’m really happy for you.” She said “But I just want you to be careful, he has kind of a bad reputation around campus, and he doesn’t even go here. They say he likes to have a good time, just it.”

You nodded your head, understanding where she was coming from. But you wanted to have a good time too, so…

“I don’t think it’s a good idea you hanging around this Jason guy.” Your sister said on the other end of the line “Mom doesn’t like him.”

You rolled your eyes. You once, accidentally, slipped out that you have been hanging out with Jason when your mom called and you were getting ready to go out. She had asked you why you were wearing pants if it was so close to summer which meant it was hot, and you said and regret because it is uncomfortable to wear a skirt while riding a bike. Now, Jason was the bad guy.

“She doesn’t even know him.” You protested 

“Yeah, and I don’t think she wants to.”

Well, if she keeps up this atitude about him then you don’t think you want her to either. 

You heard knocking coming from your window, making you frown. You pulled your curtain away, seeing Jason standing on the other side of the glass, a small smile tugging at his lips, hands stuffed inside his jacket’s pockets, and hair pushed back in that way he knew you liked it.

“I have to go. There is someone knocking at the door.” 

“At midnight?” Your little sister asked 

“It’s Ari, she forgot her keys.” You lied, Ari was in her room fast asleep after having stayed up until 5 am doing a research paper “Bye.”

You ended the call, tossing your phone on the bed and opening up the window. 

“Hey.” you said

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked in a low voice, probably not to get notice by anyone 

“Sure.” You stepped back, watching him climb your window 

“This always looked cooler in the movies.” He chuckled 

You smiled at him when he got closer “I think you climbed the window very gracefully.”

Jason smiled at you, pulling you into him, enjoining your warmth and the calmness you brought him.

“So…” you looked at him “What are you doing here at midnight on a Friday? Well, Saturday.” 

“I didn’t like the idea that we couldn’t spend this Friday together, it is kind of our day.” You try not to get the wrong idea by what he said, but it was true, you always hung out on Fridays, always coming up with different things to do, weather it was the movies, dinner, or reading books together “I knew you’d still be up so I decided to pay you a visit.”

“Thank you, I enjoyed the surprise.”

He leaned down, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. You hummed in approval, sliding your hands over his chest until his jacket had fallen on the bedroom floor. When you pulled apart, you stared wide eyed innocently at him, just now catching up to the fact that you had pulled a move on doing something more by sliding his jacket off of him.

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, stroking your cheek 

You leaned in and kissed him again. Pulling him closer to you.

“Y/n, do you want me to go?” He asked one more time, against your lips 

“No. I want you to stay.”

Jason kissed you again, you walked backwards, falling on the bed with him on top of you. 

This was all you have been wanting for a while. Right now you didn't really care about all you have been hearing about Jason - ever since people found out you have been hanging out, they would come to you to say how he was just simply looking for fun, apparently he only ever showed up at the University when he either was there to pick up his brother, or he wanted to know about some party, or get together or whatever. But the Jason you got to know, he actually made plans with you outside of it, he didn't want to spend time with you just at a party you randomly met up, he wanted to talk to you, and take you to the movies. 

People like to talk too much, but you weren't going to let his bad reputation come in the way of allowing you to have a good time. In a long time, you had met a boy who seemed to worth it spending your time with, and he always made sure you were enjoining your time with him.

You knew there was also the part that your mom didn't like him, all your life she always told you to never trust guys like him. But you have been doing the right thing all your life, always being the good girl who did the good thing and never got into trouble. Tonight, when you were with him, you didn't want to be her. Wasn't this what part of what college experience was like? Doing things you'd regret? 

In the end, you knew you'd never regret having done any of this with him. 

[mldrgrl]

Lately I've been all about reconciliation. For some reason, I want all the Mulder-and-Bill-Scully-finding-some-peace fic I can get. I'd love to see your take on this, maybe in the IWTB era? Or even revival era.

One Sorry Sonofabitch

By: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: See above - but be advised Mulder and Scully aren’t in this story a whole lot.  Please send all complaints to @perplexistan and I’ll be filing a lawsuit shortly for pain and suffering for having to turn Bill Scully into a sympathetic character. (Set post-IWtB)

He holds his tongue to spare his mother what he really thinks when she tells him that Dana and Mr. Mulder will be joining them for Thanksgiving this year.  He can’t believe the audacity that man has to show up at a family event.  And his sister isn’t much better for what she’s put their mother through over the years.  He can’t even remember the last time he saw her.  He thinks it might be ten years ago, just before his second son, Michael, was born.  Tara squeezes his knee under the table and he musters up a smile and a brief nod.

Now that he’s stationed in North Carolina, it’s a lot easier for him to travel with his family instead of having his mother fly out for the holidays.  It’s their first Thanksgiving on the east coast and he’s annoyed at having the happy occasion intruded upon by his selfish sister and her ne’er do well friend.  He really can’t believe she still keeps that jackass around.

He loves his sister.  He truly does.  He just can’t understand the foolish choices she’s made.  Starting with joining the FBI, but giving away her child and going on the run with her fugitive partner instead of putting her patriotic duty to uphold the law as her priority is just beyond him.  He would never.  He had hoped that whatever spell Mr. Mulder had put on her would’ve worn off by now, but alas.  And now they’re coming to Thanksgiving.

Tara gives him a look when they hear the car pull up.  One that implores him to please behave.  His wife has no business being so compassionate, but that’s just the kind of person she is.  He hasn’t forgotten how his sister nearly ruined the Christmas that Matthew was born with that strange little girl and her impossible claim to her.  It should have been a time of great joy and instead Dana had made it sorrowful and awkward.

“Fox and Dana just drove up,” his mother says, coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dish rag.

His sons jump up from the game they’re playing in the family room, excited to meet their mythical aunt they’ve heard tales about.  

“Don’t run in the house,” he barks at the kids.

“Yes Sir,” they say, stopping short and taking slower steps to reach the door.

Tara is the one that greets them and his mother is just behind her.  Bill is the last one to the door and waits for the hugs and excited chatter to die down before he gives his sister a stiff embrace and Mr. Mulder a requisite handshake.

“Mr. Mulder,” Bill says.

“Just Mulder,” Mr. Mulder says.

“Matthew had a growth spurt this year,” Tara prattles, laying a hand on their son’s shoulder.  He’s taller than her by an inch, thin and reedy.  “As you can see.  Can you believe he’ll be thirteen next month!?  And we’ve got Michael turning ten in February.”

Matthew’s cheeks darken.  He embarrasses easily and his fair skin gets blotchy at the drop of a hat.  Both his boys are soft, like their mother.  He’d like to toughen them up, but Tara is fiercely protective of them.  A regular mother lion.  He doesn’t get it.  When he was a kid, he idolized his father.  Those few weeks or months a year when his dad came home were the best.  He was interested in everything his father did and how he did it.  His sons don’t express any interest in him and he barely hears more than a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’ out of them on a good day.

“Maureen is napping,” Tara says.  “You’ll meet her later.”

His daughter, Maureen, well she’s a different story.  She’s only a toddler, but she reminds him of his sister Melissa.  She’s headstrong and unafraid, particularly when it comes to her father.  She sasses.  She rolls her eyes already.  She ignores his orders and does what she wants when she wants.  She’s also cute as a button and has her brothers wrapped around their little fingers.  Tara calls her their little threenager.

“We’ve still got time before dinner,” his mother says.  “Why don’t we head to the family room.”

“We brought pies,” Dana says.

“I’ll get them,” Mr. Mulder says.  He has his hands on Dana’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze when she looks back up at him.  They seem to hold some silent conversation.  To Bill, it looks like his sister is begging her friend to please don’t leave him alone in this house.  He doesn’t know why she’s here.

They gather in the family room and make small talk.  Tara finds the scrapbooks she puts together for his mother every year and shows off all the photos of the kids from their school activities and family vacations.  Dana nods and smiles through most of it.  Mr. Mulder is more talkative and asks all the questions.

A half hour slips by and finally he hears a cry from upstairs indicating that his daughter is up from her nap.  Tara is on her feet in an instant.

“That’ll be the little princess,” Tara says.  “I’ll go grab her and get her ready to come down.”

“I’ll help you,” Bill says.  Tara looks at him strangely as he follows.

Maureen is jumping up and down in the playpen in their room when they walk in.  She smiles brightly and holds her arms up to Tara.

“How’s my girl,” Tara coos.  “Let’s get you into the dress Grandma bought you for dinner and then you can meet your Auntie Dana and Uncle Fox.”

“Don’t call him that,” Bill says.

“Oh, Bill.”  Tara sighs and stands Maureen on the bed to start undressing her.  “You’re going to have to accept him sometime.”

“I most certainly don’t.”

“You know, one of the things I loved the most about you when we were dating was that you always said that family was very important to you.”

“It still is.  You know that.”

“I’m just saying that sometimes your actions don’t say a lot about what I know is in your heart.  Will you grab me one of the Pull-Ups from her bag?”

“I’ve been cordial.  Hell, I shook his hand.”

“Hell is a bad word,” Maureen says.  She scrunches her face and shakes her head as Tara tries to pull her red curls into a ponytail.  “No hair up, Mama.”

“Listen to your mother, Maureen.”

“No.”

“Hair up or it’ll get washed tonight in the bath,” Tara bargains.

“Okay, hair up.”

“She’s the one that abandoned everything, you know.  Not giving a damn about how it would affect our mother.  Tara, she gave her own child away for that man.”

“Damn damn damn!” Maureen shouts, jumping up and down on the bed.

Tara gives Bill a weary look.  “William Scully Junior, you know better than to use that kind of language.”

Maureen laughs and bounces.  “Daddy in trouble.  Daddy in trouble.”

“Yes, Daddy was being very naughty.  And so are you.  Get down.”  Tara holds her hands out and helps Maureen off the bed.  “Billy, Dana had her reasons, I’m sure.  Have you ever even asked her what happened back then?”

“No.  Why do you always take the other side of the argument?”

“I don’t know, Billy, why do you like to argue so much?”  She smiles and pats him on the chest as she leads Maureen past him out the door.  “I’m just putting myself in her shoes and I know that if I were to have to do what she did, there would have to be a very good reason.  You saw how attached to she was to that little Emily and how devastated she was.  Think about that.”

“Hmph.”

Downstairs, his mother oohs and aahs over Maureen’s green velvet dress and Maureen twirls appropriately, delighted to be the center of attention.  His sister smiles warmly and kneels down to introduce herself to her niece and tell her how big she is and how pretty.

“Thank you, I know,” Maureen says.

The women laugh.

“Where are the boys?” Bill asks.  “And Mr. Mulder?”

“Outside playing basketball,” his mother answers.

Basketball.  They should be playing a real sport like football.  The last time he’d tried to teach them how to punt and tackle it had ended in tears.  Matthew complained that the roughness might hurt his chances of moving up in his piano lessons and Michael said he preferred to work on his model cars.

Bill lingers in the mudroom, watching surreptitiously and listening to boys play with Mr. Mulder through the open window.  There are a lot of high fives and hair tousling.  They don’t even seem to be competing, just taking turns with the ball, which seems a little ridiculous.

“Good job, Matt,” Mr. Mulder says, even when Matthew misses a shot that should have been easy.  “Loosen that wrist and hold that follow-through.”  He takes the boys’ hand and guides it with his own.  “That’s it.  Let’s try it again.”

Matthew shoots again and they all cheer when the ball makes it in the basket.

“Nice!” Mr. Mulder yells.  “Nothing but net.”

Both boys whoop and laugh and jump up and down like monkeys and grab onto Mr. Mulder.  He laughs with them and they have another round of high fives and hair tousling.

“How do you know so much about basketball, Uncle Mulder?” Michael asks.  Bill cringes.

“I played in high school and I used to be part of a team at my gym.”

“Did you like being part of a team?”  Matthew asks.

“Yeah, it was great.”

“I think I want to join the debate team at school next year.”  This is news to Bill and he’s surprised.  Matthew is notoriously soft-spoken.

“Your Aunt Dana used to be on a debate team when she was in school.  You should ask her for some tips.”

“Dad said that you guys used to be FBI agents,” Michael says.  “He said it’s like being a glory fried policeman”

“Glorified,” Matthew corrects.  “Not glory fried.”

“Glorified, whatever that means.  He told Mom before that Aunt Dana should’ve kept being a doctor so she’d be more normal.”

Bill grits his teeth.  He doesn’t recall ever saying something like that in front of the boys, but he’s sure he’s said it.  He wonders what else they’ve overheard through the years.

“Well, that’s probably true,” Mr. Mulder says.  “She’s a great doctor.  But, you know what?  Your Aunt Dana was the best agent the FBI ever had.”

“How come she quit?” Matthew asks.

“Have you ever done something that made you really happy for awhile and then it just stopped making you happy?”

“I used to like playing MarioKart,” Michael says.  “But, now I think it’s boring.”

“It’s kind of like that.”

“My favorite is SimCity.  Have you ever played that?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Do you like Guitar Hero?” Matthew asks.  

“Yeah, do you like Guitar Hero?” Michael echoes.  “We brought our Playstation and we can play.”

“I’m not much of a musician,” Mr. Mulder says.  “But I’ll give it a shot.”

“Cool!” Both boys yell.

Bill chooses that moment to emerge from the mudroom and steps out onto the porch.  Both boys go instantly quiet and Michael starts dribbling the basketball he’s holding.

“You boys should run and get your jackets on,” Bill says.  “It’s getting cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Michael replies.

“Yes, Sir,” Matthew answers and takes Michael’s arm.  “Thanks for the lessons, Uncle Mulder.”

“You can keep playing,” Bill says.  “I just think you need to get your jackets on.”

“That’s alright, we’ll go help Mom and Grandma in the kitchen.  Come on, Mikey.”

Michael reluctantly hands the basketball over to Mr. Mulder.  “Thanks, Uncle Mulder,” he says.

Mr. Mulder nods and then it’s just him and Bill outside.  Mr. Mulder turns and dribbles the ball a few times before he sinks a basket.  He picks it up again and holds it one-handed in Bill’s direction.

“You play?” Mr. Mulder asks.

“I’m more of a football guy,” Bill answers.

“USNA is on a great streak in the Army v Navy games.  Think they can keep it up?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a Navy man if I thought otherwise.”

“Were you on the team?”

“No.  We won all four years I was there though.  Tied one year, actually.”

“I think Scully mentioned that you dad had played one year.”

Bill can’t believe Mr. Mulder is still calling his sister, Scully.  It makes no goddamn sense.  “1957,” he answers.  “14-0, Navy.”

Mr. Mulder nods.  The conversation stalls.  Mr. Mulder rubs the back of his head for a few moments and then he looks at the door and straightens.  Bill turns and sees his sister in the window.  She comes outside, pulling her sweater tighter across her waist and crossing her arms as she steps off the porch.

“Mom says there’s about an hour left until the turkey is ready,” she says.  “Everything alright?”

“Talking sports,” Mr. Mulder says.  Dana stands close to him.  He puts a hand on her back.

“It’s good to see you, Dana.”

“You too, Bill.”

The three of them stand in awkward silence.  A wind picks up and blows dead leaves across their feet.  Bill shoves his hands in his pockets.  Dana turns to Mr. Mulder and lays a hand very lightly on his chest.

“Can you give us a minute?” Dana asks.

“Of course,” Mr. Mulder answers.  He kisses the corner of Dana’s mouth and Bill’s cheek twitches irritably.  He spins the basketball on one finger as he walks away and then tucks it snugly into the corner of the porch before he goes inside.

“I can tell you don’t want us here,” Dana says.  Straight to the point.  His sister has never been subtle.

“I think it’s you that doesn’t want to be here.  You know, every holiday Mom would always bring up the fact that it would be so nice to have all her children at the table.  I have to say I agree with her.”

Dana stares at him with a cool gaze.  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No, I’m just telling you how it’s been.”

“All her children?”

“Alright, we don’t need to fight.”

“I’m not fighting.  I’m just wondering if she includes Charlie in that, when she yearns for all her children.”

Bill shifts uncomfortably.  “That’s between them.  Charles is…”

“Charlie is married.  His husband’s name is-”

“Patrick.  I know.  I do speak with him on occasion.”

Dana gives a brief nod.  “Were they invited to Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry that we didn’t turn out how you wanted.”

“What does that mean?”

“You always wanted to follow in our parents footsteps.  Be just like Dad.  Have the doting wife, the Navy career, a house full of kids.  Everything in ship-shape order.  They made it look ideal when we were kids, but it was never ideal.”

“What kind of nonsense has that man been filling your head with?”

Dana snorts.  “The irony is, Mulder is a lot like you, Bill.  He values the sanctity of family even more than you.”

“Oh yeah, so much so he forced you to give up your only child.”

“Mulder wasn’t even there when I had to give William up.”

“Exactly.  Where was he?  Not with his family.  You can be sure I would-”

“You would, what?  Step away from the Navy?  Reject a deployment order?  What would you do, Bill?”

“It’s my job,” he says, curtly.  “It’s what I do to make sure not just my family, but every family in our country is protected.  Tara understood that when she married me.  The kids understand.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Do you know what losing her grandchild did to Mom?  Dad’s namesake, Dana.  My namesake.  How could you?”

“You sanctimonious sonofabitch,” she hisses.  “My son’s name is William Fox Mulder.  Named after Mulder’s father.  Not you, and not Dad.  And you have no idea how difficult it was for me to make that choice.  None at all.”

“Then why did you do it?  If it was so goddamn hard, why isn’t he here with us now playing with his cousins instead of with strangers?”

Dana looks away and licks the corner of her mouth.  She used to do that when she was a kid before letting loose with a temper tantrum.  He remembers her red-faced and stomping her feet, licking her lip before she exploded.

“Did you know that my life was in danger for all of my pregnancy?” she asks.  “Did you know William was kidnapped twice before he was eight months old?  Did you know that I had friends that were almost killed trying to protect him?  Did you know that I killed people in order to protect him?  Did you know that I made the biggest mistake in my life when I asked Mulder to leave us because I thought he was the one endangering our son?  Did you know that my heart felt like it was ripped out of my chest when I thought I had lost both of them forever?  Do you know that it took years for me to trust in the fact that Mulder forgave me for what I did?”

Bill feels uncomfortable and clammy.  He’s never seen his sister like this, as a child or as an adult.  She’s like fire.  Hot and terrifying.

“No,” he says.  “How could I?  Why didn’t you come to me?”

Dana raises her brow at him like he’s said something completely incredulous.  “We’re family, Bill, not friends.”

“Do you even have any friend, Dana?  Aside from Mr. Mulder?”

“I don’t need or want anyone else in my life except for Mulder.”

“Including your family?”

“Mulder is my family.  A fact I don’t ever think you’ll accept.”

“That man has poisoned you against your family.”

“That man is the reason I’m here today.  You’re right.  It is me that doesn’t want to be here.”  She turns and walks away.

“Dana.”

She doesn’t turn back though, just walks up the porch and into the house and Bill is left alone.  He doesn’t understand how he could have grown up in the same house as each of his siblings, but how they all turned out so different.  He seems to be the only one that appreciates the values his parents instilled in them and not blatantly reject the status quo.  

When Bill comes back into the house, he sees Dana and Mr. Mulder in the dining room, having a very low and animated conversation.  Her hands are in his and his head is bent towards her.  She’s shaking her head and pulling one of her arms free to gesticulate with, but he catches it and clasps their hands gently to his chest.

Bill turns away and heads back to the family room.  The boys are on the floor with Maureen, helping her arrange her dolls to her satisfaction.  Tara and his mother are on the couch in conversation.  He sits down, feeling glum and perturbed.  Dana comes into the room, Mr. Mulder behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not feeling very well,” she says.  “Mulder is going to take me home.”

Tara glances at Bill and he shifts his gaze away from her.  

“What is it?” his mother asks.  “Do you need to lie down?  You can use the spare room.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to disrupt dinner.  I think I have a migraine coming on and I have medication at home.”

“But, Dana, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together.  Can’t you just…”

“Let Dana do what she wants to do, Mom,” Bill says.  “If she wants to go home, let her go home.”

His mother wrings her hands together.  He can’t stand the disappointment in her eyes and he doesn’t know how Dana can either.  The hugs goodbye are awkward.  The kids are confused.  

“Uncle Mulder was supposed to play Guitar Hero with us,” Michael says, after they leave.

“Some other time,” Tara tells him.  “Go wash up for dinner.”

Dinner is somber.  His mother looks like she’s on the verge of tears.  Tara tries to compensate by engaging the children in conversation, but the boys unhappily push food around on their plates and Maureen whines to be let loose.  Before they’re even done, his mother starts gathering up the dishes and bringing them into the kitchen.

“What happened?” Tara mouths at him from across the table.

Bill shrugs.  “Mom, stop.  Tara and I will take care of the dishes.  Boys, take your sister and...show your grandmother that guitar game.”

The boys looked relieved.  Matthew takes Maureen’s hand and they head to the family room.  After the leave, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall sounds immense in the silence.

“Bill…”

Bill raises his hands in surrender.  “Dana and I had a talk,” he admits.  “It didn’t go well.”

“Is that why she left?”

“She left because she didn’t want to show up at all.”

“This really meant a lot to Mom.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Maybe the only thing you can do is just accept the fact that this is all there is.”  Tara gets up, collecting dishes before she makes her way to the kitchen.  It takes Bill some time to follow, but he gathers up plates and silverware and goes in after her.  She’s got Tupperware spread out on the counter and is trying to match lids.

“I don’t want to accept it, Tara.  I can’t.  She’s my sister.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

He scratches the back of his head and thinks, watching Tara empty dishes into plastic bowls.  “Pack me up enough of those leftovers for two.  I’m...going to go out there.”

“You should take the boys with you.”

“Why?”

“It’s unlikely they’d turn the kids away.”

That hurts because it’s probably true.  He finishes clearing the dishes for Tara and she neatly packs up leftovers and stacks them on the counter.  He grabs a sweatshirt and then goes into the family room.  The boys aren’t playing the video game, they look like they’re playing Go Fish with their grandmother and sister.

“Boys, we’re going to take a drive.”

They look at each other and then look at their father.  “Are we in trouble?” Michael asks.

“No, son.  We’re just going to take a drive.”

He can tell they’re reluctant to get up, but they do.  Tara brings them their jackets and loads their arms with the Tupperware and walks them to the car.

“Where are we going?” Matthew asks, buckling his seatbelt.

“We’re going to go see your Aunt Dana and...Uncle Mulder.”

“Really?” Michael asks.

It’s an hour-long drive.  Bill can’t think of a time he’s been alone in a car with his sons for that long.  They don’t talk and the radio isn’t offering anything decent.

“You know, Matthew, your Aunt Dana was there when you were born?”

“She was?”

“She and your grandma had come out for Christmas that year.  They visited you in the hospital and you were only a few hours old.  And...your...Uncle Mulder was there too.”  Bill shifts a little in his seat and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.  He was a little disgruntled at the time that Mr. Mulder had shown up with Dana at the hospital, but even more so when Tara insisted he have a chance to hold the baby.  He knows photos were taken that day, but he’s never seen them.

“Did Aunt Dana and Uncle Mulder visit me too, Dad?” Michael asks.

“No, they were...they weren’t in town at that time.”

“Oh.”

“Have I ever told you the story of when your Aunt Dana won a shooting contest when she was eight?”

“Um, I don’t think we know any stories about Aunt Dana,” Matthew answers.  “Except a couple Grandma has told us.”

“I see.”  

“I want to hear it,” Michael says.  “I want to know the story.”

“Me too,” Matthew adds.

“She learned to shoot pretty young.  My Dad had taught us.  She was the best out of all of us, even Dad.  She just never missed.  Some kids in the neighborhood caught wind of it and said there was no way a little girl could beat them.  They were older than us, maybe your age, Matthew.  Dana said she could beat the pants off of them, just come out to the woods and name the target.  She whipped those boys good.  Six older boys against one little girl.”

“Did she win a prize?” Michael asks.

Bill thinks back on that day.  He’d felt a mixture of pride and anger.  He wanted Dana to win, but he also looked up to those boys.  Their pride had been injured and therefore he’d tried to convince Dana to throw the competition at one point, pulling her aside and telling her she was hurting their feelings and should let them win.  She looked him straight in the eye and told him no way in hell would she lose to a stupid boy just ‘cause.  He’d been afraid the boys would retaliate in some way, maybe hurt Dana or even start a fight with him, but they hadn’t.

“Respect,” Bill says.  “She won a lot of respect.”

“Sounds like something Maureen would do,” Matthew says.  He and Michael chuckle together.

“Maureen is more like your Aunt Melissa.  Dana was a real tomboy.  She had to do everything me and your Uncle Charles did.”

“How come…?” Matthew starts, and then clams up.

“How come what?”

“I know Aunt Melissa died a long time ago.  But, how come we’ve never met Aunt Dana before now?  Or Uncle Charles?”

“Is it because Uncle Charles married another boy?” Michael asks.

“Who told you that?” Bill asks.

“Mom said that’s why Grandma doesn’t like to talk about him and we should try to understand that Grandma comes from another time where that wasn’t ok, but that doesn’t mean it’s not ok.”

“She said that?”

“Mmhm.  She said that if anyone at church or other kids say it’s not ok, we just don’t listen to them because God doesn’t make mistakes and love is love and God wants us to love each other.”

Bill is quiet.  He can’t believe his devout and traditional wife has said something so progressive and even went so far as to instruct his children to go against the church.  Good for her, he thinks.  Maybe if his mother had thought for herself once in awhile they wouldn’t have such a fractured family.  He can’t believe that thought just crosses his mind.

“You boys listen to your mother,” Bill says.  “She’s a good woman and I’m glad you’re both more like her than like me.”

“You’re good too, Dad,” Matthew says.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you do a really hard job and it’s important and you’re in charge of it.”

“And Mom says that’s why we shouldn’t bother you with trivial things,” Michael says.  “So you can relax when you’re home.”

Bill is quiet for a few moments and he glances at both boys in the rear view mirror.  “I want you boys to know that you’re never a bother to me.  Not ever, alright?  You can come to me with anything.  You understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” they both say.

“And to answer your question, you haven’t met your Aunt Dana or Uncle Charles before because I think...I think it’s hard for them to feel welcome.  That’s why I’m taking you out to Dana and Mulder’s house right now so I can make sure they know they’re welcome.”

“Will we get to meet Uncle Charles one day, too?” Michael asks.

“I promise that when we get home I’ll call him and ask him if he wants to come for a visit.”

“Cool,” Matthew says.  “Three new uncles and an aunt.”

The roads start to become more rural and desolate.  It’s only twilight, but it feels even darker without any streetlamps or other passing cars.  Bill turns off onto a dirt road and slowly bumps along the unpaved path.

“I think this is it,” Bill says, pulling up to a gate.

“Do they live on a farm?” Michael asks.  “It looks like a farm.”

“I don’t think so.”

Bill is about to call Dana’s phone when he sees Mr. Mulder step out onto the porch, holding what looks like a long-barreled shotgun.  He turns on the cab light of the car and then lowers the window and leans out, raising a hand in greeting.  Mr. Mulder looks like he’s squinting and then he goes back inside and turns on the porch light.  When he comes back out, he’s no longer holding the gun and he jogs down from the porch and down the path behind the gate.  Bill sees his sister come out onto the porch a few moments later.

“Bill?” Mr. Mulder asks once he’s close enough to be heard.  “What’re you doing out here?  Everything alright?”

“The boys and I brought leftovers,” Bill says.

“Uh.  Okay.  Let me just unlock the gate, just a second.”  Mr. Mulder begins to unlock some chains around the gate.  “Scully’s been nagging me to put this on a remote, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.  Drive on up, I’ll be right behind you.”

Bill drives slowly down the lane and Mr. Mulder stays in the shadow of his taillight.  He parks behind the car in front of the porch and the boys are quick to unlock their belts and scramble out of the car.

“Is this a farm?” Michael asks, running up to Mr. Mulder and taking his hand.  “Do you have cows?”

“Sorry, buddy, no cows,” Mr. Mulder answers.  “I think there might have been horses here at one time.  There are some stalls out in the field behind the house.”

Bill gathers the Tupperware from the floorboards of the passenger seat and Matthew is right behind him to help him get everything out.  Dana stands on the porch in a defensive pose, guarding her territory.

“Come in,” Mr. Mulder says.  He guides Michael up the stairs ahead of him.  Dana gives Mr. Mulder a look, but then smiles at Michael.  Tara was a genius to tell him to take the boys.

The interior surprises Bill.  It’s cozy, almost cabin-like.  There are afghans on the couch and a well-used recliner.  They’ve got a wood burning stove and a fire going.  His sister is wearing slippers.  

Mr. Mulder leads them all to the kitchen and takes the Tupperware from Matthew and from Bill.  “Be sure to thank Maggie for us,” he says.

“I will.”  There’s a few beats of silence and Bill eyes his sister.  “Dana, would you mind if we talked for a few minutes?”

She hesitates and glances at the boys.

“You guys can go on the porch,” Mr. Mulder offers.  “Maybe...these guys might like some ice cream?”

“Can we?” Michael asks, turning to Bill.

Bill nods.  Never in his life did he expect to feel gratitude towards Mr. Mulder for anything, but he does in this moment.  The boys cheer.  Dana doesn’t look happy, but she takes her brother out to the porch.

“I’m not here to fight,” Bill says.  “I just want you to know that up front.”

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“Because I don’t like the way we left things.  I want to start by apologizing for...not giving you the benefit of the doubt.  Or supporting you when you needed it.”

Dana looks surprised and a little chagrined.  Her eyes water a bit.  She wraps her arms across her middle and looks at her feet.  “Thank you,” she says.  “That means a lot.”

“I was telling the boys on the way over about that time you won the shooting contest when you were a kid.”

She snorts softly.  “You were so mad at me.”

“No, I was proud of you.  I didn’t tell you that back then, but I probably should have.  Maybe it’s because of things like that that you felt you couldn’t talk to me when you were going through a hard time.��

“Maybe.”

“What I’m not going to apologize for, though, is my life or my family.”  He pauses while she looks up and opens her mouth, but then she closes it again and nods a little.  “I don’t think I’m wrong for wanting to live in the example our parents set for us.  They were happily married for almost forty years and, God willing, I’d like to make it to my fiftieth anniversary and still be just as happy.”

“You probably will.”

“I think you might too.”

Dana raises her brow.  Bill rubs the back of his neck and exhales, deeply.  

“The kids were telling me earlier that love is love,” he says.  “And, now that I’ve seen the two of you together, I think that he kind of seems like a decent guy.”

“I wouldn’t be with him if he wasn’t.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

Dana looks at her feet again and rocks back and forth on her heels for a moment.  “I would also like to apologize for keeping you in the dark about so many things for so long.  I’ve been so accustomed to needing to keep things private, I forget that I can rely on other people.  Mulder has to remind me of it at times when I start to shut him out.”

“You were like that as a kid.  Tough as nails, wouldn’t show a weakness to save your life.”

“And a quick temper.”

“Yeah, that too.”  Bill chuckles.  Dana smiles slightly.

“I’m sorry I left like that.  I hope Mom wasn’t too upset.”

“I think it might be salvaged if you thought about maybe coming by tomorrow?  The boys really seemed to take to...their Uncle Mulder.”

“He’s really great with kids,” Dana whispers and two tears fall down her cheeks.  She dips her head once more and puts a hand over her eyes.

Bill steps closer and pulls her in against his chest.  She puts her arms around him and he rubs her shoulder a little.  “I can’t imagine, Dana.  What you must feel.”

“Some days are harder than others.”

“Does he help you through it?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

After a few moments of silence, Dana sighs and then pulls away and wipes her eyes.  Bill stops her before they go back inside.

“One more thing,” he says.  “It’s important to me that you know that I don’t agree with Mom on everything.  Just because I believe that her issues with Charles are her business, doesn’t mean I think she’s right.”

“You don’t?”

“Hell no.  That’s her son.  I would never.  The thing is, Charles has told me he chooses to limit his contact with both of us so that it won’t cause problems between us and Mom, if she knows that we speak with him.”

“I know.”

“And, thinking about what you said and just...thinking about it in general, tonight, I’ve decided that if Mom can’t handle the fact that I have a relationship with my brother, that’s also her problem.  I’m going to invite Charles and Patrick out to North Carolina for Christmas.  I want to extend the same invitation to you and Mr. Mulder as well.”

“It’s just Mulder.”

“You guys are so weird about your names.”

“That’s how we like it.”

Bill puts his hands up in surrender.  Dana opens the door and he follows.  The boys are laughing at something.  Mulder gets up from the table when he sees them and Dana walks into his arms.  He rubs her back and nods at Bill.

“Can I get you a bowl of ice cream?” Mulder asks.

“Sure.”

“Dad, did you know that Aunt Dana and Uncle Mulder once arrested a man that was half-worm and lived in a sewer?!” Michael exclaims.

“Tried to arrest,” Mulder amends.  “We only caught half of him.  The tail end, unfortunately.”

“Gross!” the boys cry.

“Really, Mulder?” Bill asks.

Mulder shrugs.  Bill sighs.

The End

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[nineteenninety-six]

Escapism - Part Two

This is a bit early, I was actually going to write and post 3 imagines before this one but I struggled to find the motivation.

This is about 3k words of nonsense, I didn’t want it to be a continuous thing of them meeting at an event every so often so I tried to add a bit of a story to it and I uh don’t like the end part but it’s 5 am and I’m tired.

TW: abuse, alcohol 

Tag list for people that commented/asked (if you want to added or removed then just ask me:)) :

@stydia-4-ever​

@kingarthurscat​

@writeroutoftime​

@futuristicslimemongerbanana​

@newsieunion​

@chrisevanstan2​

WORD COUNT: 3925

[PART ONE] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]

Stewart was silent on the drive home, something he often did, so (Y/N) paid it no mind. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he lit himself a cigarette slumped against the seat with this shirt untucked and his tie haphazardly wrapped around his neck, she could smell the waves of alcohol coming off of him and his eyes were still glazed from the drugs he had taken and she was grateful that they had a driver to take them home since Stewart was in no condition to do so.

(Y/N) helped Stewart up the stairs to their house, briefly letting go of him to open the front door before taking his arm and guiding him in and towards his bedroom but they didn’t get far as, as soon had the front door had slammed shut, she was slammed against the nearest wall and Stewart’s hands were tightly her wrists and he leant his body into hers enough so she knew that she wouldn’t be able to push him off.

“Where were you?” Stewart grit out, spit flying.

“W-what?” (Y/N) was caught off guard, not having a clue about what he was talking about.

“The afterparty. Where were you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice if you disappeared?”

(Y/N) cursed in her head, she thought he was too far gone to notice her absence but she was apparently wrong.

“Stewart, you know I don’t like those types of things.” She said meekly, not wanting to anger him any more than he was.

“I don’t care. You’re my wife, you do as I say.” Stewart growled out, “Understand?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible.

“Good.” Stewart gave her one last glare before releasing her and stumbling away to his room.

(Y/N) collapsed to the floor as soon as he let go of her, her legs unable to support her any longer and began sobbing, quickly slapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound knowing that if Stewart heard her crying then he’ll just come back angrier.

(Y/N) slowly pushed herself up on to her feet, wincing at the pain in her wrists before silently shuffling to her room, trying her hardest not to make a sound. Once she slipped into her room, she stripped out of her clothes before sliding on her nightgown and slipping into her bed. As she laid in bed, she prayed to a God that she was no longer sure she believed in, pleading for an escape for the version of hell she was living in, one that she didn’t deserve before turning over and crying herself to sleep.

The next morning as (Y/N) walked downstairs for breakfast she prayed that Stewart wasn’t there but her prayers weren’t answered as he was sitting in his usual seat in the living room, puffing on a cigarette waiting for the maids to bring in their breakfast.

“Good morning, Stewart.” (Y/N) greeted as she slipped into the seat next to him and poured herself a cup of tea.

Stewart only grunted and (Y/N) couldn’t tell whether or not he was still upset about last night or if he even remembered what had happened the night before.

(Y/N) didn’t bother to attempt to converse with him and read over the newspaper until the maids brought in breakfast and when that came they ate in silence.

“I’m going to be in Parliament all this week, Jonathon offered to show me around and give me tips on becoming an MP so I’ll be back late all week.”

“Okay.” (Y/N) was internally cheering, practically a whole week without Stewart was probably the best thing to happen to her ever since she got married.

“His wife is coming down on Wednesday so I want you to come with me in Morning and show her around London and entertain her for the day.”

“Of course.” (Y/N) kept her answers short and sweet.

“Good.”

They finished the rest of the meal in silence before Stewart left the dining room to go, gods know where, not that (Y/N) cared either way.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day in the library, it was pretty much the only thing she did, the only times she left the house was when Stewart was dragging her somewhere or she had to socialise with Mary-Anne and the other wives. (Y/N)’s life was boring but what could she do when the man she was married to practically kept her locked up and only brought her out when he wanted to flaunt or brag about her. She had overheard the many times Stewart’s friends had confessed to him that they were jealous that he managed to get a young woman while their wives were just as old as they were. It made her sick that these men were talking about those women like that but she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Before she knew it, it was Wednesday and (Y/N) was sat next to Stewart in the car as he drove them to Westminster. (Y/N) had thoroughly enjoyed her first two days without Stewart even though today was a slight inconvenience, she didn’t care all that much as it meant she still got a day away from Stewart. They met Jonathon and his wife outside of Jonathon’s office.

“Stewart!” Jonathon shook Stewart’s hand before pulling (Y/N) into a small and brief hug, “(Y/N), it’s lovely to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you too Jonathon” (Y/N) politely smiled and interacted back, knowing that if she didn’t, Stewart would be mad.

“This is my wife, Margaret.” Jonathon introduced his wife, a small, pretty blonde woman.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you (Y/N).” Margaret stepped forward and shook her hand.

“The pleasures all my mine. I hope we will have a good day today.” (Y/N) smiled.

A pair of footsteps coming their way distracted the four of them and (Y/N) turned slightly to see who it was. It was Tommy Shelby and alongside him was a slightly younger woman who looked slightly liked him.

“Mr Shelby!” Stewart called out, disrupting Tommy and woman’s conversation.

Tommy looked up at the shout of his name and recognization flickered over his face as his eye found Stewart and the rest of the group. Tommy quietly murmured something in the woman’s ear before making his way over to this group, the woman one step behind him.

“Mr Langley, Mr Alexander” Tommy shook their hands and politely nodded to their wives.  

(Y/N) stared at Tommy as he stood only a few steps away from her, she had completely forgotten about him and now that she stood next to him, she remembered how relaxed and free she felt when she spent those few hours talking with him.

“This is my younger sister, Ada.” Tommy introduced the woman, who smiled.

The six of them stood in awkward silence for a few moments before Margaret spoke up, “Me and (Y/N) are spending the day in town, you can join us if you want Ada? It’s probably better than sitting in a stuffy office all day.” Margaret laughed.

Tommy and Ada exchanged a look before Tommy nodded his head in what looked like permission but (Y/N) wasn’t completely sure, she didn’t think their dynamic worked like that.

“I’d hate to interrupt,” Ada said.

“Oh it’s no problem at all is it (Y/N)?”

Suddenly (Y/N) felt the gazes of five people on her all at once, “Of course not, the more the merrier.”

Her smile was tight and forced as Margaret happily clapped.

“Let’s go, I want to experience everything I can before it gets dark!”

Stewart gripped her arm and lowered his head to talk to her before she could quickly make her escape, “Be nice. Try and get close to that Ada girl, remember I want her brother to be on my side.”

(Y/N) nodded before pulling her arm out of his grip and walking to where Margaret stood. Tommy was quietly talking to Ada when his eyes suddenly flickered to her, catching her off guard before going back to his sister.

Soon Ada made her way over to (Y/N) and Margaret and they went on their way, stopping off for brunch before deciding what they wanted to do for the day.

“So where first?” Margaret asked as soon as they stepped out of the cafe.

“The National Gallery of British Art is a short walk away, what about that?” (Y/N) asked, hoping that Margaret agreed.

The gallery was perhaps one of (Y/N)’s favourite places to visit, she found peace and her loneliness didn’t exist in the moments when she was surrounded by the paintings.

“Sounds wonderful! Let’s go!” Margaret began walking ahead, leaving (Y/N)  and Ada to trail behind her.

(Y/N) wasn’t sure what to think about Margaret, she was chipper and enthusiastic and so far more tolerable than the other wives she usually has to deal with but she was sure that Margaret’s happy personality would start to grate on her.

“She’s got quite a personality eh?” Ada suddenly spoke up making (Y/N) jump in shock.

“Oh! Yeah. She’s definitely got a bright personality, that’s for sure”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ada apologized.

“It’s alright Miss Shelby, I was just lost in my thoughts.”

“I-, my last name is actually Thorne.” Ada corrected her, “Ms Ada Thorne if we’re using proper titles.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” (Y/N) was embarrassed before the second part of Ada sentence caught her attention.

“Ms..? Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” (Y/N) had made a fool of herself in the short period of time that she had known Ada.

“It’s alright, it’s been a while. I’ve healed.” Ada was quick to soothe her.

“Still though...to lose someone close and precious to you must hurt.” (Y/N) felt at ease with Ada, like how she did with Tommy.

“It does but it’s a part of life I suppose. Everyone goes through it.”

(Y/N)’s lips twisted at Ada’s statement, she didn’t think she would know that feeling, with her no longer speaking to her parents and her miserable marriage to a man who bought her, (Y/N) couldn’t imagine feeling the pain of loss.

If Ada noticed her weird reaction she didn’t say anything.

“How long were you and your husband together?” (Y/N) asked before realised how rude of a question it was, “-You don’t have to answer that! I shouldn’t have even asked you that question, it was rude.”

Ada laughed, “It’s fine. At first, we were hiding around, trying not to get caught by my brothers but then I fell pregnant and we got married and then moved to London.”

“You have a child?”

“A son, Karl.” Ada smiled at the mention of her son. “How old is he?” (Y/N) asked, smiling at the joy that came over Ada’s face at the mention of her son.

“Ten. It feels like yesterday he was still just a baby.” Ada laughed, (Y/N) joining in.

“Do you like children?” Ada asked.

(Y/N) actually paused at the question, having to actually think about it, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever been near a child or a baby. I’m an only child as well.”

“What about children of your own? Ever think about starting a family with your husband?” Ada asked.

“No. Stewart and I will never have children.” (Y/N) was final in her response.

Margaret was still ahead of them ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ at new things she came across which (Y/N) had to admit was quite endearing.

“Your husband…”  Ada started to speak, “No offence but he seems a bit older than you.”

“It’s fine. It was an arranged marriage, he’s quite a bit older than me. Old enough to be my dad, if we’re being honest.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-Four.”

Ada scoffed and swore under her breath, causing (Y/N) to laugh, she laughed harder when Ada threw her an incredulous look.

“Tommy had the same reaction when I told him” (Y/N) explained.

“You’re not that much older than our youngest brother Finn. He’s only twenty-one.” Ada elaborated.

“How many of you are there?” (Y/N) was curious now, after meeting Tommy and Ada and hearing about Finn, she guessed there was a few more Shelby’s she didn’t know about.

“There was five but my older brother John passed away a few years ago. So now there’s the oldest Arthur, then Tommy, me and then finally Finn.”

(Y/N) sent her a sympathetic smile at the mention of her late brother, “Five siblings, what a life you must have had growing up.”

“It was certainly something. It was tough being the only girl in a family and having three older overprotective brothers.” Ada slightly scowed

“I like to think there’s a perfect in-between, between having siblings and being an only child.” (Y/N) said, slightly jealous of Ada’s youth.

“How was it like growing up an only child?” Ada asked. They were close to gallery and she found herself enjoying the conversation and the outing more than she expected.

“Lonely...my parents didn’t allow me to have friends really. After I finished school, I didn’t have any friends so I spent most of my time at home until I got married. Not that much has changed, I still don’t have friends or go out, still trapped at home. “

“Well, we’re friends and I’ll be sure to invite you out.” Ada smiled at her, causing (Y/N) to smile. (Y/N) really liked Ada.”

“C’mon you two!” Margaret called from in front of them, already at the steps of the gallery.

(Y/N) and Ada shared a silent look before hurrying up and joining Margaret. They didn’t get to have a private conversation again that day, spending the rest of it in the company of Margaret and by mid-evening that made their way back to Westminster.

The three of them stood outside of Jonathon’s office waiting for him and Stewart to come out when Tommy appeared at the end of the hallway and approached the trio, sidling up to Ada’s side.

“Have a nice day ladies?” Tommy asked.

“We did. We had a great time.” (Y/N) said. Tommy’s eyes flickered to hers.

“S’good to hear” Tommy’s eyes stayed on her, (Y/N) felt like they were looking into her soul.

The door to the office opened and Jonathon and Stewart stepped out, Margaret immediately leaping in her husband’s arms and began blabbing about what had happened. (Y/N) watched with a bit of jealousy, while she had doubts that Jonathon was a good man, especially since he was close with her husband, she knew he was a good husband and he loved his wife.

“We best get going deary, I want to get back home to Brighton before it’s dark.” Jonathon told his wife before turning around to shake Stewart’s hand goodbye, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course” Stewart shook his hand.

Jonathan dipped his head at everyone else before guiding Margaret out.

“We should go too.” Stewart walked over to (Y/N) and gripped her wrist hard. They were still sore from a few days ago but he didn’t care. He also didn’t care that he had an audience.

“I must invite you around to dinner at some point Thomas. Tell me when you’re free and I’ll be sure to schedule a day.”

“I’ll be delighted to. Let me look over my schedule and I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Tommy looked slightly angry, his jaw was clenched and his eyes hard.

“Very well. See you tomorrow.” Stewart turned around and began walking away, his grip on (Y/N)’s wrist meant that she was abruptly turned around and pulled away to follow after him, causing her to trip over her feet. She looked over her shoulder as she was being dragged away and saw Tommy frowning and take a few steps as if he was following after them before being stopped by Ada.

Tommy had ended up coming over the Friday the following week and (Y/N) was counting down the days ever since Stewart had told her. He had been at home the whole week, only sometimes leaving in the evenings and it had been driving her crazy. The brief week of freedom she had, made her crave for more.

(Y/N)’s two interactions with Tommy had left an imprint on her and she hoped and prayed that since it was a Friday night, Stewart would drink himself into a stupor so that she had time with Tommy, the man who interested her and confused her at the same time.

The doorbell rang and Stewart turned to her whilst one of the maids lets Tommy in and led him to the living room, “Remember, behave.”

(Y/N) nodded and when he turned back around, she rolled her eyes.

“Thomas! I’m glad you managed to come.” Stewart shook his hand and led him further in.

“Mrs Langley, lovely to see you again.” Tommy took her hand in his and pressed a kiss upon it.

“It’s lovely to see you too Tommy.”

Stewart pulled Tommy into a conversation leaving (Y/N) to sit there in silence, absolutely bored out of her mind, only getting up to pour Stewart drinks when he asked.

When dinner was announced, the amount of alcohol Stewart had consumed so far that evening had obviously taken a toll on him, his eyes were slightly glassy and he became much looser. During the meal, Tommy sat opposite her, on the other side of Stewart and she could feel him glance at her several times but she kept her head low and her eyes focused on her plate. Stewart was rambling to Tommy, who she was pretty certain wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him.  

After dinner, the went back to the living room but this time Tommy had taken the seat next to her on the couch instead of one of the loveseats or chairs that sat around the room.  

Not that paid attention in the first place but (Y/N) was certain that Stewart was absolutely speaking nonsense. He was murmuring to himself and slowly blinking, no doubt on the brink of sleep and sure enough, a few moments later, he was passed out.

(Y/N) let out a disappointed sigh at the sight of the man in front of her before standing up and ringing for the footmen to come and take him back to his room.

“I must apologize.” She said to Tommy after they watched two footmen drag her husband out of the room.

“You have nothing to apologize for.  Your husband is a grown adult, you shouldn’t have to apologize for his behaviour.”

“That does not matter to the people in high society, a woman’s reputation is always tarnished by a man, even if they’re not at fault in the situation but the man always manages to escape cleanly.”

“You do not like high society?” Tommy asked as he poured them drinks, waving her over back to her seat on the couch.

“I don’t but it’s the only thing I know. I was born into it and I married into it. Many times have I laid awake wishing for a different life but I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. I don’t doubt there are thousands of people wishing to live even a fraction of the life I live. “ (Y/N) said as she sat down, gratefully accepting her drink from Tommy.

Tommy shifted to face her, their knees touching. “Why haven’t run away? Tried to escape.”

“Run where? To who? I’m alone in this world Tommy.”

Tommy simply hummed and nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” (Y/N) asked, a sudden thought occurring to her.

Tommy cleared his throat, “Go ahead.”

“You go by Tommy, which is your nickname right?” Tommy nodded at her question, “So how much do you hate it when Stewart calls your Thomas?”

Tommy grimaced before flashing her a small grin, “I fucking hate it. My aunt is pretty much the only one to call me Thomas and she only does it when she’s mad at me.”

“Common occurrence?” (Y/N) threw a grin at Tommy, slinking into the couch, finally feeling comfortable and at ease.

“My aunt being mad at me? As common as the sun rising and setting every night” Tommy snorted causing (Y/N) laugh.

“How’s your son?” (Y/N) enquired

“Charlie? He’s good, I don’t get to see him much since I spend so much time in London.”

“You should start spending more time with him before it’s too late and if people like Stewart keeping asking you out for dinner then tell ‘em to piss off.” Her drink had certainly loosened her tongue but (Y/N) couldn’t find it in herself to care, at least not when she was with Tommy.

“I’ll be sure too.” Tommy softly smiled, “You should meet him someday?”

“Meet your son? You barely know me.” (Y/N) was surprised

“True but I trust you.”

(Y/N) stared at him in shock surprised at the sudden jump from strangers to being trusted enough to meet one’s son.

They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each others company when Tommy suddenly shifted and turned so that he was fully facing her.

“I’ll help you.” He murmured to her, his eyes staring deeply into hers.

“Help me? What do you mean?”

“Runaway. Get away from Stewart.” Tommy said to her.

(Y/N) stood up and crossed her arms defensively, “You have misunderstood Tommy.”

Tommy stood up and stalked over to her, his hands on her arms, “I’ve seen the bruises on your wrist. You don’t deserve it, let me help you (Y/N).”

“Tommy…”

Tommy leant forward and pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing against each other, “Please”

When (Y/N) didn’t move away or say anything, Tommy slowly leant his face down and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

(Y/N) briefly kissed back before she realised what was happening and stepped back,

“You should leave.” She told Tommy, avoiding his eyes.

“(Y/N)--”

“Tommy if anyone had seen us, they wouldn’t hesitate in running to Stewart and even you wouldn’t be able to help me.”

Tommy wanted to argue against her and tell her that he could but he knew it was a lost argument and he didn’t want to upset her further so he nodded his head and bid her goodnight before pushing past her and grabbing his hat and coat before leaving the Langley House.

Once Tommy had driven far away enough, he pulled over to the side of the road and slammed his hands against the steering wheel repeatedly whilst cursing himself in his head multiple times. He didn’t know what convinced him to tell her that he’d help her run away or why he’d even kissed her. He had met her only a few months ago and yet she was constantly on his mind, invading his thoughts and he wanted her away from the disgrace of a man in Stewart and with him instead, where they could be a family with Charlie and perhaps kids of their own.

[foramomentonly]

Nail In My Coffin, Part Five

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery . We can have a little unabashed Kylex BroTP with this one. As a treat.

Author’s Note: Chronologically this one is set farthest into the future. The events of Parts 1-4 and then some have already taken place. I’ll be returning to some of those in-between events with future parts. Enjoy! 

@alexxmichael So I had this queued and didn’t realize it? lol Thanks for reblogging Part Four and for your tags that helped me figure out I’m an idiot who can’t work Tumblr!

Read on AO3

Kyle sits in the large hotel dining room, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee with cinnamon—it’s no café de olla, but in a pinch—and waiting. It’s too early on an off day for most of the show’s cast and crew, and the place is nearly empty. Still, he knows Alex must be on his way. They have breakfast most days, just to spend some downtime together. They’re so hyper-focused these days on the competition and their shooting schedule and sneaking in time to keep their brand afloat that they need structured opportunities to just be bros. Kyle had even stopped by Alex’s room earlier, thinking they would ride the elevator down together, but he hadn’t answered. He could have been in the shower or sleeping soundly for once. Or he could still be with Michael. He’s probably still with Michael. Kyle smirks. This is gonna be good.

Not a minute later, he watches Alex stride into the room looking skittish, but well-rested. He raises an arm from his spot at a small two-top in the corner. It’s near the emergency exit, pressed against a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and Kyle’s taken the seat with its back to the flapping kitchen door. Alex should be comfortable. When Alex sees him he nods once and heads Kyle’s way, detouring to serve himself a cup of coffee at the beverage and pastry bar. The hotel isn’t much, but it does have a cold breakfast bar and full-service hot breakfast options. Kyle’s already ordered for them both. 

Alex slides into his seat looking shaken, gripping his coffee like it’s a life raft and he’s lost at sea. Kyle suspects this morning he kind of is.

“Good morning,” Kyle says, smiling brightly at him.

“Morning,” Alex mumbles.

“I ordered you the omelet. Mushrooms and peppers.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence. Alex is staring into his coffee like it’s a crystal ball, and Kyle can’t help but guide him along a little.

“I stopped by your room this morning,” he says lightly.

“I wasn’t there.” 

Alex states it like a fact Kyle might have somehow missed.

“So I noticed,” Kyle replies, amused.

“I slept at Michael’s.”

He seems a bit dazed by this fact. Kyle smiles mildly.

“I figured,” he says, then adds, “On purpose?”

Alex nods, and Kyle grins.

“So, you’re in love with him,” Kyle states easily, taking an admittedly smug sip of coffee. “Let’s talk about that.”

Alex looks genuinely shocked, then terrified.

“W-what?”

“Alex,” he chides, fixing him with a knowing look, “you let your guard down with this guy, you are opening up to him in ways I’ve frankly never seen you do before, and right now you look like you’re about to run off and re-enlist to avoid having this conversation with me, so, yeah. I’d say you love him.”

Alex takes a deep, steadying breath and nods, almost to himself, and Kyle smiles, holding up his mug in a salute.

“Good for you, man,” he says.

A shy, almost bashful smile plays on Alex’s lips as he takes a sip of his own coffee, which is frankly ridiculous considering the kinky shit Kyle’s overheard him practically purr into Michael’s ear over the past few weeks in broad daylight, in a fucking room full of people and cameras. But Kyle is sincerely happy for his friend, who is historically slow to trust and lightning-quick to shut down when it comes to personal—especially intimate—connection. Still, Kyle knows Alex well enough to understand that getting him to admit to a particular emotion is only the first step in a long process of convincing him to act on it.

“So, you ever gonna tell him?” Kyle teases, and Alex looks at him like he’s lost his mind. 

"I can't just tell him I love him," Alex scoffs, "who does that?"

"Uh, literally everyone," Kyle groans. "All the time. Watch this." He takes Alex's hand. "Hey, man. You're my best friend. I love you."

Alex smirks.

“Gross.”

Kyle chuckles and leans back in his seat, tossing his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture of surrender.

“Okay,” he says, “walk me through it. You tell him. He obviously reciprocates, because the phrase ‘heart eyes’ was invented to describe how Guerin looks at you.” Alex shakes his head and opens his mouth as if to deny Kyle’s words, but Kyle holds his hand up to silence him. “What unspeakable tragedy befalls you next that makes it impossible for you to go through with this very simple and possibly life-affirming thing?”

Alex arches a brow and Kyle raises his chin defiantly. If there is one way to engage Alex Manes in any conversation or task, it’s to pose it as a challenge. And Alex clearly means to accept this one.

“Well,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head saucily, “for starters, in secret is not the healthiest way to start a relationship.”

"Wow,” Kyle says, shaking his head in amusement, “So, you know everyone knows at this point, right? Designers? Models? Most of the crew?"

Alex pales.

"What?"

"Do you think you're being subtle?" he laughs. "You make eyes at each other all day long, there's got to be hours of soft-core background footage from your 'fittings' at this point, and last week you were both gone for like thirty minutes and came out of the bathroom I really needed to use looking like you just got fucked. By each other."

Alex gapes as Kyle takes a deep breath, expelling the lunacy of Alex’s statement as he exhales. A server drops off their plates and they busy themselves with napkins and silverware and passing condiments between them. Alex shakes hot sauce over his omelet slowly.

“No one cares?” he asks softly, hesitantly, and Kyle is quick to reassure him.

“No one cares,” he parrots. “It was hot gossip for a minute, and now everyone’s just kind of resigned. Occasionally annoyed.” Kyle glares at him. “I really needed the bathroom.”

Alex laughs and raises a teasing brow.

“It’s all those coffee breaks.”

“I told you, those are to protect my innocence and our friendship.”

Alex snorts but falls silent after, flipping open his omelet and toying with the diced vegetables inside. 

“So,” Kyle goads, “what else you got?”

Alex rolls his eyes, speaks so low he could be talking to himself.

“We don’t even know each other that well,” he breaths, shaking his head.

Kyle shrugs easily.

“So actually talk to him. You clearly have a connection.” Kyle’s voice goes soft as he continues, “And he might not know your middle name or whatever, but he gets you. It’s like he just knows what you need and how to support you. It’s a little creepy, to be honest.”

Alex looks downright dreamy for a brief moment, then shakes his head as though to banish frivolous thoughts.

“I need a plan,” he whines, “I can’t just go in blind.”

“This isn’t combat, Captain,” Kyle insists, but he backs off when Alex grimaces.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he says, and Alex shakes his head.

“You didn’t offend me, it’s just-” he laughs, “‘Captain’ is kind of a thing Michael calls me. When we’re, you know, doing things you’re vanilla ass couldn’t handle.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle groans, dropping his head into his hands. “No, no, no, no, no. I reject that information.”

He looks up at Alex laughing and glares at him, but his own treacherous lips are pulling into a smile. Kyle piles egg whites onto his toast and raises to his lips.

“And?” he asks, taking an exaggerated bite of his breakfast and motioning Alex to do the same. 

Alex flips his omelet closed and cuts off a piece.

“And what happens if it is just a scene for him?” His tone is light, but Kyle hears the hesitation to be vulnerable, the fear of uncertainty and loss of control and all the things his restrained, stoic friend dreads most. 

He smiles warmly, reassuringly at Alex, dropping his chin in his hand.

“Then I’ll come over with whiskey and ice cream, and you can talk about your feelings and cry on my shoulder, and then we’ll drunkenly egg his car.” 

Alex’s shoulders shake with laughter and he finally, finally spears a large hunk of omelet with his fork and devours it. Kyle grins.

“You know I got you, bro,” he teases.

“Stop,” Alex laughs.

“Wanna practice your speech on me?” Kyle continues. “Or I could read over your text before you send it.”

Alex lays his fork down and folds his arms over the table, his trademark come-to-jesus stance.  He gazes steadily at Kyle and smirks, tilting his head slightly as though amused by what he sees. Kyle is suddenly very nervous.

“You know,” he says, and Kyle swallows a mouthful of egg whites with a gulp, “I think I’d rather talk about you and Liz Ortecho. Or did you think I didn’t notice that you’re ‘coffee breaks’ are perfectly timed to hers?”

Oh, shit, Kyle thinks, this is gonna be ugly.

[damaless]

To All The Skaters I've Loved Before

Chapter Thirty-One: Second Best

Warning: The angst is still running pretty high in this chapter, and they still haven't worked things out by the end of it. If that's going to genuinely upset you then please wait for the next update, which will be soon!

But if you enjoy torturing yourself through the struggles of fictional characters, by all means, read on!

Phichit heads back to his room, leading Yuuri by the hand. Yuuri is shaking badly, and Phichit can’t really blame him. Normally, he’d lean towards confronting a person before jumping to any conclusions, but the conversation they’d overheard had sounded… pretty bad. And the fact that Victor and Chris had gone somewhere secluded to have it didn’t help at all.

He shuffles Yuuri into his room and moves inside, beelining the cupboards in search of a glass. He returns with a glass of water for Yuuri, who is standing just inside the room, looking dazed.

Yuuri takes the glass and lets Phichit guide him to sit on the bed. He blinks, and meets Phichit’s eyes. Phichit sits down beside him, close enough to lean on if that's what Yuuri wants.

“What the fuck was that, Phichit?” he whispers.

Phichit shrugs helplessly, grimacing. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not being crazy, right? This isn’t just me catastrophizing? I can’t…” Yuuri takes in a shuddering breath. “I can’t think of a good explanation.”

Phichit nudges the bottom of the glass up towards Yuuri’s face, and he takes a sip. “You’re not being crazy,” he says, quietly. “It sounded bad to me, too.”

Yuuri sips at the water mechanically.

Phichit taps a finger against his lips. “Would it help to brainstorm?” He's acted as a sounding board for Yuuri before, where an anxiety-ridden Yuuri spouts whatever ideas come to mind, no matter how outlandish or ridiculous, and Phichit tells him whether they seem reasonable or not. It can help to have access to the perspective of someone whose brain isn't behaving like his own enemy.

At the least, getting him to put everything into words usually helps keep him calm. Well, maybe not calm, but not completely falling apart.

“Was the whole thing just some… fucked up game?” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair. “Like, ‘Look at the idiot who came last at the Grand Prix Final and got shitfaced at the banquet, what sort of fun can we have with him’?”

Phichit hums skeptically. “That theory seems… less sane. That would be, like sociopath-level fuckery.”

Yuuri sighs, and nods. “What if… when I brought up the idea of a real relationship, he jumped on the opportunity to make things more convincing for Chris? And accepting— saying that we were engaged was a final attempt at getting through to him.” His face crumples. “And it worked.”

“Ehhh.” Phichit tilts his head back and forth. “That still seems a little extreme to me. Like, that's super manipulative of him, even if everything had initially come from you.”

Yuuri pulls off his glasses and swipes at his eyes. “Maybe V-Victor was just having fun living in the moment and I took everything too seriously. And he didn’t know how to let me down easy, so he just went along with it?”

Phichit nudges the water again, but Yuuri shakes his head. “I can’t — I feel like I’m going to be sick at any moment.”

He takes the water glass back from Yuuri, who wraps his arms around himself and hunches in on himself.

Phichit thinks back to the interactions he'd witnessed between Victor and Yuuri. “I don't know, Yuuri. Unless Victor is a world class actor, he really did seem to care a lot about you.” He purses his lips. “Even with what we just heard, he was saying something about trying to be fair to you. Would he do that if he was just using you as some boy toy until Chris came to his senses?”

Yuuri rests his elbows on his knees and tangles his hands into his hair. His breaths are coming in harsh gasps.

“I think this one—” Yuuri shudders, radiating misery. “This one seems like it makes actual sense. That I've just… always been second choice, second best. Maybe Chris did reject him in Beijing before I came back to the room. And he was ready to settle for me as a backup plan until—” he covers his mouth, not quite stifling a sob. “Until his first choice became an option again.”

Phichit presses his lips together. Yuuri is right. That does seem plausible.

“I'm so fucking stupid, Phichit,” Yuuri says, pressing his hands over his face. “We've only been together for real for like, a month. Obviously that wouldn't hold up against the possibility of reconciling with his partner of five years.”

Yuuri leans against him, and Phichit puts an arm around him. “Maybe he really thought he was over him,” Phichit says, gently. “Maybe he really did want to move on with you, until Chris approached him, and then he realized.”

“I really love him, Phichit,” Yuuri wails, and Phichit gives his shoulder a squeeze.

Yuuri’s whole body shakes with sobs. Phichit's heart aches for him. To have this happen after finally letting himself be vulnerable with someone… how's Yuuri ever going to get over this?

Phichit's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he maneuvers to retrieve it. It’s a DM on insta — a quick profile check shows it's Yuuri’s sister.

marikat: Victor is texting me asking if I know where Yuuri is

marikat: is he with you?

If Yuuri’s sister is worried, he should probably tell her, so she doesn’t start wondering if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.

phichit+chu: yeah, he's with me

phichit+chu: but…

phichit+chu: he's not doing super great right now

marikat: because of the competition? what happened?

Yeah… that’s a lot to explain over text. Even over the phone would be difficult.

phichit+chu: long story

phichit+chu: bottom line is i’m not sure about sending Victor this way

marikat: oh…

marikat: maybe you shoulda led with that

marikat: I kinda already told him

Shit. It won’t take long for Victor to figure out where to find them; Yuri Plisetsky had spotted him leaving his room earlier, so Victor could easily just ask him.

marikat: should I head over there? I might be a bit, I’m not at the hotel

marikat: what's your room number?

Maybe it would be good to get the insight of someone who has been living in the same house as Victor and Yuuri this whole time. Phichit’s encounters with Victor have always been brief, but Yuuri’s sister would have a connection of her own with Victor.

She might know what to say to help Yuuri. And if not— Well. It can’t hurt to have another set of willing hands available to help hide a body.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

Read from the beginning

[x-silver-x]

Coffee Shop - Seonghwa x Reader x Wooyoung

Seonghwa x Reader x Wooyoung Angst and fluff (?) 1.5K words Y/N - Your name F/C/S - Favourite coffee shop F/T/C - Favourite type of coffee F/K/C - Favourite kind of cake

Masterlist ——————— Y/N was on her way to F/C/S. She went there so often that the baristas knew her order off by heart now, and if there was a ‘Regular of the Month’ award, she would definitely win it each and every month. She loved that place, the peaceful atmosphere, the comfy seats, the scrumptious treats, and of course the exquisite coffee. In her opinion the coffee shop had the best coffee in the entire country. Everyone always flocked to more popular places, like Starbucks or Costa, but to her this place was special. This was also the place where she fell in love. Twice. [One year ago...]

His name was Seonghwa, he was a regular, just like her. He had a charming smile decorated with a black lip piercing, ghost-like skin, piercing icy blue eyes and bleached hair with dark roots barely starting to show.

Usually, when he arrived she was on her way out. They would see each other for a few short moments in the doorway and that was it.

One day when Y/N was on her way to the shop he boss called her and told her that there wasn’t that much work to do so she could have the day off is she wanted. Of course she agreed; it was a day off, who wouldn’t want one?

‘Should I order a slice of cake with my coffee? Hell yeah! I have my first day off in months, this deserves to be celebrated.’

Y/N walked up to the counter and ordered F/T/C and a slice of F/K/C.

“Cake? Y/N you never buy cake. Is it for some kind of occasion? A birthday? Anniversary?” Minseok, a barista that Y/N managed to befriend a while back, questioned.

“Why are you interrogating me?” She laughed, “My boss decided to give me a day off due to lack of work so naturally, I must celebrate.” She smiled slightly tilting her head upwards.

“Ugh luckyyy!” Minseok whined. “If only my boss was like that!” He pouted then nervously looked around to see if his boss heard what he just said.

“I thought that making coffee was your passion?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, but-” The ding of the coffee machine interrupted him. He poured the hot liquid into an elegant black cup and added some cream (ignore if you don’t like cream if your coffee). “Here you go ma’am!” He joked and passed Y/N the steaming cup with a small slice of cake next to it.

“Why thank you, good sir.” Y/N grinned in return.

She sat down at a table next to the window and began mindlessly watching the people go by while taking small sips of her drink every now and then and nibbling on her cake. This was her time to relax, no need to rush or stress about anything trivial. Just relax.

“Excuse me miss, is this seat taken?” A deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” She looked up to see the one and only Seonghwa. “I- uh- no. T-The seat’s not taken.” She stuttered out. Y/N never saw someone so beautiful, sure, she saw attractive people before but she never was so affected by someone’s looks before.

“Then it’s alright if I sit here, yeah?” He asked.

“Uh... Yeah, sure.”

From then on, the two would always meet up in the café and then go to the park, or to the movies, or the beach. However, these little dates were happening less and less as time went on and the love was starting to get one-sided.

[Time skip]

When the time came for the couples’ one-year anniversary, Y/N wanted to do something special. She asked Minseok if he could order a cake to the coffee shop with ‘Happy Anniversary’ written on it. When he agreed, she called Seonghwa to meet her in the coffee shop on Saturday 14th at 6pm. She wanted everything to be perfect, maybe, just maybe, this would re-ignite their love, she really loved him and was hoping to spend the rest of her life with him.

[Time skip 2.0]

Saturday 14th rolled around quickly. Y/N put on a beautiful navy dress, curled her hair, and put on some light makeup. She arrived a little earlier to make sure everything was okay.

“Okay, so when do I come in with the cake?” Minseok double-checked.

“Umm... I’ll show you a sign; maybe when I fix my hair?”

“Bad idea. You fix your hair too often. Just like, look over of something?”

“Okay, I’ll give to ‘the look’.” She said staring intensely into his eyes for a brief second before the two burst out laughing.

“I still can’t believe you guys lasted that long! A year is a pretty long time.” Minseok said after calming down a little.

“What is that supposed to say?” Y/N questioned.

“I- uh- nothing! Forget about what I said...” He panicked.

“Minseok-”

The doorbell sounded. Y/N ignored it since she was busy staring Minseok down, hoping he’d elaborate on what he said.

“Y/N... You might want to turn around...”

Reluctantly, she did. Her boyfriend, Seonghwa, the man she loved was guiding an unknown girl to

their

spot in the café, the exact place where they had their first real conversation, and where they later fell in love. They were smiling and laughing, they looked happy and in love. Y/N’s heart was torn apart that very moment. She could not believe her eyes. Seonghwa not only forgot about their anniversary but he also brought another girl to their special spot in the café.

“That stupid son of a bitch!! I will spit into his coffee for the rest of my days! I’ll mess up his orders and no, I will NOT apologise! Even if I get kicked out!” Minseok threatened. “I’ll bring you some cake, okay? You don’t need to pay for your coffee for the rest of the month, it’s on me, alright?” He said to Y/N in a much softer tone.

“Thank you, Minseok” Y/N sniffled, “but you really don’t have to-”

“Hush now, child. This is the least I could do for you.”

Whilst Minseok was away getting the cake and serving new customers, and Y/N was wiping her tears with a napkin, a man who looked like he’s in his early twenties sat down in front of her.

“Hey, I overheard what happened, and that so-called ‘boyfriend’ of your’s really doesn’t deserve you. You know what he does deserve though? His coffee being spat into, just like that barista said.” Y/N chuckled lightly and the man smiled. “He’s the one with the lip piercing, right?” She nodded cautiously. The man stood up.

“Wait, what are you-”

SPLASH!

“DUDE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Y/N’s ‘boyfriend’ yelled.

“That’s what you get when you leave your girlfriend on your anniversary and then waltz in with another.”

“Excuse me? You’ve been dating another girl behind my back?!” A shrill voice cut through the now quiet coffee shop.

“Rebecca, it’s not what you think!”

“I won’t hesitate, bitch.” And with that, yet another drink went to waste. The girl stormed out and Seonghwa followed soon after, unable to stand such humiliation. The café went back to its busy self and the man returned to Y/N’s table.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know...” Y/N looked up at the man, still dumbfounded at what just happened.

“You’re right, I didn’t, but I wanted to. That guy needs to learn that cheating and standing up such beautiful girls such as yourself is not okay. You’re too good for him.” Y/N blushed. Now that she thinks about it, Seonghwa rarely complemented her, if ever.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Wooyoung.” He smiled and extended his hand towards Y/N.

“I’m Y/N.” She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, and thank you for what you did back there.” A genuine smile spread across her face.

“I’m back! Sorry for the wait but I got caught up with the orders, and then my boss scolded me for talking too much and not working enough, and then I heard screams and next think I see Seonghwa is walking out completely drenched.” Minseok rambled.

“Yeah, Wooyoung over here,” Y/N gestured “sacrificed his drink to humiliate Seonghwa and then his new (ex)girlfriend joined in.” She explained.

“You, my friend, are a legend! I’ll be back with a replacement for your drink and an extra slice of cake in just a few moments.” Minseok patted Wooyoung on the back and leaned down to whispers something to him. “Treat her right or else...” Then he departed once again.

“What did he say?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Wooyoung chuckled. “Will you do me the honour of letting me be your new date?”

“Hmm... I’ll think about it,” Wooyoung held his breath. “Of course I will! How could I say no?” He exhaled, relieved.

Y/N and Wooyoung chatted the rest of the night away, discussing a variety of different topics. She realised that she enjoyed Wooyoung’s company much more than Seonghwa’s. This was merely the beginning of a marvellous love story.

———————

Hello, it’s me again! I decided to post another one of my old fanfics from Amino on here. It went through a few changes here and there but is still the same overall. I would like to remind you guys that my requests are open so if you like my writing and would like to request a fanfic/scenario/imagine/other you can just message me and I’ll try to post it as soon as I can :) P.S Did you like the little vine reference I added? I just couldn’t help myself! 

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies (1/15)

Summary: 

Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go the the Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change. 

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty's royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn't know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that. 

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness. 

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Notes: Oh My Goodness! It's Finally Here! This is my first completed work (ever) and my first story for the CSBB! This AU has been a baby of mine for a while, and this project finally gave me the push to finally get it down onto paper and out of my head. I couldn't do it on my own though, I have a HUGE thank you to give to my beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead. Without her guidance, this work wouldn't be nearly as good and composed as it is now. Thank you again for finding all of my plot gaps and inconsistencies and dealing with my, at times, horrible grammar. You have been my cheerleader since we were paired together and I couldn't have asked for a better experience. Thanks to @princesse-swan as my artist as well! I can't wait for all you lovely readers to see the wonderful art that she has put together for this story, I am blown away by it! Thanks again to the Mods for the BB, you ran a great project this year and kept me moving the entire time, even when it seemed like I was not going to be able to finish. Thanks to all the wonderful ladies on the discord chat, I will remember those late night, incoherent sprints always.

Without further ado, here is my Captain Swan Big Bang! Enjoy!

Read of FF: Link

Emma just made it into the doors of Mary Margaret’s dorm before the skies opened up and rain began to pour down from the heavens. She knew that it was supposed to rain that day, but in typical college student fashion, she decided against bringing her umbrella with her and just risk it.

Shaking her hair out from under her hat, she started to make her way up the back stairwell towards the fourth floor. David and Mary Margaret, she knew, were already waiting for her in Mary Margaret’s room for their planned study session for Ethics 104. She hated that class.

To be honest, she hated a lot of the whole, college charade that the school was putting up. That’s what this entire school was, a charade, it was a cleverly disguised prison. Schools like Greenwood were where they sent anyone who was deemed to be “different”, which was complete bullshit in her opinion. Anyone who manifested any type of power or gift, be it completely harmless to something deadly like her own powers, was sent here, or one of the dozens of other schools around the world like it.

But what made Greenwood Academy different was that it was one of seven schools in the country that had a college as part of the locked campus. Which was why Emma and her friends were currently suffering through Ethics 104 with the world's most boring professor.

Pushing past a group of students coming down the stairs, she rounded the final corner and made her way up the final flight of stairs towards the door to the fourth floor. Bright neon pages decorated the inside of the stairwell on the floor. Join KickBoxing Club, Friday nights in Fourtner Hall; Rock Climbing adventures, Starting the second weekend into Fall Semester. All of them meant to draw in the attention of the students visiting the hall, but all of them came with their own starred caveats at the bottom, “Super Strength not allowed, Students with physical powers not allowed, Must not have a power activated by physical contact to attend, NO HIGH RISK STUDENTS.” Emma sighed every time she saw them, since she was never able to go. Emma did her best to ignore the brightly colored advertisements as she walked down the hall. While they held interest as something she could possibly do besides just hanging out with her friends or in her room, she wasn’t able to participate as a high risk student.

Making a right turn down the hall, Emma arrived outside of Mary Margaret’s door and gave a quick knock. After hearing her chipper “Come in!” through the door, Emma turned the knob and dropped her bag next to the door.

“Looks like you made it here just in time Emma, it’s really coming down out there.” David commented from the middle of the notebooks and laptops scattered about the floor.

Mary Margaret was sprawled out on her bed amongst her textbooks, highlighting the middle of a paragraph in bright pink highlighter, adding to the already colourful carnage on the page.

“Definitely, considering I left my umbrella in my room this morning.” Emma commented back, shrugging out of her leather jacket and hanging it on the back of the computer desk chair that was to her left.  

Emma grabbed her notes and textbook and moved across the room to spread her stuff out on the desk next to David. Right after she got settled the door swung open again, revealing to the three of them a soaking wet Ruby Daniels.

“Looks like you weren’t the only one to have left their umbrella behind.” Mary Margaret commented dryly.

Ruby paused in the middle of the room as three sets of eyes turned to look at her, and with a small smirk as their only warning, shook out her red and brown locks like a disgruntled wet dog.

David picked up his text book off the ground and began to brush the water from the pages, “Geez Ruby, was that really necessary?”

Ruby continued to look around the room with a wolfish grin on her face, knowing that she had succeeded in getting a rise out of her friends. “True, I didn’t have to, but isn’t it more entertaining when I do?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it in her closet.

While Emma and Mary Margaret had roomed next to each other Mary Margaret’s first year at Greenwood, Ruby had stumbled upon their friend group by chance. There was one night freshman year when Mary Margaret and David had gone out and gotten trashed after a particularly hard exam week, and David had gotten lost in the woods.

Ruby just happened to be partying in the same area and overheard the distressed phone call that Mary Margaret had made to Emma back on campus, not being able to find her boyfriend. Ruby, in her wolf form, was single-handedly able to track David down in the middle of the night.

David and Mary Margaret introduced Emma the next morning, after their hangovers had lessened, and they had all quickly become fast friends. So much so that when Mary Margaret’s roommate Regina got clearance to live outside the academy, Ruby moved in the next term as her roommate.

“So does anyone understand what Professor Rodham was trying to get across on study guide question number seven?”

Emma jolted, not realizing that she had zoned out staring at her textbook.

“Nope, I am SO lost in that class in general so I have no idea.” Ruby offered from her place at her desk.

Mary Margaret slumped down into the pile of papers on her bed and sighed, “What even is this class? I don’t even know why they require us to take an ethics class.”

“Because it prepares you for ‘normal life’” Emma quipped, not looking up from the textbook that she had started leafing through.

“Yeah, but we are not normal, that’s why we came here! Why do we have to do normal people stuff anyway?!” Ruby whined.

Ruby did have a point. Since Greenwood Academy was one of a select few schools that had a college style campus on the same grounds, many people from around the country transferred into the school if they weren’t given clearance to leave and assimilate into regular society at the end of high school.

“Because you can likely graduate from here and move onto a normal job, Ruby, you weren’t forced to continue college at one of these schools,” Emma commented.

Ruby gave her a withering look. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean that we have to be forced into doing classes that have nothing to do with our major.”

“Regular colleges actually have you do that as well,” David said, deciding to join the group effort of ignoring their ethics assignment.

“You didn’t go to a regular college either, how do you know that?” Mary Margaret asked him.

“My twin is perfectly normal, so he went to a normal college. My mom wrote me once and told me all about it.” David explained. “Apparently they have these things called ‘General Education Requirements’ where you have to take a certain number of courses in other disciplines to graduate with a specific degree.”

“That blows,” Ruby commented, dismissing the explanation with a wave of her hand. “Does anyone want to order pizza?”

“So that is a no to the answer to question seven then, right?” David asked, shuffling the papers around in front of him.

“David, I say this with affection, but none of us care about this class.” Mary Margaret said from the bed, still sprawled out on top of her papers and textbooks.

“No! Emma still has my back, she cares about that class, right?” He said, giving her a look that begged her to agree.

“Sorry David, I have absolutely no concern about a course that I am not going to use for the rest of my life.” Emma said, pulling one of her favorite books out of her bag.

David sighed in defeat, turning to work on his assignment alone.

Ruby spied the book in her hands and let out a noise of exasperation. “Honestly, Emma! Are you ever going to return that book!”

Emma carefully gathered her copy of ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends and Every Thing On It’ by Shel Silverstein to her chest. The binding was slowly falling apart, and a page or two may have been haphazardly shoved back in after they fell out, but the weathered library barcode label was still affixed to the front cover, even though no plastic covering remained.

It was one of her favorite books when she was growing up, her brother read her poems from it every night before bed. And once she was off restriction after first arriving and had finally been fitted with her suppressor bracelets, they allowed her into the library the first time. She had scanned the shelves for hours, looking for something that she hadn’t already read before that she could sit down with and read for a little bit (they were still weary about letting her bring books outside of the library, even though she hadn’t shown any tendency at the time to possibly flare up  and accidentally burn a book) and had stumbled upon the copy on the end of a shelf. The size of the book didn’t fit in with any of the other shorter books and it was leaning to hold the other books in place. Pulling it off the shelf and to her chest, she began crying, missing her home and her brother with a ferocity that hurt.

One of the librarians had happened upon her not long after, curled into a ball clutching the already worn book to her chest. The woman looked down upon her kindly and comforted her to the best of her abilities, and asked her if she would like to keep the book. She had nodded, wiping the tears from her face. The woman walked her up to the front counter, wrote down some information about the book and took down Emma’s name and current room location (since Emma didn’t know her case number off the top of her head at the time) and promised her that she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

And in almost 10 years of having the book, no one had ever come to her requesting the book back.

“Maybe one day,” Emma murmured, “I’m a bit sentimental.” She looked up at Ruby as she set the book into her lap, hoping to change the conversation, “Didn’t you say something about pizza?”

“That’s right!” Ruby exclaimed, leaning back in her desk chair. “Mary Margaret, where did we put the brochure for the on campus pizza place?”

Mary Margaret, who had been ignoring the conversation and reading for a different class, started. The book she was holding above her head fell onto her face and the papers surrounding her on the bed jolted, many cascading to the floor with her ethics textbook.

David instantly moved to start gathering the papers, while Mary Margaret just sighed in defeat from under the book. “Ummm, I think it is in the top right drawer of my desk, but it could also be on the refrigerator.”

Later, after demolishing three pizzas between the 4 of them and completely abandoning the studying for their ethics exam, they were lounging on the futon and floor watching The Bachelorette.

“You know, I still don’t understand why people sign themselves up for these things,” Ruby commented, “I mean, it’s pretty pathetic looking.”

“Well, not all of us are blessed with having a good-looking, future doctor as our boyfriend.” Emma commented from her place on the floor.

“Very true,” Ruby stated, “So, when are you going to start looking for a boyfriend Emma?”

Emma choked on her popcorn for a second. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. Emma, I have known you for three years, there has to be someone that you have an interest in.” Mary Margaret chimed in. Emma looked pleadingly up at David to try and rescue her from this conversation.

David and Emma had known each other the longest out of any of the friends gathered. While her and Mary Margaret had roomed next to each other for a bit before getting to know one another, David and Emma had literally run into each other while they were heading across campus. Emma was running late for one of her intro science classes and had slammed right into David as he was exiting the science hall. They were fast friends after that. Especially because David, upon sitting down with her for a bit and getting to know her on one of her hard days, began to just step into the role of her older brother.

Emma would forever be grateful that he did that for her.

But he didn’t come through for her now.

“Emma, while I don’t necessarily condone the meddling of my girlfriend and her best friend, they do have a point.”

She sighed, closing her eyes and trying to think. Emma was lucky that she even had this many friends outside of the one or two other high risk students that she had had a conversation with during her years at the academy. Once it became public knowledge that someone was a known high risk student, many people began to avoid them.

“There have been a couple of guys…”

“AND…?” Ruby interrupted.

“They take one look at these,” Emma shook the suppressor bracelet on her left wrist under her friend’s nose, “And the attention tends to turn elsewhere.”

If someone came to the academy with what was already known to be a high risk ability, or had seriously injured or killed someone, they were immediately outfitted with custom suppression gear that nulled their powers while they were on. This prevented the students from posing a risk to themselves or anyone else on the campus.

Ruby’s nose wrinkled, “Have those always smelt like that?”

“Like what?” Emma commented. She’d gotten this pair of suppressors two years ago, after the last set died on her.

“Like death.”

“Well, they didn’t design them to be pleasant,” Emma quipped back.

“Well, not everyone-”

“Yeah, they do,” Emma said, interrupting whatever ‘hope and love speech’ Mary Margaret was about to give her, “And honestly I’m not really looking for anyone anyways. I’m going to head back to my dorm.”

“Emma, you really don’t have to go just yet,” Mary Margaret commented, seeming to try and salvage the situation. Emma just shook her head as she shoved the rest of her books and papers back into her bag, moving ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends’ to another pocket to prevent it from getting further destroyed.

“No, it is really time for me to be heading back,” Emma said, looking at the setting sun peeking out from behind the dispersing rain clouds as she tugged her rain boots back on.  

She caught David laying a placating hand on Mary Margaret’s thigh, preventing any further protest from the woman. “Thanks for the company Emma.” David said, giving her a quick wave with his other hand.

Emma reciprocated with a small quirk of her lips as she slung her bag over her shoulder and backed out the door to the room.

Taking the back stairs down the four flights to head back to her dorm on the other side of campus, Emma thought back on the end of the conversation. Sure, Emma really hadn’t invested any time in guys or relationships. But honestly, she thought, why would she? It wasn’t likely that she would ever leave the academy and the communities after she graduated, so why should she invest any kind of time in a relationship with someone who would eventually just leave her? And, considering what happened with her stepfather that caused her to come to the academy in the first place, she really didn’t feel like an actual relationship would ever be in the cards for her.

Emma passed a few students leaving the academic buildings late heading for the dorms on the other side of campus or to their cars. She enjoyed the solitude of a quiet walk across campus at the end of the day.

Feeling a bit like a little kid, she looked down at her booted feet and the puddles scattered about the sidewalk. Letting go, she just started jumping from puddle to puddle on the walk across campus. A small giggle escaped her for a moment just as she slammed into a solid chest, sending them both crashing down onto the damp sidewalk.

Emma closed her eyes and cringed, her head hitting the sidewalk.

“You know, with the way you were laughing there lass, I think you meant to run into me just then.” A distinctly British-sounding voice came from just to her right.

Emma opened her eyes just as a pair of eyes the color of the midday summer sky came into view. One hand grabbed hers, the other arm slipping into her armpit to leaver her up.

“Up we go love,” he said, steadying her a bit as he set her on her feet.

She looked down to see papers strewn about the pavement, many of them now soaking wet. “I am so sorry about that, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she commented, immediately kneeling down to start picking the papers up, feeling all too clearly his gaze on her. She tucked her hair a bit awkwardly behind her right ear under her hat.

“No need to fret about it love, I have it all on a digital drive anyway,” the stranger commented.

She really should get his name, Emma thought to herself.

“I still feel bad, I got your clothes all wet,” she said.

Her back was a bit damp now that she thought about it, along with the knees of her jeans.

Looking over at him, she noticed he was gathering papers next to her, but not necessarily with the intent of trying to salvage the damp paper. He used his left arm, which she just noticed ended at his wrist, to try and push the paper against the pavement towards his right hand.

“Well, you can make it up to me by giving me your name Love, sound like a fair trade?” He asked, flashing a grin that was all white teeth in her direction.

“Sorry, I don’t give my name to strangers,” she commented back, handing him a stack of sopping wet papers, standing as she did so.

He stood up alongside her, pushing the mass of paper into the crook of his left elbow, extending his right, gloved hand towards her.

“The name’s Killian Jones, at your service.”

Emma extended her right hand to meet his.

“Emma Swan.”

She would be lying if she said her heart didn’t skip a beat when he took her hand and smiled at her.

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

FF7: Random Bits 02

Chapter 5

[Setting - The tour is just about over, but there are a couple of surprises for both Percival, and his tour guides.]

[Location - Main Building, outside the Infirmary - An impromptu wet bar inspection was just what Percival needed after a harrowing morning being introduced to the interesting world of the new Midgar Army.]

There was nothing like a bit of alcohol to steady the nerves, Zack thought he and Cloud escorted Percival on a brief tour of the Infirmary. Percival was much more talkative now, and his seemingly perpetual anxious full-body tremor had all but disappeared. Even his eyebrows somehow seemed less...twisty.

"This is the Infirmary," Zack said as he reached for the button on the wall panel that would open the doors.

"You mean, the, uh, The Screamatorium?" Percival said in a shy, hesitant tone as his underused sense of humor made a spirited attempt at a joke.

Zack was momentarily caught off-guard by the unexpected jape, and his face split into a wide, delighted grin as he spun around with a "Aaaaayyyy! Right on, Percy!" while making finger guns.

Percival couldn't help but feel oddly pleased.

While Percival basked in the praise, Cloud inconspicuously moved away, desperately trying to give the impression to any passers-by that he was NOT associated with Zack, or his ridiculous finger guns. In fact, he didn't even know the young man with the spiky black hair who was waving at him and calling his name. 

"Hey, Cloud, Percy just made a joke!" Zack crowed, excitedly grabbing Cloud by the arm and dragging him down the hallway. Cloud fought his ELITE form's strong urge to desperately dig his claws into the wall or the floor, or even chew his own arm off to escape. He imagined himself in his own horror movie, the unsuspecting victim abruptly snatched by the monster hiding in the murky shadows, now being dragged down the blood-smeared hallway to his doom.

Zack, oblivious to Cloud's internal torment, put a friendly (and restraining) arm around Cloud's shoulders. "Get a load of this," Zack continued, "Percy just nicknamed the Infirmary 'The Screamatorium'!"

"That's great, Percival." Cloud managed, while the Inspector beamed. 

"Told you it was awesome, Percy!" Zack said in a proud tone. He gave Percy another set of finger guns.

"Stop doing that!" Cloud hissed at him, practically slapping Zack's hands down while looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen the gestural atrocity.

"Calm your tits, man, jeeze!" Zack said in a slightly hurt tone, rubbing his wrists. "They're just finger guns!"

"Never point a weapon at anyone or anything unless you intend to pull the trigger." 

"Don't worry they weren't loaded."

 "Put your finger guns away and let's get going. Percival doesn't have all day." 

"Yeah, okay, " Zack replied with mild sarcasm, "Let me just pick my hands up off the floor."

"I think one landed behind that potted plant by the closet door." Cloud countered in mock helpfulness.

Zack made a show of pretending to reattach his hands, then holster his finger guns. "There, all set!"

"You forgot to put the safety on."

"Zip it!"

"Well, if you want to put a hole in your foot, or blow your 'nonos' off..."

"They'll grow back,"

 "Not before you bleed to death."

“Good thing we're at the Infirmary!" Zack countered with an annoying grin. 

Cloud rolled his eyes and gave up. 

Thankfully, Zack kept the tour of the 'Screamatorium' brief, not entirely trusting Percival's more relaxed nerves. There wasn't much to see anyway, since hospitals were dependent on strict organization and standards. Even Cloud noticed that the Inspector wore an expression that looked suspiciously similar to boredom. 

Percival was struggling with his thoughts, wondering what was wrong with him. He had steeled himself for the chaotic scene of medical staff rushing frantically to and fro as they tried to help the injured, who littered the exam and emergency rooms, screaming in pain as they clutched broken limbs, gaping bloody wounds, or tried to keep handfuls of assorted vicera from spilling out of opened abdominal cavities, while blood flowed in runnels and pooled on the floor. What he was greeted with was a quiet lobby where a nurse was quietly checking in a 1st Class SOLDIER with mild puncture wounds to his right hand. 

Percival was horrified to realize that he was feeling strongly disappointed at the lack of chaos. The SOLDIER seemed only mildly concerned with his hand, and in fact, was more interested in getting the nurse's phone number. He could have at least had the courtesy to produce a small scream of pain! Percy thought, much to his own shock.

Zack, seeing the way Percival's face had gone a little white around the lips, misinterpreted his pinched look of distress, thinking that the sight of the SOLDIER's wounds were just a little too much for Percival's fragile sense of adventure. 

"That is pretty much it, for the Infirmary, " Zack said, steering Percival towards the exit, "We'll skip the Barracks, since they are literally just rows of beds...but they are very neatly arranged, if you do want to see them."

"I don't suppose I really need to. I mean, as long as they are properly equipped, which, judging from the rest of the building, I would assume they are."

Cloud suppressed a smile as he realized that the scarecrow-thin man was not interested at all in seeing the Barracks. 

"But you did mention earlier that you had indoor training facilities, and I...would like to see those. If it isn't too much trouble?"

"Of course not!" Zack said pleasantly, noting the sparkle of interest (and alcohol) in Percival's eyes. "They are right this way,"

"I'm not sure the Training Rooms are a good idea," Cloud whispered to Zack as they headed down the hall.

"Why not?"

"Look at him!"

Percival, two pints worth of stout percolating through his bloodstream, was trailing behind them, weaving slightly like a shopping cart with a bad wheel.

"He's fine!"

"He's drunk!"

"He's not drunk, he's just got a little buzz," Zack drawled as he pulled the Training Room door open and ushered Percival inside.

The first thing that impressed itself on Percival's inebriated brain was the size of the room. It was huge, vaulted, and one could even go so far as to say 'cavernous'. All it was missing was a dragon on a pile of gold. "It's very impressive!" Percival commented, trying to take in all the space and equipment.

"This is our large-scale VR training room," Zack explained, "We use it for running more advanced simulations involving multiple platoons, free time activities, and also as a regular gym if the weather is too severe for outdoor drills or training."

There were several 2nd Class SOLDIERs sparring over to one side with training swords, an ELITE watching over them and alternately offering advice and sarcastic comments. Zack took his group over to the same area, moving a little farther down the equipment lined wall where they would be out of the way of the sparring group.

Zack eyed Percival for a moment, then picked out a light training sword and gave it a few experimental swings. "This is our training equipment, " he said, using the sword to point to the racks of weapons. "We have a large variety of weapon types, so the men can get experience with getting stabbed with as many as possible,"

"Good heavens!" Percival squeaked, aghast.

"Just kidding!" Zack said quickly, "They are all blunt training weapons. Any stabbings that do happen are purely accidental. Only 1st Class SOLDIERs and ELITEs are allowed to spar with real weapons."

"But isn't that dangerous?"

"If they haven't learned control by the time they are ELITEs, then getting a few holes poked in them will help them learn fast. Here, try this one!"

Zack pushed the training sword into a startled Percival's hands. The inspector held it out in front of him by the pommel at arms length, as if the blade were, at any moment, going to curl up its length and bite him on the hand. His skinny arm trembled anxiously. 

"The pointy end goes into the enemy," Zack said helpfully. He took the sword from Percy, corrected his grip, and stepped back. "Relax, my dude, it's not going to hurt you," Zack said with a chuckle as Percy stood there, arms held out stiffly.

"It could if someone-!" Cloud began.

"Shut it!" Zack shot out of the corner of his mouth. "Go ahead, Percy! Give it a swing."

Percy shut his eyes and gave the sword a reluctant shake.

"Not bad," Zack said, "Try giving it a swing now. Pretend you are trying to staple an unruly stack of papers!"

Percy moved the sword with a bit more force this time, the motion actually qualifying as swing. 

"Goodness!" Percy exclaimed, a flush coloring his face. A spark glittered in his eyes and he gave the sword another experimental swing. Long-dormant emotions were beginning to turn over in their sleep...

"Great job! Try this," Zack began taking Percival through several simple moves, while a few of the 2nd Class SOLDIERs drifted over to watch. They smirked at the whip-thin Inspector who was playing at being a SOLDIER. 

Cloud noticed the derisive sneers. Zack had intentionally brought Percy to the Training Room, and had picked out a sword that was the perfect type for Percy. While some would have put it down to Zack just having an eye for weapons, Cloud knew that Zack had seen something in this seemingly innocuous looking man. One of the first things even Cadets learned was not to judge by appearances. These 2nd Classes could do with a good reminder.

"Brooks, front and center!" Cloud called, pointing at a raven haired 2nd Class who was sniggering the loudest.

The startled SOLDIER hurried over, saluting nervously.

"You can be the Inspector's sparring partner. He's learning a few basic moves, and it always helps to have a real dummy...er, partner to practice with."

"That sounds like a great idea!" Zack agreed, having noticed the sneers and overheard the whispered comments as well. There wasn't much that made it past a wolf's ears unheard.

"Oh, goodness, I don't think-!" Percy began to object.

"Nonsense," Zack said quickly. "You're doing great. The best way to put theory into practice is with a sparring partner. Don't worry, Percy, Brooks knows how to spar," he gave Brooks a hard look that was part warning, part threat "and won't try any fancy moves."

The two reluctant opponents began circling each other, clashing hesitantly, in Percy's case, while Cloud and Zack stood by with shouts of encouragement and instruction. Brooks, who looked like he wanted to slice Percival in half and whiz on the pieces, brought his sword up under Percy's, trying to catch the sword under the cross guard and flip it out of his hands, but Percy twisted his wrist and the blades met with a clash.

Brooks pressed forward, shoving Percy back and followed him as he retreated, blocking the blows purely out of desperation. The tip of Brooks' blade snagged one of the buttons on Percival's suit jacket, slicing the threads. Percival stared mutely as the plastic disk fell to the mat and lay forlornly, the few remaining threads in the holes laying askew like the limbs of a fallen warrior. His jacket hung open unevenly.

Percy felt something deep down in his soul, as his inner caveman stood up and, for the first time, hefted his hunting spear.  A white-hot jolt streaked up to his brain and sparked, igniting a primeval thrill that burst out of Percy in the form of primal scream that rocked the Training Room. 

Percy suddenly exploded into action, screaming like jagged steel on concrete, his training sword flashing in a storm of strikes that had Brooks backpedaling in a circle as he tried to process what was happening.

"YES!" Zack howled in excitement, throwing a fist into the air, "YES!"

Percy, eyebrows writhing like angry snakes as he roared like the wrath of the gods, continued his assault. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in ferocity and tenacity. Brooks  tried to fight back, but was barely managing to block. The barrage of blows ceased suddenly as Percival abruptly turned, threw down his sword, and ran in the opposite direction, screaming. Brooks turned, thinking the match was over only to see Percy leap out from amongst the weapons racks, still roaring, but now holding two swords.

"Oh, shi-!" Zack began before devolving into shrieking laughter. Brooks could do little but run around the mats, Percy following him like an angry bantam rooster. No one could have guessed that there was so much strength in that skinny frame. Brooks found himself on the ground, with two swords pointed at his throat, gazing into two eyes that burned like gimlets, and two eyebrows that were bristling like angry cats. 

"Good job, Percy! Let's let him get back to his platoon." Cloud called.

Percy, blinked, the red battle haze fading as he heard the familiar voice calling him. He looked at the SOLDIER on the ground at his feet, and yanked his swords away from his throat. Cloud took the swords from Percy's hands as Zack, grinning from ear to ear, gave him a congratulatory slap on the back that almost sent him tumbling to the ground. 

"You did great, Percy!"

"I did?"

"You're a natural! How do you feel?" 

"I feel...wonderful. Invigorated. Like I could, I don't know, shove a staple through an entire ream of paper. And not care if it went in straight or not!"

Zack just grinned and patted Percival's shoulder as Cloud helped the humbled Brooks to his feet and dismissed him back to his platoon.

"Let's go back out to the Training Field, " Zack said as they left the cavernous training room. 

"You mean the 'Plain of Pain'." Percival corrected him.

"Right!" Zack laughed, resisting the urge to do finger guns so Cloud wouldn't die of embarrassment. 

"Are we going to inspect The Course" Percival asked in a hopeful tone.

"No, sorry," Zack apologized, while Percy deflated in disappointment, "But, since you did so well sparring, you can see Cloud's half-form!"

Percy perked up, curiosity showing clearly on his face.

Cloud, giving Zack that carefully blank expression he used when he was angry, irritated, or uncomfortable in public Shifted reluctantly to his half-form. 

Where Zack had a wolf's ears and tail, Cloud had strange ears that reminded Percy of a bull's ears. They were white with fine, soft hair with ragged edges, and tipped in black. Where Zack's wolf ears were perched on top of his head, Cloud's were on the sides. He had a long, white whip-like tail that ended in a blonde plume. His weight was balanced on the balls of his strange white feet. The closest thing Percival's brain could compare them to were monkey or lizard feet, with a little rat thrown in for good measure. Something about this half-form reminded Percival of something else, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. 

"Do you have wings?"

Cloud's summoned his wings. They were black and leathery with a mottled white edge, and each of the wings' five digit bones ended in a large white feather 'finger'.

"Fascinating!" Percival said, "What kind of animal are you?"

Cloud looked at Zack, uncomfortable with all the attention. 

"Don't be shy," Zack said, "Just show him. He's earned it."

Cloud sighed, and Shifted to his ELITE form.

Percival found himself facing what looked very similar to the dragons the Wutai people favored in all of their artwork. Cloud's head darted down on its long neck, long 'mustaches' at the sides of his snout brushing curiously at the inspector's jacket. 

Percival's eyebrows shot up like rockets, actually left his forehead, shooting up a good ten feet into the air. Cloud pulled his head back with a startled goose-shriek and Shifted back to his human form.

Zack and Cloud glanced at each other and then at the inspector's eyebrows as they fluttered down to the ground like brown leaves. Cloud stepped away, leaving Zack standing all alone with the fallen facial features. He had dealt with a lot of strange, wacky, and down right disturbing things in his life, and today he was drawing the line at wiggly eyebrows.

"Uh, here, let me help you with those," Zack said as Percy patted his brow forlornly. 

Zack stooped and gingerly picked up the eyebrows, "Happens often, does it?" he asked as he regarded the scraps of hair resting on his palm.

"Only when I get really startled,"

"Maybe you should see a doctor?" Cloud suggested, standing as far from the eyebrows as he could get without being rude while Zack tried to help put the facial hair back where it belonged. It was proving troublesome due to the fact that the eyebrows seemed to have developed sentience.

"I go once a year," Percy said, "Ever since they were transplanted. Come to think of it, they never did tell me what they were grown from..."

They wiggled and waved around like fluffy caterpillars as Zack struggled to reapply them to Percy's forehead. 

"Here...just--hold on...come on little guy..."

"I think that one goes on the left," Cloud said.

"Right," Zack replied.

"No, left."

"Right, you said that."

"No, I said left!"

"Rigth!"

"No, it's left!"

The eyebrows stated waving frantically, twitching and writhing in agitation.

"Now you've gone and upset them!" Cloud chided.

"I upset them--?" Zack began defensively, until the eyebrows started flapping more strongly.

"Shhhhhh! Shhh-shhh! I'm sorry!" Zack said quickly, carefully stroking the eyebrows with his fingertips, "Uncle Zack didn't mean it. It's okay, guys. There, there!"

It seemed to work, the eyebrows relaxing to lay docilely back over Zack's palm.

"Good boys," he said, pleased, "How about you jump back up on your Dad's face for me?"

The fluffy strips of hair hopped back on to Percival's brow, settling down in their proper places. Zack later swore that he'd heard a quiet purring sound.

"Oh, my! Thank you!" Percival sighed, relieved. "You do seem to have a way with them,"

Zack couldn't really think of anything to say aside from "It's all in how you talk to them, I guess."

"Yes. Well, thank you for accompanying me on the inspection, gentlemen," Percy said, shaking hands with each of them. "I believe that this was the most enjoyable inspection I have ever done."

"Glad to hear it!" Zack said with a smile as they walked Percy to his car. "Give the President our regards."

"I most certainly will, and if he has any questions, I will be sure to direct his attention to Rule Number One."

"You do that, Percy," Zack said with a chuckle, "He'll understand."

They watched Percy's car until disappeared around the corner. 

"Rufus is going to be...upset, you know." Cloud said after a few moments.

"What's he gonna do, fire us? He works for us, remember?" Zack said, lightly jostling Cloud's ribs and waggling his eyebrows at him.

"Don't do that!" 

"Do what? This?" Zack wiggled his eyebrows again.

"Yes, that!"

"Yes, do that? Okay!"

"Stooooop!"

Zack laughed and kept wiggling his eyebrows all the way back to the Main Building.

End.