#okay maybe going 'thesis statement' a bit too soon but like

[umarthiels]

All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there’s naught beyond. But ’tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him.

this is IT. quest thesis statement. and SO endlessly fascinating! we finally see what drives this quest, and yes, it's vengeance, but it's also so much bigger. ahab is attempting to break out of plato's cave, lashing out against the inscrutable malice of the world, by killing that accursed fucking whale. ahab is going to fight god.

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 4

(minor friendly chapter)

pairing : law student! Reader + yuta

Genre : angst, mafia au/arranged marriage au

Warnings : none.

Words : 5k

Summary:

"life's never fair y/n. Realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life."

Or

"curiosity got the cat hitched"

K.m masterlist

A/n : this series is totally minor friendly now. ✨

Previous morning in Taeyong’s office

“What was that for!” taeyong questioned jaehyun, clearly annoyed by his previous hostile mannerisms towards you. Jaehyun was on the receiving end of taeyong’s infuriation immediately after you departed from his office with doyoung.

“What!?” Jaehyun tried to act oblivious to Taeyong's accusations.

“Why were you trying to scare her? Escort ring! For fucks sake Jae, I expected better from you.”

“But it wasn’t a dead loss. And even you went along in the same wagon, so don’t put everything on me alone.” Jaehyun justified himself by shrugging his shoulders lightly. “And admit it! She was giving you a hard time. That bitch was not buying anything!

Taeyong knew jaehyun was right. Your unsatisfied replies and never ending enquiries were exasperating him, but he would rather preserve his precious ego than admitting that to jaehyun.

He ruffled his well-made hair before replying to Jaehyun, who was expecting some gratitude with a smug face.

“I-- just be careful and refrain from doing and saying anything that might put a dent in my plan. It’s a chance Neo would never get again. So be patient and don’t go around opening your mouth about this to anyone.” jaehyun reluctantly nodded,not hearing what he wanted but his affirmation calmed taeyong’s nerves. He couldn’t trust jaehyun entirely but his options were limited.

All the pieces were in the right place, for now. Nothing could go south right!

But jaehyun couldn’t completely understand the rationale behind Taeyong’s design.

and nor could the figure standing outside, completely hidden from the insiders.

The dread of the forthcoming finals substantiated the shortage of vacant seats in the kwanjeong library. You tried your best to arrive as expeditiously as possible for a person who partied, got abducted, arranged her own marriage, and again partied in grief, all in spam of about 34 hours. Finding no available seat, you decided to settle down on the floor. You gulped your cup of Americano in one go and began with the donut. As per a wise saying, Caffeine and sugar were the best combination as a breakfast for someone trying to get through their day with only 4 hours of sleep, the intellect being none other than your own self!

Yesterday was a pretty long day. Though you were worn out from the adventures with wonwoo last night, your brain wasn’t exhausted enough to shut down properly when you tried to close your eyes.The flashes of the events had shrouded you with a mixture of regrets and worries. What was the guarantee that you won’t end up dead tomorrow! What if taeyong was lying! But the fact regarding moon industries was absolutely legible. Maybe you should get a restraining order or something! But the existence of a person is necessary for that and yuta was a fucking corporate in the public eye and you were sure taeyong held some powerful position in the rich hierarchy as well, otherwise, covering the shits without revealing their true identities was not the job of some measly gang leader. There was more to taeyong than what someone could perceive just by looking. Will you be considered one of them now! After the little stunt that landed you straight into yuta’s life, you weren’t sure that he’d not strangle you in sleep. And What were you going to say to them? Chelin, yeom, guk, yeong.

and your thoughts spiralled from taeyong,yuta towards chelin and your friends and didn’t rest anytime before 4a.m. Waking up at 8 sharp , you took a shower and made your way towards the library.

And now you were here. 2 students passed your figure indicating that there were 2 vacant seats. Finally, after 15 minutes. They might have been the overnight students, you thought and walked inside before anyone else could claim the treasure. You had to find a new topic of thesis and do some research for an international paper your professor was writing, and you being his designated so-called subordinate had to help him, involuntarily of course. But in this world, the student who could refuse their professor’s demands was yet to be born! Marking the place by placing your bag, you started the search for last month’ law journals and digests. One and a half hours passed, but you couldn’t find anything on the international court of justice i.e. what your professor hadn’t already included. The urge to go out was profusely weighed down by your own sentiment of avoiding your friends. So you decided in favour of swallowing the bitter pill.

5 hours passed. The vibration of the timer in your phone prompted you to run off and get some food. It was already 2:30 and the lack of real food was making the tasks harder than they already were. Stepping outside into fresh air, instant regret of not bringing an umbrella washed over you. The sun was too bright unlike your mood and walking all the way to your favourite canteen would end up in you getting another headache. But you silently wished that every being from yesterday’s party was suffering from the same treatment of the over-the-top optimistic planet. why to suffer alone!

“Shortie” you lifted your head, spotting the combo of buy 1 get 1 free, heading your way.

“Where were you the whole day? And if you aren’t going to pick calls then please do that poor thing a favour and sell it!” yugyeom barked while running his hand through his hair.

You shrugged jungkook’s elbow from your shoulder and replied “I was busy with prof. Joong’s work. And I have to be somewhere after 4 so I was a bit-

“Joong should adopt you already man!” Jungkook interrupted, nudging your sides with his fingers.

“ but I thought he wanted to be her sugar daddy!” At that gyeom gave a serious and stern look to kook, pretending to ponder over his statement for a second and then suddenly they both started laughing, hands hitting you everywhere to support their doubling figures.

“Get away from me, idiots!” you shouted, trying to get away from them. Once they were done with showing their exaggerated emotions, you all giggled together in unison. they were wearing their fundraiser t-shirts, you noticed.

“When is the fundraiser?”

“At 5. But you won’t be there to support us cause you are busy with your daddy!” kook exclaimed while bumping your shoulder with his arm.

“I didn’t say I’m going for Joong’s work and no, he’s not my sugar daddy, doofus. I’m busy with tutoring. I missed someone’s Saturday class so—

“Okay, chill tiger. You need to breathe. It’s a boring event anyway.” gyeom said in a comforting tone, interjecting your rapid fire speech.

“I’m gonna have lunch, are you two going?” you suggested.

“Yeah, it’s our break and Yeong and Minjun have eaten already, so that leaves you!” kook pouted when gyeom mentioned his boyfriend’s name.

“Let’s go! I want my sugar” your dramatic pout made yugyeom pet your hair lovingly and the three of you started walking on a stone pathway on the way to the canteen.

“Where’s your umbrella?” jungkook asked you. He knew how much you hated walking under the sun after the drinking escapades.

“I forgot but let’s not talk about it. it’s making me grumpy.”

“Okay! but why don’t you cover your head with that scarf instead.” he said pointing towards the silky material around your neck.

“Naahh, it ruins my fashion” they gave each other a puzzled look, shrugging their shoulders for they both couldn’t gather the reason for your weird behaviour.

At lunch, you talked to them about the fundraiser and gave your own contribution for the noble cause. The conversation with them progressed too easily and for about an hour you forgot about the turmoil in your life, which was still unknown to them.

After parting away, you went straight to your professor to show him your progress. He took note of the materials you found on recent cases and dismissed you without showing any gratitude. Not even a word of appreciation.

A ping!

Jaemin: noona, doyoung hyung is picking you up at 4 but he won’t enter the campus. Be out at 4!

You let out a frustrated groan at his text. You had only met him once, when he conferred upon you the honour of connecting your phone to his server but that was not the only favour you received! He also saved his contact number with various hearts that you obviously removed after reaching home. you could only pray to heavens that he won’t be there today as well!

You made your way to the library again, this time to work on your thesis. The time passed faster than you thought. The alarm you placed earlier vibrated, indicating it was 4 already! You hastily made your bag and ran out of the library. It took 10 minutes to reach the gates of the campus. When you passed your dorms building, the idea of ditching doyoung and going to bed sounded tempting but as usual, nothing was going your way these days. You felt like the old catch 22 was in action.

You passed through the gates and looked around the road to find doyoung's car but he was nowhere to be seen. While you were scanning the whole area, a low voice called your attention.

“What are you finding, I’m right here under your nose” a voice said through gritted teeth.

Yes, he was indeed sitting in the car right in front of you and the only one you missed apparently. You walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat, the tinted windows hiding you from the outside funfair.

“What took you so long? It's 4:15 already.”

“I don’t have a car like you so I walked myself here and it’s not like I did it purposely anyway.” You contended, the annoyance in your voice matching his own.

“Whatever, we are already late so turn around. Taeyong would be mad.”

“No I’m not turning around. First that cloth bag, then the handkerchief you tied on my eyes yesterday, its painful man. I’ll lose my eyesight this way. And I can navigate the whole city from this place, you can’t hide your dungeon from me now” you reasoned. He didn’t tie your hands yesterday but your eyes were still covered.

“Then give me your scarf. I’ll cover your eyes with your own choice of article. It’s not painful or else you won’t be wearing it right! he said mockingly, pointing towards your neck.

“Umm, this scarf is act-

“Give me that already. I have some other things to handle as well.” assessing your options, you hesitantly removed the scarf, turning around to face the window immediately. Doyoung tied it across your eyes, checking the knot twice and tapped your shoulder. As you turned around, doyoung’s doe eyes widened, if that was even possible. Your collarbone and neck, which was visible through your v neck top, was covered with pretty purplish bruises. You fidgeted with your hands, flustered, feeling his eyes on you. But he remained quiet, focusing on the task at hand.

The whole drive was quiet and though your hands were not tied, you kept them on your backpack, hesitant to start any conversation. The car stopped finally, the mixed feelings coming back. The same process followed. He guided you inside but this time you passed only one door and the walk was quite shorter as well.

As doyoung was about to remove your scarf, a hand stopped him, or that was what you understood from the movements at that time.

“Silky scarf, blindfold and hickies haan! Being kinky doyoungie. She’s your sister-in-law. Show some respect boy!” a voice remarked, the air around your face suddenly filled with chocolate and coffee. You hiccupped all of a sudden, earning a chuckle from the unknown presence.

You tried to reach for the blindfold, but your hands were caught mid-air, the said hands removing it. You blinked your eyes a few times to make out the figure’s face. He was standing, mostly bending to match your stature, face smiling to show all of his teeth.

Yuta.

You, surprised, took a step back but instead bumped into the one behind you.

“I’ll take over from here, doyoung.” but fortunately, he didn’t budge. Your hold on the backpack tightened, your eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. The only thing in your view were his baggy pants and white sports shoes.

But yuta could see only you and nothing else. Taeyong wasn’t the only one awaiting your arrival. Yuta was equally anticipating you. His night was just as sleepless and anxious as you. He was afterall at the other end of the rope.

He raised your head, fingertips lightly grazing your chin. His hooded eyes roamed around your face like he was expecting you to show some contempt , hatred,nervousness! He straightened up abruptly and started tying the silk around your neck. You flinched at his touch but he remained void of any reaction. His half denim jacket and white t-shirt hid you from the surroundings, his arms almost engulfing you. He repositioned himself to match your height again, arms crossing against his chest.

“Looks like someone had a fun night.” and in a second, his honey smile changed into a smirk, letting go of any trace of earlier softer expressions. And the look on his face was enough to scare the shit out of anyone.

“Stop yuta” a taller man you recognised from yesterday as Johnny, pushed yuta aside from your view. It was then you saw that everyone was there. Including the one you were yet to encounter.

Your eyes wandered from one side to the other. Johnny let you inspect.

“Doyoung, what was the need to cover her eyes?” Johnny whispered to doyoung, breaking your trance.

“Why is everyone nagging me so much” he whined in a screeching voice.

“Karma bitch” Johnny pointed his forefinger towards him before giving his attention to you.

“Hey, how are you y/n.” he asked, his cheerful voice totally in contrast with the weather of the room.

“I’m- ummm.” you cleared your throat before continuing. “I’m fine Johnny. As fine I can be.” you mumbled the last part but he surely heard you.

“You remembered my name!” he clapped, his eyes turning into crescents. You gave him a tight lipped smile in return, waiting for some instructions. As if on cue, taeyong’s loud voice graced your ears.

“Come y/n. make yourself comfortable” he indicated towards the couches that were almost already occupied. Johnny gestured to you to proceed, walking with you. You passed yuta who was still smirking and sat on the single seat available next to taeyong. You placed your backpack on the large table in the middle of the room. It looked like a normal living room for guests, just with too many couches to accommodate the gang. You felt like an uninvited because apparently everybody was watching you like a hawk. Their stares changed sight only when yuta came to take a seat on one of the couches, exactly opposite to yours. You met his eyes briefly before turning your face towards your bag again.

Who knew the rusty zips of your bag were so interesting!

“So y/n I thought you should meet everyone. You are going to be part of this family soon. Better get acquainted with all.” taeyong addressed you while he sat on his couch majestically like a king. You heard a dry laugh and if you had to guess it had to be from jaehyun or yuta.

You didn’t understand why he wanted that. You were just a risk till yesterday and now means to discipline yuta.

And why all the formalities if you were gonna leave anyway.

“I’m going to leave anyway, taeyong. So I don’t see a need to do it!

You were too consumed to notice how your sentence turned all the heads around you. Some started giving side eyes to each other. There was something they were all missing.

“I said you could leave. But not without my permission. So, you’d be stuck for now, maybe till months or years.”

You gulped at his words. Taeyong turned your only hope into a distant dream. Maybe you were too foolish to gauge the situation.

“You want something to eat or drink before we continue” he asked in a sincere voice. Shaking your head, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to stop them from moistening. There was nothing more embarrassing than to cry in front of a bunch of strangers who didn’t give a shit about you.

“No, please continue.” you emphasised again to not draw any more attention to yourself than already was. And you internally thanked Taeyong who continued as if you weren’t just gonna cry!

“You will move in with yuta on Saturday,” it was Monday. “The wedding ceremony would be held in the morning. So you have a few days to prepare, everything from your dress to every other thing you need shall be arranged. Just name it and you’ll have it!”

Wedding ceremony! That was not on the plate!

“I don’t want a cerem-

“Leave the bullshit ta-

You and yuta both cut off each other simultaneously. You glanced at his side, finding him already piercing his gaze into yours.

“There’s no need for it. The paper signing is enough. It’s not like we are in-

You knew taeyong understood what you were trying to say, so you didn’t continue. But you were already having a feeling of superiority over yuta for being the first to offer your opinion. It felt like a payback for flustering you earlier. You refrained from facing him again, your body turned towards taeyong only, but you felt satisfied with the thought of him being riled up.

“Oh, but I want a ceremony taeyong and mark is going to be the best man. He’s so excited. You can’t do that to him!” yuta emphasised through the variation in his voice. You knew he changed his argument purposely , but you maintain your cool, opting to ignore him . bear and forbear.

Taeyong raised his eyebrow at you but you shook your head again.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea. It’s not a normal one anyway so why pretend!” you held your ground.

“You aren’t getting married to a mannequin.” yuta retracted. “I’m getting married as well and don’t anyone dare say that I made a mistake and blah blah. At last I’ll be hitching so I want a ceremony and Japanese at that!”

Oh yeah, he was Japanese. You have missed that as well.

All the other men in the room, 9 to be exact, were nodding at everything that was being said. They were unable to decide whose argument was worth taking side for. Finally Johnny spoke-

“I think y/n is right” looking at nowhere in particular, he continued. “What’s with pomp and show when it’s nothing more than an agreement”

“But if yuta hyung wants it, then why not. They are going to live together, he should have his say as well.” It was Mark who took yuta’s side. He didn’t know why but watching yuta losing ground urged him to support his brother.

You looked briefly at the boy who just argued with Johnny.

“He’s mark y/n.” taeyong said the answer you were looking for. “And he’s Jungwoo, jeno, doyoung, you have already met him, then jaehyun, johnny, renjunie, hendery. Others are busy so you’ll meet them some other day probably.”

A few waved towards you, including Mark, who shyly withdrew his hand quickly. They all probably hated you as there was no other reaction towards a person who almost put your life in danger!

“Can we get to a middle ground now? I’m already getting tired of this” jaehyun grumbled, leaning into the couch.

“Ok so, he wants a celebration of a lie! What about me then? You are all here but I have no one. I’m alone and probably will be. Because taeyong, you haven’t told me how am I going to reveal this to my friends? I may not have a family, but still there are people close to me. They are my best friends, roommate, and many others who need to know! How am I going to explain to them that their friend who didn’t even have a boyfriend, is getting married suddenly? I don’t even have parents to cover it with an arranged marriage. How to convince them? Give me a way and I’ll agree” you pointed out the very important detail that they were missing. But they needed to know that there was other side of the paper as well and your reasons were not just a cry in the wilderness.

Nobody made a sound. Everything went quite like a dark night until-

“I hope this is not the calm before a storm!” you looked over to see the person who broke the silence. It was another young man coming with a food trolley, probably from the kitchen.

“I thought we have a guest so I prepared some coffee and donuts. I hope you like sweets y/n” the man was smiling ear to ear, seeming too happy with your visit.

“I-

“I’m kun.” he introduced himself and you shook his hand. He seemed too polite for a criminal. “Have this and tell me how it is” he forcibly handed you a dessert plate with a chocolate glazed donut. You took it out of politeness but felt a bit weird to be the only one eating it. You watched him with quizzical eyes as he took one for himself and sat on the arm of your couch. Everyone was now staring at your movements.

“Eat it, eat it. These are for you and me only.” he cajoled.

You decided to take a bite and then place it back just to stop the awkwardness.

As you bit it from one side, your brain short circuited. “Holy shit, bro. What is this sorcery.” your genuine and innocent reaction made Kun laugh loudly, some of the others joined in as well.

“Thank god, you like it! I’m so glad you aren’t one of weight conscious ones, otherwise it’d have been weird.” he started munching on his own piece.

“I’m a sugar bear. I can’t live without sugar. I just had a donut in the morning but it was bleh compared to this. You are a master chef bro.” and for a minute you forgot the previous tense environment. Everyone was glad that Kun came to save the situation and except to you, it was known that obviously he heard everything from the kitchen.

“You ate one in the morning! Then it’s the last one you’re getting. Everyone help yourself. She’s not having any more!” as if they were waiting, everyone except mark and yuta picked them up.

“Mark” Kun motioned towards the tray and he grabbed one as well.

“What if I was allergic to chocolate, kun” you asked him while finishing your treat.

“Oh please! Even ten eats it.” he laughed to himself at his reference, which went over your head.

“Now coming to the point.” Everyone looked at taeyong who was already done with eating. “Y/n doesn’t want anything special so it’ll happen like that. No!yuta, lemma speak. And you y/n, it’s upon you to make your friends believe. Make up a story or do whatever you want. You don’t want to tell them about the wedding. Fine with me but do let them know at least that you have a boyfriend that you are moving in with! It’s on you both to make this arrangement believable.

“okay , sho now I shuggenly hab a voyfiend” you started speaking without even finishing the bite in your mouth. you continued once you chewed it.

“won't they be suspicious. They know exactly what I do and what I don’t. It’s almost impossible to put a façade in front of them.”

“Oh please, don’t tell me they even know from where you got those hickies” jaehyun’s curt statement was a hit below the belt. Kun was about to scold him when you elaborated his statement further to prove that he was doing nothing but burning his own fingers.

“Yes, actually they happen to know. When, where and from whom I got these. Anything else you want to ask?.” he rolled his eyes on your reply, busing himself with the delicacy instead.

“They don’t know yuta. So if you want you can introduce him to your people. He won’t be posing any problem, take my word for it.”

“I’ll go with you if you also accompany me,that I guess would be a problem for you. You don’t want to be seen with a criminal, or do you!” yuta jabbered. He was trying to push your buttons to measure your limit. But little did he know that you were far from being that easy.

“I just said I don’t want a wedding. I’ll agree to anything that is reasonable and is not degrading to me.”

“Ok then, nobody would force you to do what you don’t want.” Taeyong decided to take matters into his own hands now. “And we’ll organise a small, very intimate gathering at taeil’s office to celebrate as yuta wants. And you’ll be introduced as Mrs. Nakamoto to our corporate world.” taeyong finished gauging both of your reactions. The surname was foreign and cringing to you. But it was going to be yours, so there was nothing you could do, for now.

“What do you mean ‘our’ corporate world.” you got puzzled at his choice of words.

“You’ll find out soon and it's nothing scary, don’t worry.” Kun responded on behalf of taeyong this time, handing you your cup of coffee. “Tell me if it’s cold, I’ll-

“No it’s totally fine.” you assured him, without even taking a sip. He was being nice enough already.

“If my opinion has no value, then what am I even doing here!” yuta shouted, getting up from the seat.

“yut-

Before Kun could say anything, he stormed off. Mark tried to follow but taeyong stopped him from doing that.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a hot head.” Johnny laughed in between his bites.

You only nodded, sipping your coffee. You were glad he was gone. Sugar has always done wonders for you and it was having the same effects now as well. You were able to think more rationally now.

“One more thing” you furrowed your brows at taeyong. What was left now! “Do you want any specifications in the house? It’s my responsibility. A wedding gift you can say. If you need anything like extra closet, a more spacious kitchen-

“Kitchen?” you let out a brief chuckle at that. Everyone’s eyes were on you now. “It’ll be totally fine if I don’t even get a kitchen. I can’t cook anything besides ramyeon and salads. So I won’t even need that.”

“You are a student. Don’t you know anything basic.” It was Jungwoo who spoke in the sweeter voice than Kun's.

“No. I grew up in an orphanage and they provided us everything. I left when I started law. So all in all, I never had anyone to teach me. That’s why if you want to know best food trucks and restaurants in the city, I’m your best option.but, if that yuta knows how to cook, ask him about the kitchen.” you spoke nonchalantly .But you didn’t realise how uncomfortable the air had become. a heavy silence took over the light atmosphere.

“I’m sorry noona” Jungwoo apologised sheepishly.

“It’s fine. After all there are some things that your hacker can’t find out. only I can tell you those.” saying that, you faced taeyong again. “But if you insist, I can always use a study room.” you tried to enlighten the mood again.,ppp

“Ok. I’ll find something suitable for you both.” you hummed, not knowing what to say anymore.

“Can I go back now?”

“Yes, doyoung will drop you.”

“No, I’ll go with her.” Johnny said, grabbing your attention. He didn’t look sulky like doyoung so, it’d be fine, you guess.

They said you goodbyes. Mark seemed hesitant to even look at you, but you couldn’t care less. He was just a stranger after all.

Yuta couldn’t realise why everyone was trying to be so nice to you. Till yesterday, he was allowed to put a gun on her head but now every being was against him. He didn’t know why he was so furious at Taeyong, to force him to marry you or for dragging Mark into this mess. Taeyong knew how to play dirty, but yuta never thought he’d use his own brother. There was no option for him as well, as taeyong has said. He showed interest in a fucking celebration to contradict you, but you were not backing down and that felt like a punch to his gut.

He drove towards his stress reliever. The infamous Japanese club, the only place where he could drown his sorrows.

The club was packed despite it being Monday. That was one thing he liked about it, you’ll never be disappointed in this place.

“ゆた!” The hostess chimed seeing yuta. “久しぶり” [ long time, no see!]

He signed her to give him 2 shots. She did as told but her gaze was following yuta’s, which rested on her cleavage. He came here only for 2 things after all.

He gulped the drink in a second without blinking an eye.

“バックルーム” [ back room]

She wasn’t someone to be told twice. She handed her hand towel to her co-worker and followed the path. Who was she to reject him after all?

He drove back silently again. The relief he felt was all dissipated now. Instead his mind was already wandering towards you. Your headstrong attitude was troubling him. his plans were all down and out. He hated you , from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You acted like you were invincible but he knew it was just a mask to protect yourself.

He had noticed how you rubbed your eyes to hide your disappointment for you didn’t want to appear weak. All he had to do now was to find a vulnerable part of you, to hit you where it’d hurt the most. It’d be last time he lost to you.

Afterall, beginning is always easy, it is continuing that’s hard!

[word-scribbless]

Smile Again Part 10

It’s a long one but one of my favorites!

Masterlist | Smile Again Masterlist

Things get a little angsts! But lots of cute too

——————————

About 2 weeks after Y/N and Aaron’s first date the team caught a local case that baffled them all. The Unsub was killing women and leaving notes on their bodies. He was also sending threats to their families. The interesting thing was he was using several languages at once to create a whole new language to write them in. Some of the languages, not even Reid knew and reworking the whole thing would take a very long time.

“Reid can you make any of this out?” Emily said looking at a letter the unsub left at the scene.

“I’m good but I’m not that good, I could work on decoding it but it’ll take me a hours to even figure out the languages used.” He replied.

“We need you in the field, and we don’t have hours.” Hotch said. He knew Reid could do it, but they couldn’t be a man down.

“It’s local, there are tons of colleges around maybe we can find an expert to assist Reid and figure this out.” Morgan added.

“Reid do you know anyone?” Rossi asked, Reid began to think before JJ cut in.

“Uh Hotch I know someone... but you’re not going to like it”

“Who?” Hotch asked. He suddenly had a gut feeling he really wasn’t going to like her suggestion, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Y/N” JJ said, nervously looking at her boss.

“Y/N? Like my-our-your Y/N?” He stumbled out.

“Yeah, our Y/N.” JJ chuckled at how flustered her cousin made her boss. “She’s spent her whole life since age 13 studying languages and what makes them up.” She continued.

“13? Is she a kid genius like pretty boy over here?” Morgan asked, patting Reid on the back.

“I mean she didn’t graduate early, she’s just always been interested in languages.” JJ answered, still keeping an eye on Hotch’s reaction.

He clearly wasn’t excited about the idea of her being involved, but was trying to hid his emotions. He knew she was brilliant and had heard her speak several languages, most of the time just to entertain Jack. He also liked to watch her work when she would bring the books she was translating to movie nights if she was near a deadline. He couldn’t deny working with her would be interesting to say the least, but he really didn’t want her near the types of people they saw. Like usual, JJ saw straight through him and gave him an apologetic, but pleading look.

“You think she could work this language out?” Rossi asked interrupting the two agent’s eye contact.

“I mean she once wrote half a thesis in a made up language to prove her theory on how our brains intupret and learn languages.” Jj shared with a proud smile.

“That’s genius” Reid said.

“Plus, I happen to know she passed a field agent test not that long ago to help out a local department in PA that sex crimes was helping with.” She added quietly.

“Really?” Morgan asked.

Hotch froze and JJ began to explain how even though she didn’t go in the field again after swat, she has volunteered to assist on a few cases with local PDs and the FBI office, but to do that she still had to test and prove she was capable for anything. Hotch knew she was capable of anything at all, but he didn’t want her to have to be in any situation to use those skills.

“I don’t want her in the field.” Hotch said with a strict tone, cutting off the other agents chatter. ‘Hell I don’t want her involved at all’, he thought, but he knew he couldn’t make that decision for her.

“So is that a yes?” Emily asked.

“It’s an I will ask her” Hotch grumbled

Rossi follows behind him as he stomps up to his office to reluctantly call his girlfriend. He loved how brilliant and kind she was. However right now he was cursing that two of his favorite things about her were what made him have to call and ask her to put herself in danger.

“Why doesn’t JJ ask?” Rossi asked with a smirk,following him up the stairs.

“Cause Y/N’ll feel inclined to say yes.” Hotch grumbled.

“And she won’t with you?” The older agent wondered.

“I’m hoping she’ll be inclined to say no to me”

“Have you seen the way she looks at you, I don’t think she ever wants to say no.” Rossi smiled.

“Dave” Aaron warned

“You know I’m right... because you’re even worse.” Dave said causing Hotch to roll his eyes and walk into his office.

Hotch picked up his cell phone to call Y/N, really wishing he didn’t have to, but their case really needed it.

“Y/L/N” she answered. He smiled, she must have been in the middle of work. Answering that way when busy was a side effect of her years in law enforcement.

“You sound so official, should I call back later Ms Y/L/N?” He chuckled. Hearing her voice made his nerves vanish,until he remembered why he was calling.

“Hey you!” She said, voice perking up. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah everything is fine.” He answered but she could tell he wasn’t being entirely truthful by the tone of his voice.

“What’s wrong Aaron?” She asked, fully stopping her work to listen.

“Before I ask this promise me you’ll think about it and not automatically say yes.” He prefaced.

“Oookay” she said skeptically, urging him to continue.

She heard him take a deep breath and sigh.

He dove in to explaining the case and the reason they needed help. He again explaining that she could say no, or even suggest someone else that could help. She listened intently and thought about it even though she knew her answer.

“Of course I’ll help” she said when he finally stopped his explanation.

“Y/N you do not have to do this.” He explained again.

“You want me to say no.” It was a statement not a question and her tone made him wince. He didn’t want her to think that he didn’t think she was right for the job or that she couldn’t take care of herself. He just really didn’t want her near danger.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated” he sighed.

“I don’t Aaron, I want to help! But just linguistics no tech stuff.” She tried to joke but he knew the seriousness of that statement.

“Deal, you won’t be anywhere near the field if I have anything to do with it.” He chuckled lightly but just like him, she knew how serious he was.

“Did JJ make that rule?” She tried to joke but became more worried when instead of his usual chuckle he just huffed.

“I think your cousin would have you leading the team of I let her.” He said and she caught his irritated tone.

“Aaron what’s wrong?” She asked, not wanting to end the call and agree if he was going to be upset.

“I didn’t want you wrapped up in this.” He practically whispered and it made her heart hurt.

“If you don’t want me to help-“ she began before he cut her off.

“That’s not it Y/N, I’m sort of excited to work with you.” He admitted, making her smile before he sighed, “I just don’t want you hurt.”

“I’ve got you and Jayje and the team to protect me, baby. Plus I’m a badass remember?” She assured him and he couldn’t deny how much he loved the way the pet name sounded from her lips.

“Promise you’ll be safe for me?” He asked

“Yes, do you promise?”

“Always am, for you and jack”

“I know,” she said softly, before continuing with a smirk “So you’re excited to work with me?”

“Mmm it’s really sexy to see you in action.” He admitted in a low husky voice she loved.

There was no shortage of making out and boarder line groaping during their last couple movie nights after jack went to bed but they hadn’t gone past that since the first time. She absolutely loved hearing him talk like this.

“Oh yeah?” She asked and heard him grunt. “The language or the ass kicking?”

“Mmm both, but hearing you speak in other languages, god I don’t know what you’re saying but i love it.”

“ mm buono a sapersi bello” she hummed and heard his breath hitch.

“Be careful with that baby, I’m at work.” He purred

“Mm well after the case I’ll have to explore your love of my work some more.”

“Please do” he cleared his throat then and she laughed

“Oh buniness Hotch is back! Should I head in to the BAU now?”

“Yeah I can send someone to get you.”

“Unless it’s you I can handle getting there.” She laughed as she heard him cough again.

“I’ll see you soon, have Garcia email me all the evidence that’s in his ‘language’ so I can start working on it on the train?”

“Will do, I’ll also remind her not to get to used to you working with her.”

“I’d be too much of a distraction for you boss man.

“Bye y/n”

“See you soon Aaron.”

“So she’s in?” JJ smiled and asked when Hotch renterd the bullpen.

“Yeah” he grumbled “We keep her safe and out of the field.”

The team all nodded and JJ cheered quietly about getting to work with her cousin. Hotch chuckled at JJ’s antics and hid his own excitement about working with Y/N.

Hotch gave instructions of where to got, y/n would meet them at the BAU where read was doing the geo-profile and after JJ and Hotch met with local pd they’d come back and brief her.

In the car JJ could feel Hotch’s anxiety. She knew it wasn’t about the case, rather the idea of Y/N helping with the case.she felt guilty for suggesting something that caused him so much stress, but she knew her cousin could handle it.

“Hotch I’m sorry if I put you in a shitty situation suggesting Y/N.” She watched him tense even lore at her words. “But my cousin is a super hero, she can do anything and I trust her with my life, and our teams lives. Trust me when I say I’d never have suggested her if I thought she couldn’t handle it.”

“I know that, and I trust her too but Jack and I can’t lose her.” He admitted, surprising himself and JJ. Truth was, he couldn’t keep much of anything from the blonde agent even if he tried.

“Are we okay?”

“Yeah Jennifer, we’re okay. I can’t very well stay mad at the person who introduced Y/N Y/L/N into my life can I?

They both chuckled and felt the tension ease just a bit.

Y/N set up a little space for her to work in the conference room and set to work. She knew she shouldn’t be having fun during a murder investigation, but she couldn’t deny she loved this kind of work.

Derek has nicknamed her and Reid the nerd squad, after he walked in on them spewing theories and slaw itching between languages in a way no ‘normal human’ would comprehend. Hotch couldn’t help but stop and watch Y/N work for a moment when he and JJ got back with the lead detective.

He was snapped out of his trance by Rossi making a vaguely inappropriate comment about the ‘true reason’ he didn’t want y/m on the case. The sputtering cough he did in response to that comment caused his girlfriend’s beautiful eyes to snap up and lock with his.

She smiled widely at him and began to explain the progress they had made to him and the detective. He couldn’t help but love her even more for the way she was so professional, yet still somehow made him feel noticed by her.

Aaron thanked her and explained to all in the room their next steps. He left Y/N to it and called Reid to follow them to go check out a lead. Y/N suddenly felt a flash of anxiety listening to Aaron talk about breaching the house if they had to. He didn’t miss the look on her face and told the team he’d meet them at the SUVs.

“Hey, I’ll be fine” he whispered moving closer to her. He knew it was risky but pulled her into his arms anyway. Kissing her head and then quickly pulling back.

“I did t think it’d scare me this much, I mean I know what you do but being here and hearing it all... what if you don’t come back? What if I have to watch-“ she started to break and he took her hand.

“Y/N I won’t let that happen! I WILL come back to you”

She nodded and squeezed his hand

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry sweetheart, JJ had to talk me off the same ledge in the suv.” This caused her to giggle and calm down a bit.

“Get going boss man, be safe.”

“Anything for you” he smiled and headed off.

Y/N moved her operation down to be with Garcia I case they needed help with the language, but mostly because she didn’t want to be alone. The lead was a dead end so the team headed back and were working on the profile again when Y/N decoded a journal entry that talked about an abandoned warehouse that he used to frequent when he was homeless.

“Let’s go, Garcia stay online, Reid-“

“Hotch Y/N should probably ride along.” Rossi just got out before Aaron boomed “NO”.

Y/N looked just as startled by the idea as Aaron.

“Hotch she needs to be with us decoding the journal in case there is a new location, or he starts talking in his language.”

“I told you, she doesn’t go in the field” y/N could feel the anger radiating off of him, she saw JJ thinking about how to calm him down.

“Hey”, she whispered to Aaron, pulling him to the side, she locked eyes with Rossi who immediately understood and began to lead the team to the cars.

“Don’t worry you d-“ he started before she cut him off.

“I’m going to come with you.” She said and braced herself for his reaction.

“NO Y/N.” He said steadily but still gentle as he always was with her.

“I will be so careful, I won’t go anywhere near the scene. You need me Aaron”

“Yeah I do need you, alive.”

She felt her heart clench at his words and stroked his cheek, “I will be safe, please trust me.”

“I do!”

“I know, so remember that, you’ll be right there, so will JJ.”

“What if I can’t protect you?”

“Sweetheart, I just want to catch this guy, so I can spend time with my favorite boys! I’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

She nodded and pulled him along to the cats.

“Dave was right...” he huffed

She looked at him to explain and he continued.

“I can’t say no to you”

She smirked and responded “I’ll have to remember that.

When they pulled up to the scene y/n pushed down the fear and memories of the case that changed her whole life and took her husband. If she was going to do this. She locked eyes with Aaron in the rear view mirror and smiled when he sent her a sweet wink.

That was the last moment of calm before all hell broke loose. The unsub was in the warehouse holding a woman hostage. Hotch broke all his rules and kissed Y/N lightly before putting on his vest to assure her he’d be okay. He left her in the safety of the SUV as he went to the staging area.

After about 15 minutes the unsub began to lose it even more.

“Hotch he’s speaking the language we have to send Y/N in.” Reid said, earning him a nasty glare from his boss.

“Not a chance. We’ll just wire someone.” Hotch responded.

“He’ll know” JJ said with a defeated tone herself. He knew she didn’t want her cousin to go in either but they had no choice.

“Fine” he sighed “but I go with her.”

“You’re too intimidating I’ll go.” Jj countered

“Jj you keep her safe.” He sternly whispered as they ent to brief Y/N.

“Hotch I know you love her but so do I, I’d do anything to protect her.” She said quickly before they reached you

“Jj I-“

“Don’t try to deny it Hotch, I know you haven’t told her yet but I know it’s true.” Hotch flushes a bit.

“I know you’d do anything to protect her JJ, I just, I can’t lose her and I hate putting her in this position even though I know she can handle it.” He admitted and knew JJ understood.

They briefed Y/N and after a brief moment of panic Y/N assured them both she could to it. She put on a vest and they entered the building.

Everything was going well, Y/N was speaking to him in his language, she was doing everything by right. That was until the hostage began to yell and insult him. He shoved the victim towards Y/N sending them both fattening down a flight of steps.

Jj secured the unsubscribe and cleared the team to come in. She hadn’t looked over towards her cousin yet but could tell the victim was fine.

She rushed down the stairs to see her cousin laying unconscious with a gash to the head.

“No no no” Jj said taking her hand as

took team came in and Rossi began to move the unsub to the SUVs

“Y/n!” Hotch wailed. Running to Y/N’s limo figure.

“Hotch I’m sorry Jj said, but Hotch couldn’t hear anything as he rushed to Y/N’s side, grasping her hand in his.

“Y/N please”

“Hm hi handsome” she said opening her eyes and groaning as she held her head. It took her a bit to realize what was happening, but the smell of the old warehouse brought most of the recent events back. “Don’t look so worried you two, I’m alive.” She said with a weak smile

“I’m going to get the medic” JJ said before kissing her cousins head and running off.

“Aaron I kn-“ she began

“I love you” he cut her off

“What?” Yn breathes

“I’m in love with you, I know it’s crap timing and you probably have a concussion but god I don’t want to waste anymore time with out you knowing I love you.”

“I love you too Aaron.”

He held her face and kissed her soundly. Pulling away when he heard Rossi wolf whistle behind them.

“I guess they all know now, sorry I know you like to be secretive.”

“they’ve known how I’ve felt longer than I did. Plus I don’t plan on keeping you a secret y/n ever.

He was insanely happy he finally told her how he felt and got to hear that she loved him too. Now he had to face JJ knowing he let her cousin get hurt.

Outside with the medics JJ was terrified to face her boss knowing she let Y/N get hurt. She was holding back tears that she could have lost her best friend.

Y/N was just happy to be loved by Aaron and JJ, and to be alive she was happy about that too. And dizzy she was also dizzy.

Smile again tag list:

@thebadassbitchqueen @violetclifford @kyleetheeditor @thelostallycat @mac99martin @stop-drop-and-drumroll

Tag list:

@diesinspanishbcimhispanic @averyhotchner

[rora-s]

The Derivative Chapter 12: Tests

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 11

I let off a breath closing one text book I’d finished and moving to the next. “You know there’s a difference between learning and memorizing right?” Amita pointed out with a scoff glancing at me over top her laptop screen. 

“I am aware. One is knowing the other is understanding but for me they can understandably get intermingled” I explained as I began to go through the next book. 

Amita nodded “you’re really stressing about this test you have to do for school huh?” 

“Well it is kinda a big deal. The whole prospect of my graduating early is riding on it. That and me getting accepted into college” I explained. 

“Oh really what are you looking to study?” Amita inquired. 

“Mathematics like my uncle probably, maybe something a bit more hands on to” I explained. 

“You know combinatorics is a great field” she offered. 

I scoffed “if you don’t say so yourself” 

We both giggled “seriously though you should look at applying for CalSci. You could stay local. They have a history of accepting young brilliant minds and programs especially made for those who have spotty school records.” 

“You know Larry was saying something similar before” I voiced “maybe I will think about it.” 

“Plus I’ve been considering staying at CalSci longer to get my second PhD in physics so you’d have another friendly face on campus other than Charlie and Larry” 

“Seriously?” I thought about hanging around CalSci with the brainiac trio. “That sounds really cool”

“I think it’d be cool too and we could take you on a tour of the campus sometime even, you know, show you around” Amita offered. 

I smiled “yeah that’d be great” 

Just then my friend's phone went off and she answered it “hello? … yeah sure I’ll be right there.” she hung up and started packing her things. “Charlie needs my help for a case with Don.” she informed. 

“I can come-” 

“He said specifically not to bring you even if you asked. Sorry” Amita told me sympathetically. 

“Ugh eighteen can not come soon enough” I groaned. 

“There, there” Amita murmured teasingly, patting me on the shoulder as she headed out of the house. 

______________________________

“You know when you offered to take me on a campus tour I thought I’d see more than the computer lab” I voiced as the trio finished retesting their flight route math for a third time in the CalSci computer lab. 

“I’m sorry but this is very important for the case Don’s working on” Charlie breathed out then thought for a minute “by the way I would appreciate you not telling him I allowed you to help with this math” 

“Don’t worry Uncle C, unlike some people I can keep a secret” I muttered. The man shot me a look but let the subject go as we all mulled over what we might have missed. 

“I don’t get it,” Uncle Charlie declared finally from his seat on the table behind where Amita was working. “The aircraft should have originated from an airfield that the FBI checked out” 

“Maybe they didn’t use an airfield” I suggested from where I sat next to the computer. “Like a highway or something” 

“Well then there would have been witnesses” Amita pointed out to the contrary. 

“You know, here’s where I get reductive on your ass,” Larry spoke up standing “cause you keep saying aircraft but so far no one’s been able to identify whatever it was that people saw.” 

“What are you saying, Larry?” Amita questioned. 

“I’m saying instead of building a flight path, let’s try focusing on the object itself,” Larry suggested. 

“You know what?” Charlie spoke up, hopping off his table “he’s right.” 

“Wait, you're agree that it could be a UFO?” I inquired of my uncle. 

“No, but focusing on the craft might yield better results.” The man explained coming over “We could get a visual of the object by building in all the radar sources at the same time, yes, civilian and military.” 

“So overlap the radar sources?” Amita clarified as she began to type into the computer. 

“That’s right” Charlie confirmed “by layering the images we could build a three dimensional cross section of it” 

Amita typed on the computer for a moment and we all leaned in to see “there” she finally declared “now it’s working off of all seven radar sources.” 

“And it’s building an image of the object,” Larry added. 

We watched as slowly an image began to appear. What we saw looked surprisingly Sci-fi. “Charlie? Is that what I think it is?” Amita inquired. 

“Larry I’m sorry I doubted you” I muttered. 

“Now, le-let’s be very, very careful” Charlie stammered “we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions or make any assumptions. There could be any number of reasons why that looks like-” 

“A vehicle from another part of the universe” Larry finished Charlie’s statement. 

___________

3rd POV.

“Hey Charlie” Don greeted his brother knocking on the door to the office space the professor was using in the library. 

“Hey” the young brother replied, writing on a piece of paper. 

“What’s up?”  

“Just grading tests for my Nonlinear Dynamics class.” Charlie informed. 

“Glad to see you’re taking my advice and having some fun” Don commented. 

“Well, you don’t look like you’ve been having too much fun” the younger brother pointed out, eyeing his brother as Don sat down. 

Don sighed “aw man this Gosnell case. Not to mention Abby has to take that test today in school to see if she can get out early.” 

“I’m sure she’ll pass” Charlie reassured “and you know Amita’s already talked her into applying for CalSci” 

“Yeah I’m just stressed on her behalf I guess” the older brother explained “and anyway with this case I just had to tell a guy that his dad died” Don let off another breath slouching in his seat. 

Charlie put down his pencil and turned to give his brother more of his attention “I spent all that time trying to figure out where the plane went. Turns out the pilot didn’t even know, because the rudder was busted.” 

“See, that’s the thing” Don explained “I got to find out where he was headed, ‘cause I think that’s why he was killed. You got any ideas? Anything at all?” 

Charlie sighed packing up his papers and standing “maybe. Could I, uh could I get some data off the flight recorder?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I can see if, uh, Erica can drop some by.” Don offered. “Maybe Amita can help you out” A small smile came to Charlie’s face at the suggestion and Don couldn’t help the knowing grin that came to his face. “Dad said she’s sticking around.” 

“Did he?” Charlie asked, turning to his brother. 

“Well, you happy about that?” Don inquired. 

“Um, are you asking me as her thesis advisor or..?” Charlie ended with a slight chuckle. 

Don scoffed at the blush forming on his younger brother’s features “you tell me” 

“Yeah, I’m happy,” Charlie admitted. 

They were quiet for a moment then another thought occured to Don “hey, what’s the deal I thought you were playing golf today.” 

“Oh no.” Charlie quickly replied “you know, I’m really no use on the golf course.” 

Don sat up as his brother took the seat across from him again “Charlie you know why he likes playing with you, don’t you?” 

“I have no idea” Charlie voiced “because I-I’ve got to be the worst golfer in the history of the game” 

Don shook his head surprised that his genius of a little brother could be so clueless sometimes “No. it’s the one time he gets to teach you something. You understand?” he explained “I mean I’m learning for myself that it’s not easy raising a genius. That’s his one time” Don wasn’t sure Charlie got what he was saying but just then his phone went off “oh excuse me” he stood up to take the call. “Eppes” 

“Don” David’s voice answered “the forensic report from Gosnell’s workshop just came in. We found David Croft’s fingerprints all over the shop.” 

“But I thought you said he hadn’t seen him in years” Don questioned confused. 

“And so he said” David replied 

“All right, look, uh, take a team, pick him up” Don instructed, rubbing his forehead and the bridge of his nose with his hand “I’ll meet you at the office, okay?” 

“You got it,” David agreed before hanging up. 

Don pocketed his phone again “alright kid I got to go. See you later” he called to Charlie who nodded his farewell before Don was out the door. 

_________

“I pass the dang test and as a reward I get to come out here and watch you all golf in this heat” Abby complained “that’s so not fair” 

“Ah come on kid a little exercise never hurt anybody” Don objected “maybe you could try it out for yourself” 

“No thank you” the teenager replied edgily heading toward the bench with her backpack full of reading material. 

“Where’s Chuck?” Don asked, realizing his younger brother was not in sight. 

“I don’t know last I looked, he was right behind us.” Alan replied looking around. “Oh there he is” he voiced when they spotted the younger man coming up to the bench at another angle. 

“Hey dad,” Charlie called, dragging his clubs up the incline. “Your clubs weigh a ton” 

“Are you kidding, I've used those clubs for ten years” Alan replied looking in his own golf bag as Abby made herself comfortable on the bench. “There’s nothing wrong with them” 

“Dad, they’re older than he is,” Don pointed out, going over to look in Charlie’s bag. “I don’t even think they make wood clubs anymore.”

“Yeah I know” Alan said “but each one of ‘em’s got a great sweet spot.” 

“Put ‘em in a museum,” Don commented. 

“Eh, when Charlie gets better, I’ll buy him a set of his own” Alan offered. 

“Well isn’t that encouraging” Abby muttered already part way through the novel on her lap. 

“Come on, Charlie, maybe this is the day you’ll par a hole.” Alan suggested. 

“I’d just like to get the ball in the hole. That’s all” Charlie stated as Don came over to sit next to his daughter on the bench. 

“So you passed the test” Don spoke to his kid as Alan talked to his. “What’s next?” 

“I wait and hope CalSci accepts me,” Abby declared looking up from her book. “But who knows if that’s going to happen.” 

“Well aren’t you pessimistic” Don muttered. 

“Well Donald I had to get it from somewhere” Abby replied with a smirk. 

“Yeah your mother” Don stated with a slight grin. 

“Funny she said the same thing about you” Abby advised and the pair shared a laugh as Charlie came over to join them. 

“Alright Alan show us how it’s done” Don called to his father and the three watched as the eldest among them swung the golf club. 

Chapter 13 ->

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

the reader passes out as soon as boyfriend!harry comes home from tour because she has been studying day and night to finish all her assignments before harry returns

EXHAUSTEDLY IN LOVE

It had been months since Harry had come home. Months spent sleeping on his side of the bed, burying her face in one of his pillows to catch his scent. Nights spent wearing his shirts, waiting for his calls, and settling with the recording of his voice during the voicemail message, in moments when she especially had missed him.

The point was, it had been ages since she’d seen her boyfriend, and Y/N is determined not to let coursework take away more time spent with him.

So, she scrambled to get it all done, in order to have more time for Harry’s kisses, cuddles, and love. She hadn’t felt him in so long, so without hesitation she’d buried herself under assignments, final projects, and studying for major examinations that would take place the following weeks. She started a few days before Harry was to get off the plane, starting with basic reviewing and taking creative breaks by writing and proofreading final essays and projects.

Somewhere along the way, she’d traded meals (the ones Harry had made with his own hands and left frozen for her in the fridge, because she can’t cook for shit and he’s too fond of her to let her become sick by eating burnt toast) for processed food, muffins and coffee. She stayed in their living room, where she had spread all of the work so it lid in unorganized heaps and papers scattered on the ground she could somehow navigate through. One half haphazardly crumpled and tossed ball of foil paper she’d eaten a muffin from had quickly turned to a couple, a dozen, and then bred to the point where it had escalated north to a much greater number. Wrappers littered the floor, despite her prior hate for disgusting messes rather than comfortable messes, she didn’t care. Coffee cups lay strewn aside, muffins half eaten, eyes bleary and nose sniffling a little from congestion.

The messiness crept up on her. Parts of her life began falling off, forming an eclectic debris that dribbled gradually into every corner. Empty sushi containers, Diet Coke cans, sweaters, sweatshirts (Harry’s), socks, her running shoes...when was the last time she’d washed her hair?

However, she really wanted to see Harry properly and get those assignments finished, so she writes that essay.

There is the thesis, which she painstakingly rewrites in every paragraph or else the teacher will say something like ‘???’. There is her restating the first bit of the thesis statement again, maybe with a different word or two. There’s that one character she does remember vaguely, and a purposefully verbose depiction of them so she can take up as much space as possible.

Transitional sentences she shambled together out of the remains of her hopes and dreams.

A rambling, off-topic sentence which probably should have been deleted but it's four in the morning and she honestly doesn’t care and I need those full ten pages. A drastic shift in the paper where for five seconds she actually thinks she knows what she’s talking about. There’s her analysis of a quote in which she tries to explain why it supports her thesis like explaining to a small child why the wind blows. It just does, okay, but I'm only going to be able to express this in really confused and circular speech. Here's her mentioning that character again, but this time she’s talking also about a second character. She secretly hopes she never has to take a test on this stuff. Concluding line. Transitional sentence, but with a vague sense of foreboding and dread attached to it. Her sore hands are starting to slow down. She has now grown to resent the two characters she has been talking about, and she sincerely hopes they both die in a fire, because literally nothing interesting happens to them; literally nothing interesting happened in this book whatsoever, but here's the analyzation of a quote dedicated to them.

When she’s sent in the last assignment and reviewed her brain numb, she feels wonder. Such magic. Somewhere in between killed-someone and just-saved-a-baby-dolphin. Euphoric. Such hope that she swears she just felt a rib snap. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah. She falls back on their bed.

Then, there’s fatigue. Tiredness gnaws at her aching bones, her head heavy, and body feeling unusually cold. A little drowsy, too, because she’d grown alarmed at the distracting dry coughs she was having while reviewing macro economics two, and had downed a bunch of foul smelling (expired?) Tylenol, like taking shots.

Her fingers were blistered from writing down all of the information she remembers from anatomy class for the examination, because it’s been scientifically proven that if you physically write the information down, it’s easier to remember. She’s never been one to like organization, and seeing girls with carefully handwritten tumblr study notes makes her furious, because they’re so slow and her mind works so fast, she’s too impatient and unable to catch her train of thought before it flees the scene, and write in perfect times new roman, size twelve, double spaced and in gel pen shades of fuchsia. It comes to bite her in the ass when she witnesses the disastrous scene of flashcards and sushi and bad handwriting and realizes she must clean it up.

All in all, she wasn’t feeling her best, but Harry was here, and it would definitely pass, right?

—

The night came when Y/N drove to Heathrow airport to pick her boyfriend up, excited and eager to have him back, but also suppressing the low throbbing in her head. It was later at night, so rush hour has passed and traffic was laid back, and the crowd in the airport had significantly dwindled.

We’ll have a few moments privately to ourselves before the press come, she thought, content and dreaming of him.

The time comes when the lights start flashing, and she knows that he’s back.

“Harry,” she breathily laughed, biting her lips, and trying to blink back the welling tears in her eyes as she catches sight of his sparkling forest green eyes from behind the transparent barrier between them. He runs off of the plane, and she runs to him at the same time. It’s like a scene in the movie, before her body collided with his, his comforting, striking scent engulfing her and his strong arms wrapping around her, catching her as she jumped up into his arms. He buries his own face into her neck, breathing in her girlish scent. It’s a scene from a Lifetime movie. They both cry.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” he whispered the promise, before sealing their lips in their first kiss in months.

There’s a lot to say behind that kiss. In his head, mainly. Questions and worry that had been intensifying every waking moment to the nights prior to this one, when he had called Y/N and she had responded hours and sometimes days later with a text saying she was fine. It had been so long since they’d had a proper conversation, and it would be a lie if Harry hadn’t thought the distance was affecting them. Causing her to care less. Now, he was confused. In love, definitely, but confused at how the woman who had seemingly avoided him for days was now leaping in his arms, holding on tightly to him like a koala bear and clinging for life.

The screams behind them started growing, cameras clicking, and fans growing desperate. After pushing one last kiss against her lips, Harry smiled at her adoringly, dimples poking out as her eyes fluttered open.

“Come on, it’s time to go, Princess.”

She nodded, and they kept their heads down, security surrounding them methodically as they moved through the gathering crowd. Through the middle of it, however, Y/N begins to feel a bit dazed. No, not now, she thinks to herself, nervously. The flashes and clicks and screams do nothing for her terribly painful headache, and worsen the heavy feeling in her chest. Her legs feel detached from the rest of her body, moving robotically and at a quick pace as they move hand in hand, Harry pulling her closer to his chest in order to protect her from the crowd. Her hands are becoming sweaty, and she wonders if he can feel it.

She’s taking deep breaths, training her expressionless face to the ground, and trying to focus on the steadiness of Harry’s arm around her waist, how it was warm and unwavering. However, this lessens her attention and causes her to forget that one step as Harry and her step into the elevator, hidden by the security who let them pass and keep everyone else out. They’re the only two going inside, when her foot slips into the little crack in the machine, and she lurches forward. Harry’s arms tense around her, pulling her inside the elevator before it shuts on her foot.

“Jesus, you alright, baby?”

She tries to make a confirming noise, but it comes out as more of a groan, and she’s so hungry, her stomach is painfully empty. This strikes his alarm, and so he places his large hands on her shoulders, finger tilting her chin up as he gazes down at her with tentative, cautious green eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Mhm,” she mumbles, not quite wanting to let go of his chest just yet. It was warm and smelled of him, and she was afraid she’d lose her balance if she let go. Instead, she slung her arms around his hips and closed her eyes, face against his chest. Before murmuring: “I just missed you so much, H.”

He relaxes some at this, visibly becoming less tense. His expression softened as he looked over at his girl.

“Sleepy?” He asked softly, a finger stroking her cheek while his other arm wrapped itself around her waist, securing her to him. She hummed, and he kissed her hair.

“You smell nice,” she confessed. “Like.. like... Harry candles.”

“Come on, love,” he laughed lightly, guiding her out of the lift and brushing it off as she stumbled some, again, blaming it on her exhaustion. “Let’s get you home, in bed. Y’very sleepy.”

“No,” she protested, eyes narrowing while she pointed at his chest determinedly as she remembered all the work she had done, waiting for this moment. “I’ve made dinner, and you’re going to eat that, and then I’m going to put on lingerie and look irresistible and you’re going to seduce me into getting into bed with you.”

“I’m going to seduce you, hm?” Harry teased, a signature smirk on his face. He nuzzled his face into her neck and peppered kisses there, after they’d gotten into the car and he had sat in the drivers seat next to the passengers seat, where she sat. “You don’t need lingerie. You’re already irresistible.”

With a weak smile and a killer migraine, she rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drive, Styles.”

—

The aching in her body would go, and then come back full force as Harry drives, one hand easy on the steering wheel, other grasping hers and rubbing circles into her much smaller palms as he talked of the places he’d traveled and how much he’d missed her, home.

She’d smile and nod, but what was this? She’d spent all of her energy finishing her assignments to spend time with him, but now she spent the time she had feeling sick.

They’d entered into their flat, and Harry had heaved a long sigh, comforted in the private confines of his home. Y/N had instructed him to freshen up, swatted away his lingering hands from her hips, and gotten dinner ready. She’d made his favorite.

She was just setting the wine on the candlelit table, when the all consuming drowsiness for her again, but she breathed in and out and gulped down some cool water, waiting for it to pass and then fixing the table, again.

He’d snuck up behind her, planting his hands on her hips and sponging kisses down her delicate neck when she clenched a bit in surprise, before relaxing slightly, still a bit stiff.

“Wow,” he’d muttered, green eyes sparkling as they ran over what she’d done. She’d pushed him down into a chair. “This is amazing, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she promised, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve waited so long. Now, come on! There’s a cake you have to cut.”

There’s an apparent slow burn that situated itself in her ribcage, her stomach twisting in unease as she continued to smile and walk towards the counter, uncovering a big cake she had made for him in his favorite flavour and colours. She grabbed a lighter and quickly lit all the candles, the heat causing her chest to flush uncomfortably, arms prickling due to the unwanted warmth. Her head spun.

Carefully, she had began walking toward Harry with the cake, a faint smile still on her face as he stared at her lovingly. She had placed the cake in front of him.

“Welcome back home, baby,” she’d murmured, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she held him, nuzzling her face into his neck, chest against his back. He lifted his hand to rest where hers did, before exhaling and blowing out the little fires on the candles, smoke billowing past them, as a result.

“I love you.”

She heard the phrase, but it sounded more distorted. The smoke and heat surrounding her becoming too much, migraine worsening, nausea uprising. She became more aware of her fatigue and hunger and dizziness. What was happening?

Harry’s own forehead had creased in concern as he eyed her after she hadn’t responded like she usually did. There was a strange, faraway look in her eyes, as he watched as her face fell with a frown downturning his own cherry lips. Eyes darkening in worry.

“Love?”

The last thing she felt was her own body turning against her, feeling weightless as her eyes closed shut. She collapsed, his arms quickly wrapping around her to break her fall.

—

Y/N felt as if she were nestled in a cloud, entrenched in softness and white and the warmth that could only be from the body heat of someone very close and very familiar. She yawned, stretching beneath the heavenly comforter. How long has it been since I’ve last slept here? Pushing the thought away, she had smiled sleepily. Harry must have changed the sheets into new, fresh ones. He was sweet.

Her eyes snapped wide open.

Harry.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was as gentle as the breeze, but his darkened eyes held emotions she couldn’t figure out, ones that caused her stomach to roll in unease.

“Drink,” he motioned to the glass filled with what looked like foggy water which he had ripped over slightly, nudging her lips. Inwardly grimacing, she parted her lips and he silently tipped the glass further into her mouth. Bleh. It was sugar water. “It’s to get your blood sugar up.”

“I spoke to the doctor,” he said. His voice hard as steel, but he restrained from sounding too firm or saying anything he didn’t mean. She already knew what he’d say.

“Harry,” Y/N whined, she was still tired. How about a rain check? She mused. On this conversation. I want to sleep some more.

“Y/N.”

His voice had a warning edge to it.

“You haven’t been eating,” he stared at her blankly as he stated the facts, but the worry in his eyes was now evident. She felt the urge to look away, but couldn’t. “—sleeping, and the doctor’s said you’ve been looking stressed. What’s going on? Tell me the truth.”

“I wanted to spend time with you..”

“So you deprived yourself of food and sleep?” He asked, disbelief colouring the sentence.

“I had a lot of coursework,” she confessed, looking down to where she fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit. It all seemed so silly, now. “It’s becoming exam season, and I had a lot of projects and major assignments and reviewing to do.”

“You’re gone for ten months,” she pressed, a little pained. “I didn’t.. I didn’t want to spend the time I have with you doing coursework and stressing over prepositions and definitions, when we could be going places or doing nothing together. It’s been so long, Harry. I missed you.”

His eyes softened at the explanation, but hers were still downturned. She felt vulnerable. Had he missed her as much as she’d missed him?

“I guess, I kind of lost track of time and forgot to eat and stuff during all of the hustling to get things finished. I ate,” she offered with a weak smile, knowing it was futile. “I ate muffins and drank coffee.”

Harry shook his head at that.

“You silly girl,” he laughed wetly, tears springing to his own eyes as he pulled her near him, sponging soft kisses to her hairline and looking down at her sweetly. “I know the feeling. I hate being far from you, too, baby, but. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t be getting sick.”

She snuggled further into his warm chest, content with his familiar scent— of sandalwood and boy and home. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as physically possible, feeling every curve and dip he’d missed being against for so long.

“I was so worried,” he whispered. She felt her own heart ache at how he sounded a bit broken. “It was so sudden. One second you were smiling, and the next you’d fainted. I thought you were.. I thought something was wrong. I need you.”

“I’m sorry, H,” she apologized, sighing delicately as her boyfriend ran his fingers under the shirt (his) she was wearing, skin contacting with her warm back and tracing around until his palm lay flat against her bare stomach as he spooned her. “Hey.. did you change my clothes? “

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively: “did you see my new lingerie?”

He rolled his eyes in amusement, before dramatically widening them for exaggerated emphasis. “Loving you,” he poked her nose. “Is exhausting. I’ve lost years off of m’life.”

“Yes, but you get to see me naked. So, you see, it’s all worth it in the end.”

It was. These months apart. The forces that tried to break them apart. Every ache, every second apart was worth it. She was worth it, and so was he.

He laughed, lips stretching into a wide smile as he pulled her closer to him while continuing to smother her squirming self with smacking kisses.

MASTERLIST

[its-always-the-witching-hour]

Chapter 4 of Apocalyptic AU - Sanders Sides

Word count - 919 (Short, I know)

Pairings - None mentioned

Warnings - (spoilers) zombies, small panic attacks

Characters - Virgil Tempest, Roman Regalis, Logan Thesis, Patton Chastity 

Previous chapter - Next chapter

-----

Looking up through eyes brimming with tears, Virgil saw three figures standing over him. The one closest to him was holding out a hand. Cautiously, Virgil took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The one who helped him up was wearing a grey cardigan tied around his shoulders and had a cheerful and friendly look to him, despite the fact they were in the literal apocalypse. To his right was a serious looking person, with dark, straight hair and was, for reasons Virgil will never know, wearing a button-up shirt with a tie. Then Virgil looked at the person to the left. They had a strangely shaped shirt that looked like if a collared shirt decided that it wanted to have coat tails. They also had ridiculously long boots with heels at least a quarter inch high. The serious looking one stepped out in front of the friendly one, looking Virgil up and down.

“My name is Logan Thesis. This is Roman Regalis,” he gestured to the boy on his left, who huffed and looked away, “and this is Patton Chastity,” the kind looking one waved, “who are you and what brings you here? Apart from zombies of, course.”

“Y-you can call me Anxiety,” Virgil wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell them his name, but it felt like the right thing to say. He wasn’t sure if he could trust them yet.

“That’s not a name-” ‘Roman’ started, but was cut off quickly as Patton jumped in.

“But we will still call you that anyway, because we want to make you feel comfortable, right Roman?”

“Fine.”

“What are you doing here, Anxiety? Not to sound rude, but we didn’t think that anyone else survived.”

Roman looked down at the floor with that statement, as though he wanted to say something but was afraid he would be told off for it.

“I came from the,” Virgil quickly looked back the way he came, “east side of the city?”

“You don’t sound or look very certain,” Logan observed.

“Probably because I was too busy running for my life instead of checking where I was going,” Virgil snapped back, too tired to be polite anymore.

“Try and dial back the sarcasm a bit there, emo nightmare. We only want to help you,” Roman gestured grandly with his hands, “after all, a prince has to help anyone in need. Now, were you traveling with anyone, or have you been surviving by yourself?”

“I was with two other people, but I… don’t know what happened to them after we were attacked. I left them behind!” Virgil’s voice rose to a wail as he sank down against the wall again, sobbing. To his muted surprise, Roman came and sat next to him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know what it feels like to run away from someone you care for when they are in danger. I wish that I could just see my brother again to tell him I’m sorry.”

“Your brother?”

Roman sighed, looking down at the ground again, “my twin brother. I have no idea if he got away, but he was in a safe place, so I just have to hope.”

Virgil suddenly looked up at Roman, his own worries momentarily forgotten. The face, his name, the fact that he has a twin, the way he kept looking away from the others, as though he was trying to find someone…

“That’s it!” Virgil stood up excitedly, startling Roman into nearly falling over and causing Patton to jump.

“What’s it, kiddo?” Patton readjusted his glasses with a slightly embarrassed expression.

“I know who you remind me of!” Virgil pointed at the extremely confused Roman, “you have a younger twin brother, right?”

“Yes, how did you -”

“And your name, and the fact you both look basically the same, why didn’t I realize this sooner!”

“What do you mean?”

“Roman, I know your younger brother, Remus! He’s alive,” I think, “and with my other friend Devan!”

“Wait, really! Are you serious?! You’re telling me that my brother is alive!” Roman nearly tackled him to the ground with a hug.

“Roman, this is fantastic news! Unless Anxiety is lying, of course,” Patton regarded Virgil with slight suspicion.

“Trust me Patton, I don’t lie about these things. Besides, Remus had basically the same reaction when I said that it was possible that you survived.”

“He was worried about me!” Roman squeezed Virgil tighter, cutting off his air supply.

“Can’t – breathe,” Virgil croaked. Roman let him go with an embarrassed but happy smile, and helped him up.

“I can now see another similarity to your twin,” Virgil stated dryly, “you both have no idea of what personal space is.”

“Sorry,” Roman rubbed the back of his head, still grinning like a maniac, “are you sure you don’t remember the way back? Because if you do we can leave now to go find him and maybe even get some food on the way!”

“Roman, remember that Anxiety said he thinks he is from the east side of the city. It would take us a whole day to travel there, so it would be better if we camped out here for the night, and left in the morning. It is dangerous to travel during the night, as zombies have better night vision then us.”

Roman sighed and sat down again, “Okay Logan. But first thing tomorrow, right?”

“We’ll leave as soon as possible, kiddo.”

“Good. Oh, and Anxiety?” Virgil turned to him, slightly confused.

“Thank you.”

---

I added last names! Regalis is Latin (I think) for Royalty, Thesis is another word for Logic, and Chastity is another word for Morality

Taglist

@pastelbootybomb @firey-alex @phoenixdoesstuff @aimasup @yesicanbelieveitsnotbutter @dierotenixe @astraheart04 @lovelilijazunde @feralratt @elementalshadowwitch @sanderssidesocfanstuff @oofmood @holliberries @authorized-trash @decentsanders @cass-withsass @amintyworld @sanderssidesweirdo @its-logan-appreciation-day @contemplativespectrum  @cattail-breeze  @notkolaidoscop @blackrosesintheair

[atths--twice]

Okay! As promised, I am back and ready to post more of the Family Life Series. 

I have a friend, who I met through her incredibly sweet comments on my stories. We have been friends for nearly two years now and if I had never answered her comments to me... I seriously cannot imagine how different my life would be. 

A few days before her birthday last year, I decided to write her a story for her gift and I was writing like a madwoman to finish in time. It is a story that includes most of her favorite episodes, shared through the eyes of a more mature Mulder. I hope you enjoy it. <3

Faith for the Future 

Chapter One 

You Are Not Alone 

Mulder is woken by Faith, needing an extra bit of time with her daddy. He rocks her and tells her a story to calm her and get her back to sleep.

7a/15

March 2019

Mulder startled awake, Faith’s sharp cries sounding from the other room. He felt Scully stir beside him, groaning as she stretched. Her feet brushed against his shins, and he smiled.

“I got her, Scully,” he said, turning toward her, and nuzzling into her neck. “You sleep.” He kissed her on her head, before pulling back from her, and rising from the bed. He shivered as he pulled on a sweatshirt, stopping to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she breathed, burying deeper into her pillow. He smiled and left the room, heading to see what the fuss was about.

Pushing Faith’s door all the way open, he walked over to her crib and looked down at her. “Hey now, none of that,” he said quietly, reaching to touch her chest. As soon as she felt his touch, and heard his voice, she quieted. “What is it, my love? Are you hungry? I don’t think so, so let’s see what’s going on.”

Picking her up, he held her close and kissed her soft cheeks. Breathing in her baby smell, he smiled and hummed to her, as he began to rock her slowly. Her cries subsided, as she yawned and sighed.

“So what is it, my girl? Did you just need to know you weren’t all alone in the world? Needed to feel safe?” He moved her to his shoulder, rubbing her back, and patting her diapered bottom. “You ever feel that way, that you need to feel loved, to know you’re not alone in this big big world, you give a shout like you just did, and I’ll come running. Every time. Deal?” She sighed again and he smiled.

Walking with her for a couple of minutes, he could smell she needed a fresh diaper. Laying her on the changing table, he undressed her and changed her diaper. He kissed her warm belly and she grabbed at his hair. Laughing softly, he moved her fingers and redressed her. Lifting her, he kissed her cheeks again, marveling for the millionth time, in the past five months, at how beautiful she was, how perfect.

“So, little one,” he said, turning to walk over to the rocking chair, grabbing a blanket on the way. “I don’t think you’re hungry. Mama fed you just a couple of hours ago. Maybe you just need a little cuddle? And perhaps a story?” Sitting down in the rocker, he put her on his chest and covered her with the blanket. He began to rock and she settled into him.

“Let’s see now, where did we leave off? I’ve told you about Puerto Rico, the Flukeman, and how terrible it smelled down in that water. It was truly awful, my girl. I’ve told you about Darren Peter Oswald and how horrible he was as a person, aside from his powers. You need to stay away from boys like him. Shifty and troubled,” he said, rubbing her back and listening to her breathing.

“Oh, I’ve got it, baby girl. One I can’t believe I haven’t told you of yet, considering it’s the beginning. But, I suppose it fits with how all stories seem to go, the origin one coming later, instead of first. Let’s settle in, little one, this is a good one,” he said softly, kissing her head. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes, remembering back so long ago, when he first met Scully.

“Years ago, Daddy was working for the FBI. I  was working in a different department before I found the one that fit for me. Mama was there too, but I hadn’t met her yet. One day, I was told I was getting a new partner and I was not happy about it. Partners always slowed Daddy down, with their silly questions, and inability to follow what was happening. I wasn’t looking forward to having a new person who would poke about and get in my way,” he said, thinking of how he felt when he was informed about a new partner. He smiled at how stupid he had been.

“I was told I was being paired with your Mama, so I checked into her background. Well, my love, I can’t tell you the surprise I felt when I read your Mama’s words in her thesis statement. She was smart, Faith, truly so smart. I was intrigued, but … still not happy to have a partner." He paused and listened, moving her a bit, finding her eyes still open. He smiled and took it as a sign she was enjoying the story.

“When my office door opened and I saw her, well, I was at a loss for words. She was so beautiful. So young too …” He paused again as he visualized it, smiling before continuing. “She walked right up to me and shook my hand. Cool as could be, while I fought to keep mine. Faith, as much as I tried to deny it, I started to fall love with her the second she smiled at me.” He thought of decades of Scully’s smiles- happy, sad, annoyed, joking, every one of them were beautiful.

“I’ve told you the story of Evaline. Who she was and how your Grandma and Auntie repeatedly drew her pictures. They are hanging on your wall in here, and one day you will see in them what I see: your Warrior Mama. A woman destined to find your Daddy, so she could save his sorry ass over and over. Whoops, I mean butt.” He laughed softly and she whined. Patting her, he rocked in silence for a minute.

“Well, after our first meeting, we set off for our first case, and your Mama was wonderful in the field. She was inquisitive, engaging, and didn’t put up with any of my bullsh- … nonsense. She kept me on my toes, letting me loose and then pulling me back when I had drifted too far. It was her first introduction into an extraterrestrial case and while she didn’t believe in it, she listened and didn’t laugh, not too hard anyway, and she was eager to find closure for the people affected.” He paused, remembering her trying to stop Teresa’s bloody nose, the look on her face when she realized Billy had indeed been out of his bed, and her raised voice telling him it was crazy that this was happening.

“Your Mama,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “She was sent to shut me down, my love. Our superiors didn’t like your Daddy much. No, I was an annoyance they wanted to be rid of, and they had sent your Mama to do it. They underestimated her though, and her ability to see the good in someone, to see their worth, and stick with them. Even if she didn’t always agree or believe in the same things I did, she respected the journey. She was there because she believed in me and saw my worth. For that, my sweet, we both have her to thank for our existence.”

He closed his eyes again and rocked in silence, an idea forming as he held his girl, the world dark and quiet around them. Shifting her to lay in his arms, he watched her sleep, her cheeks rosy and mouth open. He looked at her chest rising and falling and shook his head. So much beauty in such a small package.

Standing up, he carefully laid her down in her crib, watching her settle into sleep. He covered her with her light blanket and headed back to bed, closing her door halfway.

He walked back to their bedroom, pulled the covers back, and laid down beside Scully. She turned over and snuggled into him, her head on his shoulder, an arm wrapping around his middle. He kissed her head as she sighed, and pulled him closer.

“She’s okay?” she asked breathily. “She didn’t need to eat?”

“No, she was okay,” he said, running his fingers up and down her arm laying on his stomach. “Think she just needed to know she wasn’t alone in that big room and wanted some extra snuggle time.”

“Hmm, a girl after my own heart,” she said sleepily, snuggling closer to him. “She’s a smart girl. Already has you completely wrapped around those little fingers of hers.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “As if any other outcome would have been possible.” She laughed softly, and within minutes was sleeping once again, her breathing slow and steady.

He lay there, his mind racing with plans. Smiling at the idea he was secretly formulating, he held her closer and joined her in slumber.

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

previous chapter | chapter six | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

for the second time in as many days, patton wakes up on his own, not because of logan crying.

it’s weirdly disorienting.

patton sits up, rubbing his eyes. even without his glasses, he can see that the bedroom door’s ajar, and the soft murmur of talking.

“—interesting take, interesting take. you ever thought about telling your dad all this?”

a rush of baby noises before virgil even finishes his sentence, and patton smiles, reaching for his glasses.

after ensuring he’s rolled up virgil’s hilariously massive sweatpants, to make sure he won’t trip, he shuffles to the door, poking out his head, enough to see virgil cradling logan with one arm and putting dough in a pan with another.

logan made another few sounds that might have been passable syllables.

“yeah, i figured,” virgil says. “seriously, though, i get your critiques of capitalism, trust me, i follow you, but i think the capitalism’s part of the fun of it. i mean, granted, you aren’t really old enough to appreciate presents yet, it’s part of the whole object permanence thing, you’ll love it, it’s a kick.” 

more babbling.

“huh, impressive,” virgil comments. “i’m surprised by the well-researched views you’ve got on this whole thing. you might wanna write a thesis on that part about material exchange and consumption having adverse effects on the moral character of society, i think you’re really onto somethin’ there.”

“how much of me not understanding what you’re saying is because i need caffeine?” patton says, lifting his glasses up so he can rub at his eyes with his fist. “please say all of it.”

“sure, all of it,” virgil says. “plus, i’m pretty sure the baby’s outsmarting me.”

“yeah, he has a habit of doing that, being nearly two months old and all,” patton says. “logan okay? was he crying?”

“nah, just, y’know,” virgil says. “woke up and heard him getting a little chatty, so i figured i’d keep the little guy company while i was prepping the cinnamon rolls, so he wouldn’t cry and wake you up. that okay?”

“yeah, that’s fine,” patton says. “i should take him before he drools on the dough, though.”

“probably a good idea,” virgil says, and he hands over logan. patton quickly scoops him up in his arms as logan makes a noise of protest. 

“aw, s’okay,” patton murmurs, shifting him, and logan settles. “can’t believe that you let me wake up on my own again.”

“christmas miracle?” virgil suggests, and patton blinks.

“what?” virgil says.

“it’s christmas,” patton realizes. “oh, my gosh, it’s christmas.”

“yeah?”

“it’s christmas morning,” patton realizes, looking down at logan’s face. “oh, my goodness, logan! it’s your first christmas!”

logan considers this, before he offers a few choice noises, and patton laughs, feeling giddy.

“christmas, logan! christmas! oh, you’re gonna love christmas, there’s the presents and the food and spending time with—” patton falters, before he forces himself to plow on, “ everyone! it’s christmas !”

logan’s apparently worn out verbally, so patton just goes for a kiss on the cheek and shifts his stance, giving virgil his best, winning grin.

“you know what would be a great present to kick off christmas morning?”

“your caffeine dependency is horrible,” virgil informs him.

“c’mon, please?” patton pleads, and tilts logan toward virgil for optimal visibility. “look at that faaaace.”

“one day, showing off logan’s little baby face isn’t going to work for getting things,” virgil says.

“which is why i’m maximizing it now,” patton says. “look at this face, that relies on me to care for him, and—”

“shameful,” virgil teases.

“have i said please yet?” patton says. “‘cause i could definitely say it again.”

virgil wars with himself, before he slumps, sighing. “ fine. i’ll put this in the oven and get a pot started.”

patton cheers, before he settles at the kitchen table. 

“you aren’t having all of it,” virgil says.

“uh-huh, sure, ‘course,” patton says happily. “what time’s everyone coming over?”

“pretty soon, actually, i was gonna come in and wake you if you didn’t, y’know, wake up,” virgil says. “my parents are gonna be here first, i think.”

patton nods, absorbing this, before logan starts fussing much more audibly and patton’s distracted enough to get back on his feet and walk, bouncing logan in hopes of calming him; it’s the most fail-safe option, he’s discovered, to keep walking and moving with logan. for whatever reason, logan doesn’t really like being still. he guesses if he couldn’t really move himself around he probably wouldn’t like being stuck in the same place staring at the same things either, so he can’t really blame him. 

patton paces around the kitchen, murmuring soothingly to logan and patting his back. the coffee machine is running and the scent of cocoa and coffee is starting to permeate the air; virgil is making sure all the cinnamon rolls are in place before he sticks them in the oven; the sun is shining weakly through the window, and it’s christmas.

patton almost can’t believe it. christmas. on one hand, it was christmas already, but on the other—it was finally christmas. this year had been the longest of his life. he has a feeling seventeen’s going to be a lot less chaotic than sixteen.

but then, he is walking a crying baby around someone who had been a stranger’s kitchen, and emancipation papers to file, and a job at the inn, and a town full of some of the kindest and weirdest people he’s ever met. and if the past year has taught him anything, it’s that all of his life plans are pitched out the window, so maybe he shouldn’t really theorize.

instead, he focuses on logan. who seems to be quieting down with the circles patton is walking around the kitchen, patting logan lightly on the back all the time and bouncing slightly every couple steps. so instead he focuses on the sensory things; the smells of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon, the light of the sun, virgil poking around his fridge and checking timers and, at long last, pouring him a mug of hot cocoa/coffee.

he holds out the mug for patton to snatch on his way by, and he says a cheery “thank you!” and downs the biggest mouthful he can manage as quickly as he can, murmuring soothing words to logan the whole way.

not long after that, patton can distantly hear the jangling bell of the diner, and virgil glances toward the door, taking a few steps automatically, before he glances at patton.

“um. d’you wanna—?”

“i’m not really dressed,” patton says awkwardly, sticking out his leg to show off how virgil’s sweatpants are already unrolling. “besides, i gotta, y’know. baby. plus i’ll keep an eye on the food.”

virgil gives him a wary glance.

patton grins a little sheepishly, before he promises, “i’ll give a shout if any timers go off or things start smoking, how about that?”

virgil accepts that with a nod, before continuing to plod his way out of his apartment, down the stairs, to, presumably, see his parents, and patton then rushes over to the coffee pot and pours himself the biggest refill he can get away with.

what? he’s sleep-deprived! he has a newborn! it’s christmas! 

he gulps quite a bit down, too, before logan starts fussing—”don’t tattle on me to virgil!” patton whispers to him—and patton has to resume walking in circles.

he only takes a couple more turns around the kitchen by the time he hears footsteps on the stairs, and greets mr. and mrs. danes with a sunny smile—he hopes it says please forget the breakdown i had last night, i’m fine now.

“merry christmas!” he says instead.

“merry christmas, patton!” meredith says, equally bright and cheerful, mark echoing her. “i brought your sweater.”

“oh, thank you!” he says, and steps forward to take it automatically, before remembering he’s supporting a baby over his shoulder with one arm and using the other hand to hold caffeine. “um—”

“i can take him,” virgil volunteers. “you should go get dressed.”

“oh!” patton says, “uh, sure.”

and, holding his breath, hoping that logan won’t cry, he sets the mug on the table and slowly initiates the passing of the baby, and—

nope, logan immediately starts wailing louder. patton automatically reaches to take him back.

“i can keep walking with him,” virgil volunteers, “you can go get dressed.”

he isn’t really sure how to phrase walking away from my baby while he is crying for me is violating every instinct i have, but logan’s tiny arms seem to reach for him and that pretty much immediately seals the deal, so patton goes ahead and takes him back. logan quiets, just a bit, sniffling in patton’s ear, and patton grimaces apologetically at virgil.

“sorry, i just—”

“he’s a baby,” virgil says with a slightly awkward shrug. “he wants his dad, it’s fine. we can try again when he’s calmed down a bit.”

patton nods, and meredith smiles at him, just a bit, before setting his sweater on the kitchen table.

“right here, when you want it,” she says, before she turns to virgil. “how are things going?”

“ingredients are mostly downstairs,” virgil says. “i’m making the cinnamon rolls now, though.”

“i can smell them,” mark says, punctuating his statement with a big sniff. “anything we can do to help?”

“i’ll just,” patton says, “um,” and steps back into the living room, far away from the kitchen and anything he could possibly do to ruin the food.

and also to have more room to walk with logan. that too.

it takes that batch of cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven and another batch going in and being nearly done for logan to quiet completely, and patton slowly inches his way back into the kitchen.

“ready?” virgil asks, turning.

“yeah, thank you,” patton says gratefully, and initiates the passing process again, and this time, logan takes it much better, settling in virgil’s arms with something like a coo.

“hey there,” virgil murmurs, grinning at the baby. “there we go, i know, i need some time to calm down too, sometimes,” and then he redirects his stare at patton, the smile still clinging to the corners of his mouth. “go ahead, take all the time you need. there are clean towels under the sink if you wanna shower or anything.”

patton hesitates. that does sound really tempting. there’s a clawfoot bathtub that had been dumped in the poolhouse, and that’s what he usually uses to bathe, even though the temperature can barely get past lukewarm no matter how high he turns the “warm” faucet. he usually just takes the quickest bath he can manage, usually finishing it off before the bathtub can even fill halfway. maria’s offered him the use of one of the showers in the inn, the same way she’s been offering him a room, but he just kind of feels weird about bathing at work. a hot shower sounds like heaven.

“you’ll shout if he needs me?”

“i’ll shout if he needs you,” virgil promises.

patton grins, before he reaches for his abandoned mug and chugs down the rest of his cold hot cocoa/coffee, saying “thanks!” before he snatches the sweater off the table and heads straight for virgil’s room, practically giddy.

funny how much things he’d taken for granted back at his parents’ are such a huge deal to him now; sleeping in a bed, taking a shower, an afternoon watching tv or taking a nap, having money to burn with no worries about budgeting. he’d never had to think about those things as luxuries before.

weird. strange.

patton would think more about it if he wasn’t excitedly turning the water in virgil’s shower as hot as it’ll go.

it nearly burns his fingers, so he, reluctantly, turns the heat down just enough so that it would be on the side of scalding that he could actually stand, and he gets in the shower with a smile on his face that’s probably a bit too enthusiastic for something as basic as a hot shower.

patton uses the washcloth he’d taken from virgil’s stash of clean towels and scrubs himself until he’s pink, a combination of the heat and the non-scented body wash that virgil has in his shower; he rubs shampoo into his hair, scratching and digging his fingers into his scalp; at one point, he just stands with his eyes closed in the shower, savoring the water pressure and the heat and the clean scent of the steam and the way his muscles relax and loosen.

he eventually shuts off the shower, reminded of his son and the cinnamon rolls and caffeine and general christmas cheer that are probably waiting for him, and steps out of the shower to get dressed. he towels his curls dry and combs his fingers through them (he should know by now that they’re basically uncontrollable.) he brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush he’d used the night before, getting all minty-mouthed and fresh. he even uses a bit of the lotion virgil has, rubbing it on his hands and the dry spots on his elbows and ankles.

he gets dressed. he polishes his glasses on his t-shirt before he pushes them onto his nose, getting rid of the last of the steam that clings to them, and wipes clear a little path in the mirror, too, taking away the last of the fuzziness that was obscuring him before.

he stares at himself in the mirror; bags under his eyes decreased a little bit, hair a bit of a mess but when wasn’t it, really, sweater big enough that it obscures his chest but doesn’t drown him in the fabric. worn-in, comfortable jeans.

he feels brand-new.

⁂

virgil squints at the coffee pot. it’s lower. he knows it’s lower. and yet—

“what do you mean?” patton says, blinking at him all fake-innocent, holding logan in one arm and using the other to hold his third cinnamon roll in one hand.

“you snuck a refill.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” patton says, widening his eyes to make them seem doe-like and innocent.

“you’re going to get an ulcer one day,” virgil decides, pouring a mug for his mom, which she accepts with a poorly-hidden smile at this exchange.

“if you say so,” patton demurs, and looks down at logan. “don’t you think virgil is being silly, lo? isn’t he so silly?”

“—and you won’t be able to say anything as i stand over your hospital bed and say i told you so.”

“if you say so,” patton repeats, except this time is distinctly more sing-songy, and virgil narrows his eyes at him even as patton pops the rest of the cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“hark!” mark quips, from where he’s stationed at the kitchen window. “our children approach.”

“that’s our cue!” meredith says cheerfully, standing up. “gotta make sure none of you take a peek to see if santa’s come yet.”

“mom,” virgil begins, trying not to sigh, because seriously, it’s been at least a decade and a half since any of them have believed in santa.

but patton’s making a dramatically excited face at logan, saying, “santa, logan! yay santa! can you say santa?” despite the fact that virgil knows that patton knows that logan probably won’t be talking for another year, give or take.

and so virgil’s parents depart, to guard the presents and make sure that “santa” has brought things from the north pole, despite the fact that the only one of them who could probably be young enough to believe in santa is still working on important things like object permanence, and rolling onto his stomach on his own, and, like, laughing.

patton looks up at him, smiling. “do you think you’re gonna get what you want for christmas?”

“i barely have any idea what i wanted for christmas,” virgil says honestly. “books, probably. cooking stuff. maybe some stuff for my apartment, since it’s pretty, y’know.”

“bachelor pad-y,” patton suggests, and virgil snorts.

“stuff-inherited-from-family-mostly, yeah,” he admits. it’s probably obvious with the mismatched furniture, the old couch and bed and coffee table. “thrift store, too.”

patton nods, absorbing this, before he says, “oh, shoot!”

“what?” virgil asks, but patton’s brow is already creased in concern, worrying his lip.

“i forgot to ask your mom to get your christmas present from my room!”

you got me a present? virgil nearly asks, barely noticing the jangling of the bell downstairs and the beginnings of conversation between his parents and his siblings, before he realizes they’d probably be repeating the conversation they had on his birthday, before he catches on and says, “oh, hey, patton, it’s okay, you can give it to me later.”

“i just— shoot,” patton repeats, frowning harder. “i mean, it-it’s not much, but—”

“it’s great,” virgil says. “i’m sure it is, but, really. you can get it to me later, i’m not gonna be mad or anything.”

“you’ve been so nice to me and i just forgot,” patton says.

“it happens,” virgil says. “i mean—think about it this way. you’ve already given me a gift within the past week, and you’re gonna give me another one… whenever you come by the diner next. you’re good, you’re covered.”

patton hesitates.

“we can blame logan, if you want,” virgil offers, mostly joking, and leans so he can stare logan in the face. “i can’t believe you haven’t gotten a job yet just to get me presents, you two-month-old baby.”

patton laughs, probably just to be nice, before he stares even more sheepishly at virgil. “i—still. sorry.”

“it’s okay,” virgil says. “accidents happen.”

“virgil!” he hears freddie shout. “bring me the cinnamon rolls, i want a billion of them!”

virgil rolls his eyes, before he gets to his feet. “duty calls.”

“i’m not far behind her,” patton says, leaning to snatch another cinnamon roll before virgil picks up the plate and gestures.

“shall we?”

patton goes to grab logan’s diaper bag, before he falls into step behind him and they both plod down the stairs.

freddie nets virgil in a hug, which, virgil notes, and seemingly patton does too with a poorly-stifled snort, is a blatant excuse to snatch the entire pan of cinnamon rolls away from virgil, immediately shoving one into her mouth whole.

“winifred jane danes!” mark scolds, even in the midst of a laugh himself. “stop that, you’ll choke!”

freddie says something—probably some kind of quip or comeback—but it’s stifled by the food, and virgil takes the opportunity to snatch the cinnamon rolls back, dropping them on a table, about to start lecturing her, before—

“oh, let’s not,” meredith says merrily. “go on, kids, go on, dig in, grab some rolls! the faster you eat, the faster we can open presents!”

“i can’t believe you’re undermining my parenting like this,” mark says, jokingly pious, over the sound of the four other danes siblings (and patton, doubling back for even more) and virgil shuffles out of the way—the benefit of being the sibling who makes the meals means he gets first pick—which means he’s perfectly situated to watch everyone else get their fill.

it also means he’s perfectly situated to watch patton turn, maybe to talk to him or his parents, before he falters at the sight of the christmas tree, the color wheel of presents.

including the two new slivers of bags and boxes, wrapped prettily in sky blue and indigo.

patton stares for a few seconds. his brow furrows, confused. and then, almost like he doesn’t mean to, he reaches his hand to touch the sky blue material of his sweater, bunching it in his hand, even as his brow furrows more and more.

virgil, sensing another crying session in making, feels his stomach plummet and quickly takes a few steps closer; his mom mirrors him, crowding in on his other side.

“i,” patton says. his voice quavers, and he takes in a shaky, gulping breath. “did you…?”

“it’s christmas,” virgil says gruffly. “you didn’t really think we wouldn’t get you anything for christmas, would you?”

“but i,” patton says, and his face crumples as he looks to virgil’s mom. “but i didn’t get you anything.”

his mother looks startled at this, just for a moment, before she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“you’ve given us your presence,” she says, voice quiet, so that virgil’s breakfasting siblings won’t overhear. “and time with a relatively newborn baby.”

patton makes an alarmingly creaky noise, which means that logan makes an alarmingly creaky noise, sensing that something’s wrong, and virgil panics, just a bit, because hearing logan scream and knowing he can’t do anything about it is possibly one of the worst feelings in the world.

“you’re sixteen,” virgil says roughly. “you’re sixteen. okay? you’ve had a rough year. you’re a good kid. you deserve christmas presents without any strings attached.”

patton inhales deeply and presses his fingers under his eyes, like the pressure will be enough to stop the tears. 

“but i—i couldn’t even remember to bring your present—”

“and that’s okay,” virgil says firmly. “you’ll bring it next time you come to the diner, that’s fine.”

“—i didn’t even get you anything,” patton says to his mom, watery. “and you’ve been so kind to me, i—”

“that’s okay,” meredith says. “hey, that’s okay. your presence is enough, just like i said.”

“but—”

“it is enough,” meredith says quietly. “look. giving presents makes you feel good, right?”

patton nods, curly hair still damp around the edges flopping into his eyes.

“ so,” meredith says. “you’re letting us get that feeling. that’s a nice present, wouldn’t you say?”

patton hesitates, clearly warring with himself, but then—

“and you’ll let us hold the baby, as long as he doesn’t cry? we’re all vaccinated and i want my children to practice for—”

“ no grandkid talk,” virgil grumbles, which makes patton sniffle and smile.

“well…. okay,” he says, before he says, “i’m going to send you something for your birthday, though.”

“well, i’ll have to do that too!” meredith says cheerfully. “when’s yours?”

“january 15.”

“no way,” meredith says.

“what?”

“mine’s january 16!”

and, almost as suddenly as it started, patton’s closeness to tears has abated as he and meredith discuss the various merits and drawbacks of a january birthday, patton’s well-trained ability to small talk and his genuine, enthusiastic interest in getting to know people shining through, distracting him, and virgil breathes a soft sigh of relief. 

no more crying on christmas. patton shouldn’t have to feel like crying on christmas. it’s christmas.

so virgil turns, and moves to get another cinnamon roll, before—

“what was all that?”

virgil scowls at silas, almost out of habit, before he takes his chosen cinnamon roll off the tray.

maybe it was the cinnamon roll that silas’ hand was closest to, and maybe silas scowls right back, but hey, virgil made it, he gets first dibs.

“patton was a bit emotional about christmas presents when he didn’t get anyone but me anything,” virgil says curtly.

silas hums.

“silas, i swear—”

“hey, if you don’t get snappy with me, i won’t be snappy with you,” silas says, putting up his free hand. “christmas is the time of truces and all that.”

virgil stares at him for a few more seconds, evaluating the validity of this, before he allows a jerky nod and turns away from him.

just in time to see patton unearth logan from his chest carrier, and to see his mother coo down at his sleepy face.

“give him a couple seconds, he just needs to wake up a little so he doesn’t panic when we pass him over,” patton murmurs, and his mother laughs, staring down at the baby with soft eyes.

god. his mom really wants grandbabies.

virgil thinks, as he stares at patton and his mom, smiling together down at logan, that patton and his son are probably a pretty good interim patch for that particular desire.

thank god, he thinks. it’s not like he’s about to have a kid anytime soon.

  “okay, who’s santa this year?”

“it was us last year, i think,” essie says, patting annabelle’s knee. “so that means…?”

“i gave up my turn,” silas says, because silas can kind of be a grinch, “so—”

“me!” freddie sings, launching herself from the booth. “okay, light blue patton, dark blue for the baby?”

“that’s the one,” mark says cheerfully, who is now taking his turn holding the baby, and he looks absolutely delighted that logan was comfortable enough to fall back asleep in his arms.

“and everyone else’s is normal,” freddie says, before gathering an armful of purple boxes and bags and cheerfully dumping them at virgil’s feet.

“thanks, fred,” he says dryly. “sure hope there wasn’t anything breakable in there.”

freddie ignores him. virgil has the feeling that she’d be flipping him off behind her back if their mother wasn’t sitting right next to him.

“so, um,” patton says uncertainly, from where he’s hovering right next to virgil’s dad in case of Random Baby Meltdown Time, “how do you guys usually do this?”

“pass them out in order, tear them open in chaos,” annabelle informs him. 

“there is no order,” essie says at the same time, and patton nods, absorbing this.

“right,” he says, “okay,” and accepts a load of indigo presents with a thank you to freddie and a glance at logan, just to check that he’s still okay; virgil’s dad transfers logan to his carrier, so he doesn’t get jostled during the whole gift-opening session.

freddie continues passing out presents as quickly (and carelessly) as she can—gold for mom, silver for dad, green for wyatt, red for essie, pink for annabelle, black for silas, yellow for freddie, purple for virgil—and as soon as the last present is placed in the pile by patton’s feet, freddie immediately tears into her nearest present with a vicious, vociferous glee.

and the rest of them are off.

with five kids (and, now, five kids, a fiancée, and a friend with a baby) it had always taken way too long to go in order, one-by-one, and so it became the norm that as soon as whoever was santa that year opened their first present, the rest of them had free reign to open their presents as quickly or as slowly as they would like.

it would probably shock no one that most danes’ favored quickly.

soon, the diner was overrun with the sound of ripping wrapping paper and crumpling tissue paper and exclamations of “thanks!” whenever they saw what they got, and who they got it from, and leaning around people to offer hugs or more specific comments.

virgil looks up in the midst of ripping some shiny purple wrapping paper off a box, to see patton, frozen, with his hands on the first box he’d gingerly picked up, staring at the chaos.

for a second, virgil thinks he might be overwhelmed; they can be noisy when they’re all jammed in together like this, with an occasion as exciting as christmas presents, and patton hasn’t exactly had an easy past couple of days. or an easy past year, for that matter.

but patton’s eyes dart over to look at virgil’s parents: his mom, in the middle of squeezing freddie into a hug and then giving her a soft, joking punch for the gag gift that freddie must have gotten at some kind of godawful tourist trap, virgil isn’t even really sure what it is but whatever it’s supposed to be probably shouldn’t be sequined and glow-in-the-dark; his dad, pulling free a cookbook from the bag he’d been hurling tissue paper from just seconds earlier.

and then patton beams, and tears the wrapping paper off the nearest sky-blue box with a satisfying rrrrrrrriiiiip!!!

virgil grins down at his own box, and resumes opening his own gifts, that warm, sentimental feeling blooming in his chest that he only really gets around christmas.

⁂

later, patton remembers logan’s first christmas mostly in snapshots; golden, precious memories that he’ll cling to for years, the kind of memories he knows will be cherished even before he’s finished living through them.

he eats his weight in cinnamon rolls, and then doubles it in ginger snaps. 

he helps virgil and silas and wyatt cart up virgil’s new furniture; virgil’s particularly protective of the framed nightmare before christmas cross-stitch, moving it over seven times (silas counts) before he carts it off to his room to decide where it’ll go later, when all of them are out of the room (“it’s not like any of you are interior designers,” virgil grumbles after this, probably annoyed by their constant recommendations, but really, moving it seven times?!)

he remembers the danes’ immediately clearing the easiest path for him to step into virgil’s room as soon as logan starts crying, and they all seem eager to lend a helping hand if he needs one; especially virgil and his parents, but the other siblings too. which patton appreciates, he really does! it’s just that he doesn’t think logan’s quite ready to learn how to do a baby cartwheel yet, like freddie’s offering.

virgil’s mother gets a new camera that morning from virgil’s father, and spends the rest of the day breaking it in; a lot of those are of logan (“baby’s first christmas!” she says, “you’ll want these for later!” which patton certainly is not contesting) but everyone gets their photo taken a lot, too. patton’s already gotten a promise from mrs. danes that she’ll send him a copy of virgil, so heavily dusted with flour that it makes him look like a ghost, after freddie got it in her head to storm into the kitchen and start a food fight when the culinarily-inclined danes siblings were tucked away for far too long, shouting about family time!

he teaches essie how to finger-knit a braided row that might become a blanket, later, sitting side-by-side on the couch, as freddie and annabelle both try to teach logan how to roll over on virgil’s new, fluffy, gray rug, as logan sits in his carrier and gnaws, slobbering, on his new jupiter teething toy. he’s about two months away from all that, but hey, if they’re dedicated to teaching him, maybe logan’s a quick learner.

virgil teaches him how to know when to flip a pancake, and sure, sometimes his pancakes are very pale, and sure, sometimes they’re very dark, but hey, at least patton knows how to keep an eye out for the popping air bubbles at the edge of the batter now!

meredith sits with him on the couch, a hand on his shoulder, watching fondly as all of her children bicker over the latest results of their card game and patton’s sitting with a snoozing logan in his arms, and says, “it’ll all go by a lot faster than you could ever guess, you know. cherish it.”

but mostly, patton remembers a lot of laughing, and the fighting being mostly joking in nature and never very serious, and no stilted small talk or muffled gossip or terrible catered food or itchy tulle dresses or ill-fitting suits or the desperate urge to steal a bottle of merlot and sneak out onto the balcony with christopher. he remembers the warmth of his sweater, and the look on each of the danes’ faces when logan seems to consent to being passed around with minimal complaining (except for screaming when silas holds him, but he’s easily enough calmed when patton picks him back up.)

and patton remembers this too.

they’re all sitting in the living room, waiting for the last of their christmas breakfast-for-dinner to cook, and he and the danes’ are all gathered in the living room; patton’s just finished a session of tummy-time with logan, so logan’s cuddled in his arm, eyes hazily lidded, like he’s about to drop off for another nap, but not quite sleeping yet.

the danes’ are all talking about family stories in the past, and patton is hopelessly trying to map out their extensive family tree in his head; virgil’s mom is the youngest of four girls, and virgil’s dad is the youngest of nine, so patton has absolutely no chance of keeping uncle marco or great-aunt maud straight in his head, he really doesn’t, unless someone wants to hand him a visual aid or something.

currently, the conversation’s centering around a great-aunt winnie; freddie’s namesake, apparently.

“—never got an ounce of common sense in all her life, but god, the woman was funny,” meredith finishes.

“aw, it passes down to winifreds through the generations,” silas says, and freddie reaches over to smack the back of his head, grinning despite herself.

“shut up, silas.”

“yeah, shut up, silas,” virgil echoes, grinning. “it’s not freddie’s fault that our parents cursed her with that name, it’s not like they have a very good track record with naming.”

“virgil!” meredith gasps, jokingly offended, which would probably be more effective if all five danes siblings hadn’t sounded off in noisy agreement. patton directs his smile down at logan, lest meredith try to net him to her side, because, well. the names they’d given all their children were nice names, of course, it was just… they were certainly all choices.

“he’s right, mom,” essie agrees, smiling up at her mom apologetically. “i mean, he has the most cause to complain, so—”

except virgil hisses at her, and patton looks over at them curiously.

“you do?”

“he doesn’t know?” silas says gleefully.

“i mean, well—” virgil says, fumbling.

“—’cause, i mean, virgil thomas isn’t so bad,” patton says, glancing out at the rest of them. “that’s the pattern, right, an, um… unusual name first and a real normal one in the middle? uh, like winifred jane, right?”

“okay, see, what i said was,” virgil says, clearly scrambling. “i like that yours and logan’s middle names are thomas, i wish mine was too, that’s why it was my confirmation name, so—”

“your middle name isn’t thomas?”

“absolutely not,” freddie says, absolutely mirthful. “it’s, like, one billion times worse.”

“— but,” virgil says, “thomas is my confirmation name, which is what i told you, and also what i prefer, because what they gave me—”

“they’re noble names!” mark says, which would probably be more convincing if he wasn’t fighting his own smile.

“ names?” patton repeats. “you’ve got two middle names?”

virgil grumbles into his glass, something like look at what you’ve all done, and patton looks at him quizzically.

virgil lets out a long, slow sigh. “you have to promise not to laugh, and that you won’t tell anyone.”

“i won’t,” patton vows loyally.

“my name,” virgil says, sighs again, and continues, “is virgil tringad luigi danes.”

patton blinks. and then he presses his lips together for a moment, but he can’t help the way the corners of his lips twitch up.

“you said you wouldn’t laugh,” virgil says, offended.

“it’s a hilarious name,” freddie says.

essie, pitying, pats virgil on the shoulder. “it is a pretty funny name, virge.”

“luigi,” patton manages to say, when he’s pretty sure he won’t burst into giggles just from opening his mouth. “like. like from—”

“ don’t,” virgil groans.

“like from mario?!” he says, and presses a hand over his mouth before he really starts laughing at virgil.

this very obvious ploy doesn’t work, because virgil turns his disgruntled gaze back to him, before—

“like luigi, my grandfather,” mark corrects, before he smiles, too. “and, yes, also like mario.”

“you hate me,” virgil grumbles to mark and meredith. “i mean, seriously. tringad?”

“it means fair town!” meredith protests. “you couldn’t exactly be virgil sideshire luigi, could you?”

“you hate me.”

“oh, bunny, of course we do,” meredith says. “that’s why we fed, clothed, and housed you for eighteen years, before eventually passing the family business down to you. i mean, clearly, it sounds like your father and i loathe you.”

“oh, yeah,” virgil continues to mutter, “there’s wyatt james and esther marie and silas matthew and winifred jane, and then i, virgil tringad luigi—”

and that’s what tips patton over the edge, the laughter bursting out of him before he can even try to stop it. virgil’s betrayed face almost makes it funnier; it’s the kind of laughter patton couldn’t stop even if he’d been trying (and he had been trying!) but once it explodes forth, it feels so good and so right that he wouldn’t even try to stop, and it’s the best kind of laughter, belly-aching and breathless and making his cheeks hurt, he hasn’t laughed like this since god knows when and that makes it all the better, all the more that he wants to laugh, and then—

and then, the most beautiful sound that patton’s ever heard.

logan’s laughing. a beautiful, bubbly, precious little baby laugh, eyes crinkling up, smiling up at patton, laughing with him, and it shocks patton into laughing right along with him, sure that his smile is splitting his face, because his baby is laughing.

“he’s laughing,” patton says in disbelief, and lets out a breathless exhalation, looking up at the rest of the danes’. “logan’s laughing!”

“logan’s laughing!” virgil cheers, any betrayal over patton laughing at his name forgotten, and meredith says, “his first laugh?” as mark says “congratulations!” and patton looks down at logan in his arms, reaching a hand to tickle a little bit at logan’s belly, so blinded by his smile and maybe happy tears that he can only see logan’s smiling, perfect face.

“laugh for your papa, honey!” patton urges, gently tickling his belly. “go on, baby, laugh!”

and logan does, and it’s so beautiful, so precious, and patton is euphoric, letting out a laugh with him that might be a sob, disbelieving and overjoyed as the rest of the danes’ provide a delighted cacophony in the background that logan seems to turn to to listen, before looking up at patton and laughing again. his son’s first laugh, happening in his arms, surrounded by people who support him, and one of his best friends, and—

and it’s the best christmas present he’s ever gotten.

⁂

logan’s tuckered out from his first laugh and his second laugh and the third and fourth and on and on until patton lost count, because each and every danes made their very best attempt to make him laugh, with none as successful as virgil, and patton treasures every single one, because his baby. laughing.

the first outward expression of joy, other than laughing. a huge step toward his own expression as a person. 

it’s perfect. logan’s perfect.

patton rubs at his aching cheeks, still smiling, as he slowly steps back from logan napping away in his carrier.  

logan sleeps on, and so eventually patton turns his back on him, approaching the diner’s kitchen.

“anything i can help with?” he asks, even though it doesn’t seem necessary; the danes’ are all a well-oiled machine, all seemingly used to their jobs preparing their massive breakfast-for-dinner.

meredith glances out at the kitchen; virgil flipping pancakes, jostling elbows with silas frying bacon at the same stove; essie checking biscuits set out to cool; freddie and annabelle laughing as they cut fresh fruit; wyatt scrambling eggs; mark flipping waffles out of the iron with professional efficiency.

“how about,” meredith says, clearly struggling to come up with a job that didn’t really require cooking that hadn’t already been taken.

“i could set the table?” patton offers, and she smiles at him in relief, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“yes! set the table. um, plates are there, silverware should be—”

“over in the basket,” virgil says, “we moved ‘em,” and meredith nods.

“ma’am, yes ma’am,” patton says, and goes over to gather an armful of plates, a handful of already-napkin-wrapped silverware.

his parents would probably be aghast that he was eating off plastic plates, with durable forks, for christmas dinner. patton pushes the thought of his mind, like he has been for the nearly two months he’s been gone, but strangely, it hurts less.

like a bruise that’s starting to heal.

patton can only hope that pattern continues, but he decides to focus on setting down plates and silverware, instead.

he ends up filling pitchers with juice and hot cocoa/coffee and regular coffee and water, too, before the danes’ all come to finish their own jobs and cart out platters and platters of food; hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy, fruit, pancakes and waffles—it’s a veritable feast, and patton’s mouth is watering just looking at it.

virgil pushes a mug in his hands, and patton’s about to thank him until the smell hits his nose.

“this is decaf,” he says, holding it back out for him.

“ how,” virgil says disbelievingly. “i poured it when you weren’t looking!”

patton grins at him. he could tell him it’s the smell—decaf always smells different than fully caffeinated—but he’s having too much fun showing off that he knows it’s decaf before it even touches his lips to consider that, yet.

“i know all,” patton says, making his tone aloof and mystical, so that virgil snorts at him.

“okay, well, you should still drink it.”

“it’s christmas!” patton says, aghast. 

“it’s dinnertime,” virgil says.

“i’m not seeing your point,” patton says, and virgil sighs.

“look,” he says. “just… drink the decaf, as a christmas present to me. just the reassurance that i’m trying to keep you from tossing and turning all night.”

patton hesitates, staring at him, before he sighs.

“i’m not going to like it,” patton grumbles.

“i’d never expect you to,” virgil says, a laugh in his voice. 

all the rest of the danes’ have started filtering in from the kitchen, carting the last of the plates; virgil sees them, and ducks into the kitchen to help. patton deliberates going, too, except annabelle starts chatting with him about logan, his favorite topic of conversation, so he’s a bit distracted.

the scent of fresh-baked pastry and apples and cinnamon brings him to a pause, staring at the plate that a familiar pale hand sets down in front of him.

they’re not apple tarts. the ones at his parents’ party are twisted to resemble little roses with perfectly spiced, perfectly baked, perfectly cubed apples in the center, overlaid with an elaborate, perfect lattice. perfect, perfect, perfect; just like everything else is supposed to be, at a sanders party.

these are more like mini apple pies. unassuming and simple—a crust rolled over the top with an x cut into the center, the edges clearly pressed down against with a fork. not at all uniform, or particularly picturesque. not perfect.

patton finds himself getting choked up anyway.

  “i couldn’t, um,” virgil says, and coughs. “i couldn’t find a recipe for apple tarts, this is the closest i could get, but i hope—”

“i love them,” patton says, cutting him off, and if his voice a bit more watery than usual virgil doesn’t comment on it. “i-i love them. i just— thank you.”

it still doesn’t feel like enough, thank you, he means, it doesn’t feel like enough to tell virgil for everything he’s done for patton, for logan. it’s so thoughtful, and such a sweet gesture, to bring the part of christmas that patton’s been audible about missing that virgil could conceivably bring to patton. and he did.

he gave patton presents, and comfort, and the opportunity to get to know his family, and the closest thing he could get to apple tarts. apple tarts, patton’s favorite christmas tradition. right here. in addition to a welcoming, kind family, and presents, and providing the impetus for his son’s first laugh—

it’s not enough. it feels like it might never be enough.

virgil settles in beside him, the rest of the family all sitting down, still laughing and chatting, reaching for platters and starting to pass them up and down the table.

“what are friends for, right?” he says quietly. 

patton tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, and tries to smile at virgil. virgil smiles back at him, soft, and understanding, and patton thinks that maybe he doesn’t really have to say anything at all.

he plucks one of the apple pies. it’s still hot enough that it feels like it’s burning the tips of his fingers as he drops it on his plate. he cuts it, and the scent of apple and cinnamon comes through even clearer. he lifts a heaping forkful to his mouth, blowing out a breath in a futile attempt to cool it, before he eats it, savoring the flavors dancing on his tongue.

it tastes like christmas.

⁂

virgil’s stretched out on the rug, lying on the ground with a hand on his stomach. everyone else has claimed most of the furniture, similarly food-stunned and lazy.

“so i guess people don’t want to make dessert or anything, then?” his mother teases the whole room, only to be met by a chorus of groans that virgil only ever really hears on thanksgiving, or christmas, or the random weekends where they’d all decided to try out a variety of new recipes for the diner and gorged themselves on it and all of its subsequent, experimental variations.

everyone is sleepy, and quiet, and content. virgil’s content.

essie and annabelle slumped against each other, legs tangled together as their feet are propped up on the same (new) ottoman; silas is on the other cushion of the loveseat next to them, close to nodding off; wyatt and freddie are sitting together on the couch with their parents, deep in a game of go fish; patton’s flopped out on his belly, not far from virgil, along with logan, who’s having some tummy time. some classic christmas music is playing in the background.

it’s been a good christmas, a great christmas, even; he’s gotten presents to help make the apartment look a little less barren and a little more homey, patton and logan had a good day, he got to spend a lot of time with his siblings and his parents and his future sister-in-law. and, considering that his dad’s nodding off on the couch right now, it means that christmas is winding down.

there’s always this strange feeling that virgil gets, right before he goes to sleep on a holiday, or after a really good day. sometimes, he feels like he’s so hyperaware of everything that could go wrong, that when days turned out as close to perfect as they could—like today—it felt bittersweet, that such a good day had come to such a satisfying closing, but at the same time, thinking about how quickly things were changing, everything that could happen, and he’s almost a little afraid, every birthday or christmas or thanksgiving or family weekend, that it’ll be the last one like this, the last one where he and silas won’t fight, the last one where they’ll all be together like this, the last time it’ll go well.

he knows how unlikely he is that that feeling is right, but, well. anxiety. it tries to convince him that it’s right all the time. and it is, in a way; logan’s never going to be this little again, for a holiday like this. essie and annabelle will get married, and grow out of their honeymoon phase. freddie might be whisked off to paris or cairo or london or tokyo with her intention on running away to the circus. wyatt might drown himself in work and not escape from the operating room. silas might get bitterer, and bitterer, and his parents’ constant reassurances that they’d grow out of whatever rivalry they’ve got going would be wrong.

his parents are getting older, too. there are more gray hairs at his father’s temples than there were when they moved away. and that’s going to keep happening, and soon, it won’t just be gray hairs.

virgil shakes himself, and rolls over, enough to come face-to-face with logan. logan’s enough to jolt him out of that particular line of thought; it’s hard to think about aging and all the scary things that comes with that when he’s staring a baby dead in the face.

“oh, hey,” he says. “‘sup, buddy, you kinda zoomed on over here, or did i just roll real far?”

“you rolled real far,” patton says, amused. “logan’s not due to start crawling until about may or june.”

virgil makes a noise of understanding, before he says, “yeah, probably too much to expect to get two major milestones on one day, huh?”

logan babbles at him in agreement, and virgil smiles, offering him a finger to grasp and slobber on.

“yeah, it would,” he murmurs to him. “one’s just fine, though. good job on that. laughing’s awesome, you’ll love it.”

“yeah, he will,” patton says, beaming at logan, lightly rubbing his back before propping his chin on his hand. he had a look on his face; he wasn’t smiling as widely as he had been, when he was talking to logan, and, weirdly, it strikes virgil that he might not be the only one with a case of holiday melancholy.

of course he wasn’t, virgil scolds himself a moment later. jesus, if anyone was afforded a case of holiday moodiness, it was patton, who had just gone through his first christmas without his parents, knowing full well that he was going to take steps to face a lot more than just christmases without them. 

virgil’s so entrenched in this line of thought that it’s almost jolting when his mother says, “well, it’s probably time to head back to the inn.”

“oh!” patton says, surprised, and virgil carefully takes his finger back from logan, who seems to pout at him, but doesn’t start crying, which is really the best he can hope for. he manages to push himself onto his feet.

the goodbye hugs pass by in a rush; it’s not their last goodbye hugs—they’re all coming to the diner tomorrow for a goodbye breakfast—so they’re quick, everyone eager to drop into bed and sleep off their food comas. 

“patton, do you want to walk back with us?” his mother asks. “since we’re all walking the same direction.”

“oh, no, that’s okay,” patton says. “i thought i might, um. help virgil pick up a little.”

virgil looks at him a little strangely; they’d washed all the dishes, and really, the only picking up that needed to be done was putting pillows back on their proper couches, and throwing away the last of the plastic cups people had been sipping wine and beer out of. nothing really intensive, and, honestly, nothing that couldn’t wait until morning.

“plus, um, i figured i’d make sure logan’s all good before the walk back,” patton says, adjusting logan a little so that virgil’s mom could coo at him—it’s a grade-a diversion tactic, virgil has to admit, just showing off the baby.

fine, it’s worked on him before, he isn’t heartless, it’s a baby, and more than that, it’s logan.

“all right, well,” she says, floundering.

“it won’t take very long,” patton says, “i just don’t want you to wait very long, or anything.”

“oh, that’s not a problem,” she says briskly. “i can just make sure—here, i’ll pick up in here, you two take the kitchen, we’ll be done. before you know it.”

“okay,” patton says. 

they go into the kitchen. it really is just throwing away crumpled napkins and dumping discarded drinks into the sink before sorting it into trash and recycling, but patton seems strangely fidgety, changing the way he’s holding logan about five times.

“you okay?” virgil asks, once that they’ve cleared up everything.

patton clears his throat, adjusting his grip.

“i just,” patton says, and takes a deep breath. “i think i want to call my parents.”

virgil stops in his tracks. “oh,” he says, and he’s sure he sounds a little strangled.

“not, like,” patton says, and lets out the breath. “not the house, i don’t think i could handle—um, i think i might leave a message on my dad’s machine at work. no chance of anyone answering, but… but i can still say merry christmas, and tell them about meeting up after the new year.”

“meet up?” virgil repeats, striving to keep his voice neutral.

“i should at least,” he says, and swallows. “i think i should at least tell them about the emancipation thing to their face. right? i’d want someone to tell me about that, so i just—i don’t want to blindside them, that’s all. i think i’ve done enough of that.”

“you didn’t,” virgil starts, before he stops, and says, “are you sure about this?”

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i’m sure.”

“okay,” virgil says. “do you want—i mean. should i go in the other room, or—?”

“no,” patton says, then, “i just—i want you there. we could step onto the balcony maybe?”

virgil nods. 

“it’s just,” patton says. “i—i dunno. it feels… wrong, i guess. to not at least try to talk to them. it’s christmas.”

virgil lets out a sigh. because, well. he may hate emily and richard sanders, but if it’ll make this kid feel better about the christmas he’s had…

well, who is he to stop his friend from feeling better?

[legacysam]

It’s a day late for the fic challenge with @fieryfurniss, but it’s almost 3k instead of like... 500 so I think I’m okay with that. Completely unedited bc I am TIRED and I want to at least draft today’s fic before bed so I’m not TOO far behind. Anyway I have feelings about season 4 Martin, enjoy:

[SOUND OF SHUFFLING PAPERS]

MARTIN

Oh. Oh, hello. Suppose you’re all ready, aren’t you? Do you... I mean, we’re going to record the statements, it’s kind of what we do around here. You don’t have to keep turning up all spooky-like and turning yourselves on, we aren’t that bad at our jobs. I mean, not that performance reviews are... standard here, but still.

Do you just, do you enjoy it? Do you... I dunno, feed on this stuff? Eventually going to evolve into a, a boombox or something, like a tape recorder pokemon?

No. No, I suppose not. Probably for the best. Only just starting to get used to you at this size...

[CLEARS THROAT]

Alright, so. Martin Blackwood, assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute, recording statement #0070105. Statement of Marina Adamos, given first of May, 2007.

Statement begins.

MARTIN (STATEMENT)

It started in January, right after I got back from my parents’. Or, maybe a week or so after. Came back right after Christmas, it was just too much in that awful little house will the whole family there, all the nieces and nephews and my gran going on about why didn’t I have kids yet, all those people and since I’m the single one, I got the couch for the duration, might as well have booked a hotel really. In any case, got through the holiday, answered all the usual questions, took the dog for a lot of long walks, and got out of there as soon as I decently could.

I don’t mean to sound awful, I love my family, I do. I just get used to the quiet here, in my own place, and when we’re all together it’s a bit... overwhelming.

In any case, I was back in Exeter, getting good and settled in for the rest of winter. I’ve been writing my doctoral thesis, and I’d been at it for... god, must be four years now, four and a half maybe? And I finally got a grant to just sit down and write for a year. No teaching, no committees, just me and the thesis and field trips to a few of my favorite archives. Not this one, sorry. Don’t think I’d even heard of this one until last week.

Anyway, I suppose there was part of me that... I don’t know, maybe missed home? Had some lingering feelings about home, anyway, made my flat seem too empty to get proper work done, and I thought a change of scene might be helpful to get my gears going again after the break. There’s a cafe on the corner across from my flat, one of those that’s coffee during the day and wine and beer at night, can’t miss a chance at getting all the university students in for their various vices. Vices including poetry, apparently.

I didn’t know it was an open mic, obviously, or I never would have stepped foot in the place. Awful tradition, listening to nineteen-year-olds go on about being hopelessly in love as if anybody you date at that age is some grand romance. I almost preferred the angry feminist ones about getting felt up on the tube. I’d already dragged my notebooks over there, though, and in fairness the wine was really good, so I stayed. I had a table at the side, well out of mic-range, and once I got started working I could tune it out alright. I think the only thing that interrupted me was somebody asking if they could take one of the chairs from my table, which was great, actually. Kept anybody from being tempted to join me.

It was maybe an hour or two later that one of the readers got my attention. I still can’t figure out why. He was nothing special, just some nervous, chubby lad whose friends must’ve had to shove him up onstage, because he looked absolutely mortified being there. Though thinking back, I don’t remember seeing anybody he seemed to be with. Nobody cheering him on or anything. Dunno, maybe he was just braver than he looked.

I don’t remember much about the poem he read. It was long, I know that. But there was a bit in there that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I don’t think I can forget it. He wasn’t looking at me when he read it, but it felt like he was standing at my table reading directly at me, like there was nobody else in the room, and not in a romantic way. In a really scary way, like when you accidentally make eye contact with somebody who’s been staring at you. But he was just looking at his notebook, and he said, “the winter snow that falls at night will cover us in purest white. The sun that comes at break of day will melt the snow and us away.”

It was spooky, I don’t think it fit with the rest of the poem, but I don’t remember any of that. Just those lines. I’m not a nervous sort of person, but I didn’t want to hear anymore, I just got up and left. I sat on my couch the rest of the night watching outside, waiting to see if it snowed. I don’t... I don’t remember seeing the guy leave the cafe, though. I don’t remember seeing anybody leave, but I must have fallen asleep at some point, so maybe that’s why.

I knew I’d been asleep because when I looked outside again, there was snow on the ground. A lot of it, and it was still snowing hard, and all I could think was “the winter snow that falls at night...” I could have strangled the guy, to be honest. Maybe if I’d seen him again I would have, or at least given him a piece of my mind about his creepy poetry.

Anyway I don’t know if it was his fault, what happened. Maybe it was all in my head from the start. That’s what anybody I tell seems to think, anyway. “Oh, poor Marina, the thesis pressure got to her. Such a shame.” Maybe it’s better if they think that.

I didn’t... I didn’t go out again until late the next day. It never got properly light, anyway, just that sort of glowy grey you get when street lights bounce off the snow and clouds. I stayed in and tried to work. It was... maybe 3 or 4 in the afternoon before I checked my phone. It was weird, normally I got loads of texts and things from my parents after I left from a visit, like they were trying to make it longer, you know? But I hadn’t gotten any. No missed calls, either. Everything was just... quiet. It didn’t worry me, I just figured with the snow people were taking a day off and curling up on the couch and not doing anything. I certainly wasn’t, kept reading the same passages over and over. That damn poem kept getting tangled up in them, I’d try to copy something out and find myself writing about snow and people melting.

Late in the afternoon I decided to go for a walk. Quit being a chicken about it and go out in the snow, see everything was normal and all that. And it was. I walked by houses and saw the lights on in the windows, shops were open with people behind the counters, just nobody shopping, really. It looked like I was the only one out, but that’s fair enough in a snowstorm, isn’t it?

So I went home and watched some reality cooking show until I fell asleep.

It was... different when I woke up. Still no messages on my phone. I was starting to think there was something wrong with it, so I opened up my contacts to call somebody and test it and... there was nothing. No contacts. No old messages. Just like as if the phone was brand new. I still know my dad’s number, of course, so I punched it in to call him but it just rang and rang, never went to voicemail. Mum’s too. It had to be broken, right? Factory reset or something, took it back to before it was programmed to make calls properly maybe? I told myself that anyway, though saying it now it sounds stupid.

I put the phone in my pocket and went to look out the window and... the snow was gone. I don’t mean it was melting, I mean it was sunny out and the street was dry. The sidewalks were dry. There wasn’t even any of that grey-yellow slush in the grass by the road, nothing. Like there hadn’t been any snow or rain or anything in days. And there was nobody out.

I told you, I don’t spook easily, I’m not nervous, but I was getting nervous then. Just a low level sort of adrenaline, I was not panicking, I was just... everything was weird and I still had that poem stuck in my head, and I wanted to make sure it was all just some fucked up coincidence, you know?

So I went to the cafe. It was the only thing I could think to do. I think I told myself I was going to borrow their phone, but I don’t think that was really the plan. I think I was looking for... evidence. Evidence of something.

There was nobody in the streets. Nobody. Not in cars, nobody in their yards. I couldn’t even see anyone through the windows. It was like everyone had left without me. Even the cafe, which should have been packed on a day like that, there was nobody. The door was unlocked and the lights were on, but I couldn’t find a single person. I tried to call my parents again. No answer.

I did find the open mic sign up from that night, though. They kept those in a binder by the register. I didn’t recognize any of the names, but I kept it anyway. You can have it, it just spooks me carrying it around, but I couldn’t think what else to do with it.

I don’t... I’m not sure I can properly explain how I felt in that moment. I stole a scone. Didn’t even think twice, just took it out of the case. Definitely tasted like it had been in there more than a day, but it didn’t really register with me. I sat in the window like that for ages, watching the street, just cold. I was thinking about how big whatever this was might be. Was I the only person left in Exeter? In Devon? Was it bigger than that? Had I missed an evacuation notice, was there some natural disaster coming? I’m not religious, but I had a school friend who was, and I wondered if maybe I was the only one terrible enough to be given a miss at the rapture. I was desperate to find something, some explanation, something sensible that would put the world back on track.

That was when I noticed the water in the street. Just a bit at the edge where something hadn’t drained properly, and it looked like it was moving. I went out to see, and it... Listen this is going to sound mad, and I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to take my word for it that it’s true. It was... there were hands in the water. I don’t mean like physical hands, I mean it was as if people were standing over the water waving at it, and it just made waves of reflections of hands. It wasn’t trees, or clouds, or me, it was in the water. That was when I started to run.

I was in and out of shops, went in and out of people’s houses, through yards, everywhere I could think where people should be. I went to the university and opened every office and classroom door in the Washington Singer building. My advisor’s desk had a cup of tea on it, like she’d just stepped out, but it was stone cold and there was a ring above the tea like it had been sat there a while. She practically lives in that office. Something about that, that damn cup of tea, that broke me a little.

I didn’t know where to go. I sat on the steps outside and just watched the empty world. There were birds and things just like there always were, but there was no movement that could possibly be a person. No sound like a human voice. I think... I started to think about whether I ought to go home, barricade myself in and hope that people came back, or if it would be better to go looking. I didn’t have a car, but my landlady did. I knew where she kept her keys and everything. It wasn’t as if she was using it.

I laughed at that. I don’t know why, but I started laughing, sitting there all alone on campus, laughing at the idea of stealing my sweet old landlady’s car. I’d have to leave a note, I thought. She’d think she just forgot where she parked it and she’d go mad looking for it. If she came back. If that water...

I think I tried to ignore what I’d seen in the water, and the way the snow melted, and that damn poem. It was still in my mind, but I had closed off that part of it because it wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t helpful to think that maybe some stammering undergraduate with a terrible poem had somehow magicked the world into...whatever this was. I can’t remember how I locked it all away, but I remember walking down the street toward home just... muttering to myself. “No, no, no...” The kind of muttering that makes you look crazy to passersby. But of course there weren’t any. I could say whatever I liked and no one would know. I could stay in my flat for a week and no one would bother me to come out with them. I could ignore my phone and not miss any messages from my parents. They always worried if I took too long to answer them.

I yelled “FUCK” once, in the middle of one of the bigger intersections, just to see how loud I could be. It hurt my throat how loud I could scream.

I wonder if that was what did it, actually. Looking back, it was right after that that I saw the dog. I don’t know how that would make a difference, but it makes as much sense as anything. Just a glimpse, but I could see a tail and a trailing leash going around a corner a block away, and without thinking I started to follow.

I’d already done a lot of walking and running that day, but I think that was the fastest I’d ever gone in my life. All I could hear were my feet hitting the pavement, and then I started to hear the sound of tags on a collar. And then he was in sight, a big lab like my parents’, running full out, tail wagging like he was playing his favorite game. I didn’t think I could possibly catch him, but I kept going, because what choice did I have? I chased him through yards and parks and down empty streets, and when I finally got close enough, just as he was about to zig zag away again, I threw myself on the ground and got hold of the leash. I still have a scar from my elbow hitting the sidewalk.

It was... like when you unpause a movie and it’s not just that the world starts moving again, it’s like something that was just a picture becomes alive again. I heard a voice behind me, and a woman pulled up in a minivan thanking me for catching her dog, the kids were so upset when he got away from them. And then the kids were there, piling out of the van, and a lady came out of the house we were in front of and offered me a bandage for my arm. There was traffic again, I could hear music from a couple streets over. It was all back.

I didn’t go to the cafe again. I just... couldn’t. I couldn’t risk it. Whatever happened to me, wherever I was that day, I knew it all started there. I wasn’t going to give it a chance to get me again.

I don’t... I don’t know if this is helpful for you, I don’t really know what you do here aside from collect creepy stories, but I just. When I heard about you I felt like I should tell you my story, maybe get it off my hands. I’ve got things I want to do with my life, you know? Time to stop thinking about all this. Time to let it go.

Statement ends.

MARTIN

[LONG PAUSE]

The... the list from the cafe is here. It’s... I... yes. Yes, my name is on it and yes, I used to go read there, but this isn’t... I don’t recognize those lines, I didn’t write them. I didn’t... I wasn’t...

I think I need to talk to Peter about this. I don’t want to. If the Lonely was... I don’t think I want to know. I don’t want to have been... I dunno, destined for this. I don’t want any of it. I...

[DEEP BREATH]

I... I’ll ask Melanie if she can do the follow up on this one. I think she’ll understand.

End... end recording.

[hannahmcne]

Lost on the Case - Chapter 2

"Natalie, I need you to schedule a meeting with our representatives in Sweden."

Natalie sighed as she shuffled through the dozens of files strewn on the floor from ten years ago. She was cleaning out all the old papers to make room for next year.

"I'll do that as soon as I'm done refreshing my office," Natalie promised. She crossed off a few items on her check register and tossed some crumbling receipts into the trash. As Gabriel Agreste's heels clicked away, Natalie opened the last filing cabinet, which held financial statements from the bank. She uncapped three different colored highlighters and went to work, only to feel a pang in her chest as she glimpsed the details of certain payments.

$100 worth of Camembert Cheese. $20 withdrawal under the label of 'Nino's Birthday'. 5$ Ladybug Socks.

Though it had been almost ten years, Natalie still felt pained every time she imagined the boy's sunshine hair and sweet smile. It was still hard for her to imagine that he could have been hiding enough sorrow to kill himself underneath his polite, optimistic front.

She balanced the books, noting with a smile the copious requests for Camembert cheese, and remembering how young Adrien had fantasized over Ladybug. There were numbers from Gabriel's accounts mixed in, of course, along with company expenses. Orders for materials and buttons and thread; the whole lot.

Her eyes drifted down. Gabriel's old new phone, check. New and updated Ladybug Action Figures, check. She picked up the next statement and stopped. 40,000 euro withdrawal? When?

She checked Gabriel's statement. There was no mention of forty-thousand euros up and disappearing. She studied the card number beside the transaction and recognized the last four numbers on the card. Adrien. Adrien's card.

Why would Adrien withdraw forty-thousand euros?

What puzzled her more was the lack of a label. Had Adrien forgotten his card somewhere and someone picked it up? Why hadn't this been discovered?

She stood up and turned on her computer to look at the digitalized records for the month after Adrien's desk. All funds and bonds that had existed for the boy in event of something happening had been dissolved back into Gabriel's account upon Adrien's death, but according to her statements, Adrien had only had 300 euros in his separate accounts and in his wallet, which had been left in his workbag.

Natalie pressed her finger on the intercom button on her desk. A red light came on. A few seconds later, Gabriel's voice crackled through the speaker.

"Yes, Natalie?" He asked.

"Sir, were you aware that Adrien withdrew 40,000 euros-" Natalie paused to check the date, "-two weeks before he died?"

There was silence on the other end, and then a rustle of papers. "Forty-thousand euros?" Gabriel asked. He sounded shocked.

"Yes," Natalie confirmed.

"No. No, I was not aware. Where is the money now?"

"Missing. Only three hundred were returned to you." Natalie stated.

"File a claim and notify the police. A sum that large shouldn't be that hard to track down."

"Yes sir," Natalie replied. She took her finger off the intercom button and drummed her fingers on the desk. She glanced at her phone on her desk. Adrien had had friends… very good friends that he might have lent money too. After all, most of his friends had very extensive, expensive hobbies. The Fashion designer, the reporter, the DJ… he could have given it to them as a way of apologizing for not being around much longer. Natalie bit her lip, considering, and then reached for her phone.

Alya piled pens, her phone, and clothes on top of her notebook and lugged her small load down the hall into the bathroom. Nino appeared in the doorway as she started the tub.

"Going for a bath?" Nino asked.

"Yup," Alya confirmed with a frown. She sat down on the closed toilet lid. "Something about Marinette isn't sitting right with me. Someone must have gone rooting through her room because she didn't have those things on her."

"Is it possible she sold the purse?" Nino asked with a sigh, repeating his thesis from earlier. His tone betrayed his opinion: Alya was going off on a tangent again when she should be focusing on her work project.

"What about the photo of us?" Alya challenged.

"She could have moved it." Nino rolled his eyes. "Not everything has to be a mystery, Al."

"Where? And what about her diary?" Alya bit her cheek and tapped her knees. "I dunno Nino. It doesn't seem… likely."

"The diary is probably lost in her room." Nino sighed, sitting down on the floor. "Okay, I know I can't stop you, but... have you even opened the Ladybug file yet?"

Alya blinked. "Huh?" She asked.

Nino rolled his eyes. "Oh, you know, the super-important file that only one person in the department gets the opportunity to work on per year and that may or may not hold the secrets to where she and Chat went?"

Alya winced at his sarcasm. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just tuned out." She traced a finger on the wall. "No, I haven't opened it yet, it's just- my reporter senses are tingling. There's more to this story. I'm sure of it."

"You said that when Sabrina took a new job working for Nathaniel." Nino protested.

"Yeah, and there was! She was totally into him!" Alya defended herself though her ears turned a little red.

"They were dating, Alya." Nino annunciated very slowly.

"What about Marc?" Alya wrinkled her nose.

"They were taking a break while Marc was in Versailles." Nino sighed, leaning his head back in frustration.

"Yeah, but she left Chloe to work there!" Alya reminded him, waving her hands a little.

"Chloe fired her." Nino deadpanned.

"Exactly!" Alya exploded.

"They had a routine hiring/firing of each other every six months for almost three years." Nino reminded her.

Alya wilted. Nino sighed. "Just, don't go crazy on me." Alya nodded. Nino stood up and walked away.

"Hey, Nino?" Alya called. He paused and turned around. "I love you," Alya hummed.

Nino cracked a smile. "I love you too." Alya smiled and shut the door in between them. She upended an unholy amount of bubble bath into the tub as it continued filling.

Now… to think. She opened her notebook and selected a pen to tap as she thought. The sound of the water helped her focus. She found a blank page and wrote: "Problem:" At the top. Then she paused. What was the problem? Something was unsettling her. What was it?

Marinette's things were missing, but why did that alarm her so much?

Alya took a deep breath. Okay, Marinette's things are gone, so where did they go? Problem: Where are Marinette's missing things?

Okay, now she needed a Pathway to Solutions. Options. What options did she have? Nino was right, the purse or the ring could have been sold. She highly doubted the picture, or Marinette's diary would have been sold, but you never know. Or maybe Marinette had simply thrown them out. But that didn't sound right either. Marinette wouldn't toss out her grandmother's ring or her favorite picture of her best friend. Someone could have taken them. The ring was valuable, and the purse was pretty. But why would anyone take a teenage girl's diary or a cutout photo of two friends? And how would they have gotten up there? They'd have had to come through the trapdoor or evaded Sabine and Tom completely as they stalked up the stairs. But then why not take her computer or sewing machine? It could be they would have had to have snuck back down past the shop owners, but a trip like that didn't seem worth it for only a purse and a ring.

Or maybe… Marinette moved it herself. But even that had faults. That photo had been hanging since they were in Ecole. Why move it then? And that purse wasn't used half as much as Marinette's day-to-day purse. Alya had only ever seen her use it at Christmas or Easter. And Marinette's grandmother's ring was too big for her little fingers. She kept it on the display for a reason – she couldn't wear it. On top of all this, she knew for a fact Marinette hadn't stored her diary in any other place other than the Magic Box since she'd first made the thing and had the incident with Chloe and Sabrina.

Alya scribbled down all of her ideas and stared at them. They all seemed equally useless. Every single one had too many problems. She groaned and shut off the water to the tub. She buried her notebook under a towel for safekeeping and stripped down to climb in.

As she lay in the sea of bubbles, she tried to think up less flimsy options. Her cold toes tingled in the water. She washed her hair, shaved, and grew too restless to sit in the tub anymore. Finally, she toweled off and stood up. She turned on the fan in the bathroom and dragged her things back to the bedroom. Nino looked up at her from his tablet. He chuckled as she tossed her clothes and towel into the laundry hamper and began to angrily run a brush through her hair.

"Nothing?" He asked.

"Nothing!" She snapped back, angrily.

Nino rolled his eyes. "Bring your notebook over here and let's see what you have." Alya groaned and picked it up off the floor where it had landed. She sat down next to Nino and explained all of her thinking to him. Nino nodded as she reasoned with herself. When she was done, he asked: "Would she have these things with her at all?"

Alya thought hard. She imagined Marinette's missing poster. Then, she shook her head. "I don't think so. They would have reported Marinette having a bag on if she'd had one. And a ring, if she'd been wearing it. The diary is too big, and I don't know why she would have randomly taken the photo down."

Nino hmphed, but still scribbled it down as an option they'd tried. Alya drummed her fingers. "I need another lead." She muttered. I'm still missing something. Nothing can be solved from this angle."

A buzzing sound came from the floor. Alya scooted off the sheets and picked her phone up off the floor. An unknown number was calling. She denied the call. It would send the person to her voicemail. If they actually wanted to speak to her, the first thing they'd hear would be "Please call again, and I'll pick up this time."

She tucked the phone in her back pocket. It started to vibrate again. This time, Alya accepted the call.

"Alya Lahiffe speaking." She said.

"Ms. Ces-, I mean Mrs. Lahiffe, this is Natalie Sancour. I believe you may remember me? I'm Gabriel Agreste's personal assistant."

"Natalie Sancour. Yes, I remember. Why are you calling me?" Alya asked. In front of her, Nino scrunched up his eyebrows. Alya made a slashing motion at her throat. He knew Natalie a little better than he liked. She'd helped escort Nino out of Adrien's house several times.

"I'm calling to ask if you or your husband recall Adrien giving you any form of money or a particularly large or expensive gift before he died?" Natalie asked.

Alya raised an eyebrow at the odd request. "No, sorry ma'am. Nino?" She turned her direction towards Nino. "Do you remember Adrien giving you any money or a really big gift before he died?"

Nino looked very sad. He twiddled his thumbs as he thought. Finally, he shook his head no.

"Nino says he didn't get anything either. Why?" Alya asked.

"We recently discovered he took out a large sum of cash before his death, and we're trying to recover the lost money," Natalie explained, sounding a little annoyed and disheartened.

"How much?" Alya asked, picking up her pen and doodling a little scribble onto her notepad.

"Forty-thousand euros," Natalie admitted.

Alya must have gone white because Nino frowned in concern at her. "And that just, went missing?" She asked.

"He withdrew it two weeks before his death in cash with no memo or explanation. I only discovered it looking at old bank statements today." Natalie replied.

"Wow," Alya gasped.

Natalie hummed on the other end of the line. "I wonder if Ms. Dupain-Cheng would have received anything. As I understand it, they had an infatuation?"

Alya wrinkled up her nose. If only, if only. "No, ma'am. She liked Adrien, but he was oblivious in favor of Ladybug." She corrected.

"Pity. I can't imagine what the effect would have been if he'd had a girlfriend." Natalie mourned.

Alya felt all her frustrations egg up inside her. She couldn't imagine that either. On the other hand, Marinette had been kidnapped a few weeks after Adrien's death, so it might not have kept Adrien alive for very long, but the possibilities continued to annoy her.

"Well, I suppose I can't ask her at all," Natalie said. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Lahiffe."

"Wait," Alya said suddenly. She furrowed her brow. "Is there any chance Adrien might have written it down somewhere? In a journal or in his phone?"

The line was silent. For a moment, Alya was sure Natalie had hung up. Then, she heard a door open and heels clicking on a tile floor. "He – did have a journal he wrote in occasionally. And his old phone is kept on his side table. The room hasn't been touched, you see."

Another door opened. Alya listened to Natalie mutter as she examined – Alya assumed – Adrien's room. After several long, quiet minutes of Alya picking at threads in their bedcovers, Natalie spoke up.

"That's odd… it's missing. I can't find his journal anywhere."

Alya almost dropped the phone. She took a few seconds to recover, and then asked: "Where did he keep it?"

"In the bookcase that held all his music disks. He usually never moved it."

Drawers were opened and shut. She heard Natalie humming in thought. "That's so strange… I can't find it."

Alya's mouth ran dry and she fumbled her phone up by her ear. "Natalie, I- would you mind if I dropped by tomorrow to zoom through his room? See, I've been working on another case where a missing diary is the only piece of evidence and I'm wondering…"

"You think they're linked?" Natalie deadpanned. She sounded about as half as skeptical as Nino, so still very, very skeptical.

"I don't know, but I'm going with my gut feeling," Alya replied, though she was wiping her hands on her legs and feeling rather nervous about the sudden random similarity.

"Interesting. What time would work best for you? It's a Saturday tomorrow." Natalie asked. Her heels were clicking on the floor again, so Alya assumed she was returning to her office.

"Can I come over early? Around nine?" Alya asked.

"I'll tell security to expect you. Goodnight Ms. Lahiffe." Natalie bid her.

The phone clicked.

Nino twiddled his thumbs. "So…" he began. "You think these two cases are linked?" He hadn't, of course, heard the full story, but he'd been listening to Alya as she spoke, and it wasn't hard to fill in the blanks.

"No, it doesn't seem likely. I mean, Adrien's dead. A body was recovered and everything. Marinette… unless it was a hit job against two young adults, they couldn't be linked." Alya said as she got up to turn off the lights. Nino flipped on the lamp.

"So… the reason you want to see his room?" Nino plugged in his tablet and put it on the nightstand.

"Honestly, I'm just wondering what information I can glean. And maybe the similar evidence will give me ideas for Marinette's case." Alya climbed into bed next to Nino. He shrugged and nodded, so she assumed he agreed with her level of thinking. The couple said goodnight, flipped off the lights, and fell asleep.

[kcwcommentary]

VLD6x06 – “All Good Things”

6x06 – “All Good Things”

For me, the title “All Good Things” is a cliché. Unfortunately, that hints at the many clichés that are in the writing of this episode.

As we continue to finish Lotor’s story, this show continues to offend me with its declaration that Lotor, as an abuse victim, is as bad as his abuser. It infuriates me that this is the message the show chose to send through this story. I imagine that the EPs and the writers weren’t even aware they were doing so, but that does not absolve them of doing it. I haven’t read or seen every interview with them, so maybe they apologized for doing so, but I don’t know of them having done so.

We start in the Black Lion’s psychic space with Shiro repeating Keith’s name, and Keith opening his eyes. His opening his eyes here would have worked better if the last we saw of him in the previous episode was him closing his eyes. However, last episode ended with him opening his eyes, sort of symbolizing a psychological awakening, so him beginning this episode by opening his eyes feels off. The way last episode ended, there was a resignation in Keith. Shiro’s clone was unconscious, the facility was destroyed, and Keith and Shiro were plummeting toward the planet. It was a slow, dramatic, interestingly peaceful moment. But now, this episode is ignoring that tone and feels like it’s resetting Keith’s mental state to the anger and aggression he had during the fight, not to the calm he had as he fell with Shiro’s clone at the end of last episode. The beginning of this episode is not matching up well with the end of last episode.

Shiro’s spirit appears to Keith. He’s calm and quiet as he talks.

“The thing that attacked you wasn’t me,” Shiro says. I really do not like that they have him call the clone a “thing.” That “thing” was someone who the Black Lion sensed across great distance and directed Keith to save back in 3x05 “The Journey.” It would have been nice had this show not ignored or forgotten this (honestly, I can very much imagine the EPs and writers of this show truly forgetting what story they’ve told earlier in the show). The Black Lion also let the clone pilot her. The Black Lion would not have directed Keith to rescue the clone nor let the clone pilot her if she considered the clone to be an evil thing.

Shiro says that he’s been here in this psychic space since the fight with Zarkon at the end of season two. “My physical form was gone,” and the show never bothers to explain what happened to Shiro’s body, nor how he died.

“I tried to warn the others about the imposter while on Olkarion, but our connection was not strong enough,” Shiro says as his image fades and disappears. I’ll say that it seems reasonable that he would have a hard time connecting to them since the others have demonstrated through their actions that they don’t really think of Shiro as a friend.

Keith opens his eyes and he’s inside the Black Lion. “You saved us,” Keith quietly says to Black. Us! Not just Keith. The Black Lion has again saved the clone! He’s laying nearby, unconscious but reactive enough to slightly groan. The EPs and the writers want us to think that the clone is evil. They write that into the dialog of the characters. They just had the spirit of Shiro call the clone a “thing.” But the Black Lion saved the clone again! This means something, and the show totally ignores it in its push to call the clone evil. This is something the show absolutely should have addressed, but they couldn’t because it would undermine their premise that the clone was not a person that is used to justify having the Paladins use the clone’s body without any debate about the ethics of doing so.

Coran, Hunk, and Pidge are working on the Castle to the get the ship working again. Allura is visibly experiencing emotional distress. Lance seems to notice, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Krolia and Romelle have just been standing off to the side until Krolia announces she’ll go help with repairs and Romelle follows her. Why weren’t they helping to begin with? Lance takes the opportunity to ask Allura if she’s okay.

She says she’s angry at herself for “play[ing] right into Lotor’s hands.” Of course, I don’t blame her since I blame the EPs and the writers for purposefully writing Lotor as if he was a character undergoing a transformational arc specifically so that they could claim a cheap plot twist of saying he was evil all along. Lance says, “You didn’t put us in this situation. It was Shiro who went rogue and released the virus in the Castle.” I know they don’t yet know about the clone, but it still bothers me hearing them talk about Shiro like this.

Allura goes on about how she trusted Lotor but shouldn’t have and about how she doesn’t think she can trust herself now. While these are valid feelings for her to have given what has happened in the story, I’m stilled aggravated by it because it’s all coming from the EPs’ and writers’ efforts to manipulate the audience by writing Lotor to be a good person for most of his time on the show.

“I had more reason than anyone not to trust him,” Lance says. Thus, the show says that Lance feeling intense jealousy over Allura being with Lotor was right. Allura responds by hugging Lance. Lance’s jealousy is justified, and he’s rewarded with a moment of getting-the-girl for it. Ugh!

Keith establishes communication with the Castle and informs Allura and Lance that Shiro was a clone. He also tells them he’s detected that Lotor’s ships are heading back to them, but it will take time for him to get to them. They’ll have to hold off Lotor without him. Keith tries asking the spirit of Shiro to help him get to the others. The Black Lion’s wing is still sparking. This sparking first started as a depiction of damage from a fight, so its continual sparking should be setting up something to happen, like the wing exploding or Black losing all propulsion or something, but nothing ever comes of it. It’s not necessary to explain Black being too far away to get to the others before the battle starts, so if that’s what it’s supposed to be signifying, then it’s pointless.

Allura narrates, “Accessing the quintessence field has been Lotor’s singular drive for millennia. He wants to harness the power for himself.” I have a hard time dealing with this switch the show has flipped in Lotor’s motivation. The show made the situation more complicated in a really good way by having Lotor argue that using the rift as a source of quintessence would allow him to move the Galra away from taking quintessence from living creatures. With the show’s twist that Lotor’s a villain all along, what was a great complication is now ignored and replaced with a simplistic, selfish desire for power. By having this twist with Lotor, the show has narrowed and made the current primary antagonist generic. Allrua says the Paladins have to destroy the gate at the opening to the rift.

Ugh. Lotor tells Ezor and Zethrid, “My deepest apologies for lying to you both. But in order to gain the Princess’s trust and make the Paladins of Voltron believe we were truly at odds, it had to be done.” By now having Lotor talk like a generic villain, he becomes far less interesting. That the EPs and writers think this is interesting baffles me. Having Lotor talk like this now feels fake. This is just not the same character they’ve written since at least 4x06 “A New Defender.” And it makes the title of that episode a total lie, proof of the EPs’ audience manipulation.

Titles function as a promise, almost like a thesis statement, about the content of the story so titled. But this show did not use that title as a promise, it was purposefully a deception used against the audience. Allura earlier talked about how she shouldn’t have trusted Lotor, and how she doesn’t think she can trust herself now. Well, this whole Lotor-is-a-villain-all-along plot twist tells the audience that we should not trust the EPs and writers of this show. What makes this particularly infuriating is that the EPs and writers clearly think that they were clever with this plot twist. It feels more amateurish to me than anything even slightly resembling clever.

I’m not quite sure why Allura thinks she can have the Lions blow up the gate and it’ll destroy the rift. I understand that she feels the need to do something, and there’s little she can do at this point. But we know her plan to destroy the gate will not get rid of the rift opening. One, the narrative doesn’t tell this little bit of story significantly enough to make it have the tonality of a conclusion. But also, we know the history of this rift opening. We know that Alfor destroyed Daibazaal trying to destroy the rift opening, and yet it has continued to exist for 10,000 years.

The fact that this rift opening has persisted is unexplained though. When we had the “comet” having opened a rift in 3x04 “Hole in the Sky,” that rift closed as soon as Voltron pulled the “comet” through the rift opening into this reality. So, what held this rift at Daibazaal open for 10,000 years? Also, given Honerva’s obsession with the rift, why has she never come back here to work with it over those 10,000 years?

Hunk says, “The last time we fought Lotor, we had five ships and Lotor had two, and he still kicked our butts. This time, he’s going to have three ships, and we’re only going to have four.” I guess technically true since Lotor was unconscious last episode when the whole of Voltron fought all three of Lotor’s ships, but it still feels like Hunk’s statement is wrong since they fought all three ships.

Coran is given an extended repair sequence. It’s nice that the show is giving Coran something to do since they’ve barely used him the past several seasons. He finds an old tool kit from his grandfather.

Lotor’s ships arrive.

Allura yells at Lotor, “You enslaved countless Alteans. Harnessed their life source for your own personal gain. How many innocent lives did you destroy?”

He responds, “It’s true, many Alteans perished in my quest to unlock the mysteries of quintessence. But I protected thousands more, and I rescued their culture. Our culture.” We’ve been told by the narrative that we’re not supposed to trust anything Lotor has ever said or will say again. The problem is that by writing this dialog, the show reminds us of Lotor’s argument. And the thing is, despite the show declaring him to be a lying villain, he’s not wrong here.

This makes me think of the issue of energy production. Some Alteans, for some never properly explained reason, have the ability to produce more quintessence than most other lifeforms. This is part of the problem with this show never properly defining its magic system. The show never explains what quintessence is. It’s always generic as just some miscellaneous life energy. But why can some Alteans create more of it than everyone else? And what does it say about the position of privilege that their ability to do so grants them? Or at least, the privilege that it gives Allura. She uses quintessence to power her ship all the time. The show never explores that Lotor and the Galra’s desire for quintessence to power their civilization gives them a valid point of critique against Allura. Why does she get to have a source of energy that benefits just her and the few she chooses to use it for? This is not to say that it’s okay for the Galra to produce quintessence by taking it from other life forms. Lotor himself has said as much, that he wants to transition the Galra off of this method of energy production. That’s been his whole point in trying to get quintessence from the rift.

Part of why this conclusion to Lotor’s story is so unfulfilling is because the show does not resolve this argument. I even wonder if the show realizes it’s made this argument. I can easily imagine that the EPs and writers saw Lotor’s argument as nothing but a means to trick everyone into letting their guard down. But the problem for them then is that the show still has Lotor make a very valid argument that is never resolved.

Ezor says, “I stopped trying to figure out Lotor’s master plan long ago. Too complicated.” Ezor here is totally lampshading the story; the show is acknowledging that this plot has become too complicated, and they’re essentially asking the audience to ignore it and just move on. This feels like the writers almost admitting that they’re too unskilled to be able to handle writing this story. I imagine there are instances of lampshading in other stories that work and don’t end up feeling like the writers insulting the audience for the audience wanting the story to make sense, but this does not have that effect for me. I want this story to make sense. I want it to be consistent, but it’s not. All this does is point out that the writers know there’s a problem with what they’ve written. It does nothing to fix the problem.

Allura fires first. Lotor orders his team to hold their fire. Lotor tells Allura, “My feelings for you are true, and I know you have feelings for me as well.” Maybe it’s just the voice acting being better than the show’s story arc deserves, but Lotor sounds genuine in what he’s saying. My guess is that the voice actor, maybe even the voice director, believed that what Lotor says is true, but the problem then is that the EPs and the writers have declared it that Lotor is just a deceptive villain.

Allura responds by saying, “You betrayed and used me. You’re more like Zarkon than I could have ever imagined.” In order for her statement to be true, that he did betray and use her, it requires that everything he’s said to her to be a lie. Because his arguments have always been valid, I cannot believe his past statements to Allura to be lies. So, how then has he used her? If his goal is and always has been accessing a source of quintessence to provide energy to the Galra so that he can make the Empire stop producing it through taking it from living creatures, then how has he “betrayed and used” her?

The show does not explain what Lotor’s goal was in harvesting quintessence from the Alteans. It’s used as a demonstration that Lotor is an evil person, so I guess that combined with the show declaring him to be a liar is supposed to make it that he did it as a cliché villain taking life from other people and no deeper explanation was ever crafted by the writers. But again, this runs into the problem of Lotor’s argument about getting quintessence from the rift being totally valid and never invalidated.

Also, I hate what the show does with Allura here. Lotor was abused by his father. We know this. Lotor has talked to Allura about it. And here, they have her tell someone who’s been abused that they are like their abuser. This is cruel. This is the show itself, not just Allura, being offensive. Lotor has demonstrated several times throughout this show that he has vigorously tried to escape his father’s abuse. He has actively worked to do things differently than his father. He has been subject to ridicule from both his father and mother because he’s not full-Galra, while he has rejected that racism and Galra-supremacism by embracing his Altean heritage and accepting Axca, Ezor, Zethrid, and Narti, in defiance of the Galra who condemned him for doing so. In 3x01 “Changing of the Guard,” we learn that unlike Zarkon, Lotor does not adhere to classist discrimination and fights alongside lower ranking soldiers; we see some of Zarkon’s classist discrimination when he condemns Blaytz in 3x07 “The Legend Begins” for flirting with a server at dinner. Lotor specifically told Allura in 5x06 “White Lion” that he envied Alfor being her father because Zarkon never supported his desire to be an explorer. He told her about how he was in charge of a planet, how Zarkon got angry that Lotor let the population there rule themselves, how Zarkon ordered Lotor to destroy the planet, and when Lotor refused, Zarkon did so himself. Lotor is not like Zarkon. It is absolutely cruel for the show to write Allura saying this. And it’s offensive to those of us who have been subject to parental abuse. Through Allura’s condemnation of Lotor, the show is saying that no matter how much we try, we will not only never escape the abuse, we’ll become as horrible as those who abused us.

The show then goes generic villain by having Lotor criticize Alfor for being “too weak.” He orders his team to destroy the Lions. They all start fighting. I have to say that there is definitely something wrong with the writing when I’m actually on the antagonist’s side instead of the protagonist’s.

Coran does whatever ultimately miscellaneous thing he does to get the Castle back up and running. It’s a moment that is played for humor, but given the tension of the moment, of the dialog between Lotor and Allura, this is not the time for humor. This show has a recurrent problem with tonality dissonance like this.

Lotor says, “Once I wipe out Voltron, I’m going to start a new Altea. An Altea that will never know Princess Allura or King Alfor. Nor will they know the Lions of Voltron. All they will know is me, their great leader! I’m ready to wipe the universe clean of all my enemies: Voltron, Haggar, and the rest of the Galra!” The show now has Lotor screaming like a cliché maniacal villain. Ugh. This last line shocks Ezor, Zethrid, and Axca. How they’re surprised that Lotor views Galra culture as highly toxic and one that has been cruel to anyone who isn’t full-Galra, I don’t know. It’s not like the Galra Empire hasn’t discriminated against the three of them for their being only part-Galra.

Axca says, “I think it’s time for us to sever our ties to Lotor for good.” The EPs and writers of this show cannot ever decide on where Lotor’s generals’ loyalty actually lies, can they? By switching that allegiance around so damn much, I’m left confused. I’m tired of having to try to figure out what Ezor, Zethrid, and Axca’s motivations are. With these characters, I feel like I’m being jerked around.

As they take two of Lotor’s ships away from battle, Lotor responds, “Even my generals betray me.” Since the EPs have said in an interview that their goal with Lotor was to have him end up being like Azula from Avatar the Last Airbender, this moment and this line is clearly supposed to be a copy of Azula breaking down after Mai and Ty Lee turn against her. This moment reminding me of that interview causes me again to think about how amateurish it is for the EPs and writers to build their characters by trying to copy characters from other shows. They inadvertently cause me to compare Lotor to Azula while watching this episode. What Azula went through in the end of AtLA was written with a great deal of respect for her character. Her viciousness is condemned, but the last we see of her in AtLA is Azula experiencing severe psychological anguish, crying, and Zuko and Katara looking on with expressions of pain and sympathy for Azula. With how this show ends Lotor’s character, and the EPs saying that he was supposed to be like Azula in the end, I have to think that they totally missed what made the conclusion of Azula’s character poignant. In the end for Lotor, he’s just a screaming maniacal villain.

Lotor takes over the other two ships and ejects his generals from them. He then combines his three ships into Sincline. It’s been a long while since this show has had a mecha versus mecha battle.

Pidge reacts, saying, “What is that thing!?” This is not the first mecha she’s seen in this show, so this response is silly. Allura says, “That is why he was using me. I helped him build it.” The ability for it to physically combine has nothing to do with the quintessence-imbuing alchemy that Allura did. If what Allura did is what enabled this to happen, I would think she would have noticed that she was doing it. Also, the show has very much already established that what she did was make the ships capable of entering the rift. So, this is just more inconsistent writing. Hunk comments, “Well, the good news is that it’s now four-on-one.” I genuinely laughed.

Sincline attacks the Lions. Coran has the Castle shoot Sincline, but Sincline eventually returns fire. The two blasts do the cliché opposing beams directly clashing with one another until eventually one overpowers the other thing. Sincline hits the Castle. Pidge reacts by saying, “Impossible! Lotor’s weapon has completely repelled the Castle’s attack!” One, we can already see that his weapon has done so, so that dialog does not add literally anything to the show. Two, who thought having her proclaim something we just saw happen to be “impossible” is good writing? It’s cliché at best, but even if it wasn’t cliché, it still wouldn’t be good dialog.

Meanwhile, Keith is listening to communications of the battle. He starts begging Shiro to help him. His screaming Shiro’s name is a bit too much, causing the moment to totally fall over into excessive melodrama, which despite the intended purpose of melodrama actually causes the moment to lose emotion, not gain it. Keith appears in the psychic space again, and Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Shiro tells Keith to see through the Lion’s eyes. He repeats his advice to Keith from back in season one: “Patience yields focus.”

The music in this moment is really nice.

Keith’s hands start to glow, he drives the controls forward, and the Black Lion’s wings glow and expand into bigger engines.

The other Lions are floating motionless in space, seemingly lacking power. Lotor’s dialog continues to be cliché villain-speak. Sincline detects the Black Lion incoming, which slams into Sincline as it flies past. Keith orders them to form Voltron. Though I wish they would have occasionally updated the form-Voltron animation, I actually like its use in this moment.

The two mechas are poised for what comes next, the final shot of the episode is great.

I’m left thinking that, even if the show had the same plot points, everything that contributes to how we get to them could have been written so much better. It feels like, due to inexperience and carelessness, the EPs and the writers lost control of the story long before now, but because the plot development inherently has risen the stakes of the story, the failure to sculpt the details causes the story to turn into a blend of clichés and offensive implications. The resolution of Lotor’s story is not one that is fulfilling. It ends up feeling like the EPs and writers destroyed something interesting in order to make something generic from it. Like most of this whole series, it’s the loss of what could have been, the potential the show had, that makes this story so disappointing.

[lespetitesmortsde]

can you please continue the super hero bechloe AU? it's amazing

Unknown number: Did you get home okay?

Chloe: New phone who dis?

Beca: Come on, Zip, let’s not make this weird.

Chloe: Ok, y u gotta b rude w/ Zippo?

Beca: Oh my God, is that seriously how you text?

Chloe: mayb. Y? bother u?

Beca: Yes.

Chloe: Fine, I can text like it’s going to be included in an honours thesis. It’s more boring, but whatever. Your loss.

Beca: Thank you.

Beca: You never answered my question.

Chloe: Yes, Becs, I got home just fine. You?

Beca: Yeah, didn’t run into any midnight criminals, so that’s always nice.

Chloe: So when can I see you again?

Beca: Aren’t you supposed to wait like three days before asking that so you don’t seem desperate?

Chloe: I don’t like to wait. If I know what I want, I go after it. Waiting for some dumb societal unwritten code doesn’t fly with me.

Beca: Fair enough.

Beca: Saturday? I have an idea.

Chloe: Me too. Yours involve handcuffs too?

Beca: NO!

Chloe: Lame.

Beca: Just, meet me at the fifth avenue and fifty-third street station?

Chloe: Sure thing. When?

Beca: One?

Chloe: Do I get to know what we’re doing?

Beca: No, but dress casually.

Chloe: Already dictating my wardrobe eh?

Beca: What?!

Chloe: Ne fret pas. I like it.

Beca: You speak French?

Chloe: Maybe.

Beca: …

Beca: That’s hot.

Chloe: I know ;) See you Saturday.

Beca: See you, Chlo.

Beca: Chloe*.

Chloe: It’s cute when you call me Chlo, I don’t mind.

Beca: Okay, Chlo, go to bed.

Chlo: Night!

Beca: Night.

Saturday

Beca taps her foot as she leans against the outside station wall. She has her headphones on, listening to the last mix she finished two days ago. She’s thinking about trying to mash together “Swimming Pools” by Kendrick Lamar and “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons. The juxtaposition should work well enough, and if she has to add a couple of samples it might work even better.

She writes down a note on her phone with her thoughts on the new mix and then someone taps her shoulder. Beca turns to see Chloe smiling widely at her. Chloe gives her a wave before Beca realizes she should pause her music and slip her headphones around her neck.

“Hey,” Beca says, adjusting her messenger bag.

“So where are we going?” Chloe asks, completely bypassing the pleasantries. She takes Beca’s arm and waits for her to lead them somewhere.

“You’ll find out soon. We’re not far,” Beca tries not to look around and see if anyone’s looking at them. She takes Chloe west along fifty-third street.  It only takes a few steps before Chloe guesses their destination.

“We’re going to the MoMA?” Chloe asks, no longer letting Beca pull her. Instead she keeps pace now that she knows where to go.

“Yeah. You seem like you’d be into modern art. Plus I like it. It’s kind of quietly creative, nice and low-key.”

Chloe heads to the main entrance, but Beca gently pulls on her arm, redirecting them. Chloe shoots Beca a confused look, but Beca just smiles and shakes her head. They walk down the side of the building until they come to a fire exit and Beca knocks on the door. She raps five times, then seven, then five again before pulling back and waiting.

To Chloe’s unasked question, Beca answers, “He likes haikus. I don’t question it.” Chloe nods like she too wants someone to knock out a haiku on her door.

It takes almost a full minute, but eventually the door opens to reveal a rather stony-faced man in a security uniform. His eyes meet Chloe’s, widening a little in surprise, before settling on Beca. The two of them stare at each other unblinkingly for a moment before Chloe can see Beca’s lips start to break into a grin.

“Aha!” the man says, grinning widely. “I win!”

Beca rolls her eyes, but she’s clearly pleased. “Hi Hank,” she says, settling back on her heels.

“Well, hi, Becs. Long time, no see,” Hank says, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. Beca sighs.

“I know, Hank. I’m sorry it’s been so long. College is crazy,” Beca says. “But, I brought you this,” she adds, pulling out a three-pack of Kinder Surprise Eggs from her pocket.

Hank’s eyes practically glow. He tries to hold his disgruntled stare, but the happiness the Kinder eggs bring is too much. He grins from ear to ear.

“Alright, you little rascal, you and your friend can go on in,” Hank gestures them through the door with his head.

“Thanks, man,” Beca says as she lets Chloe go in first. “I’ll bring you something next time I see you.”

Hank chuckles as he follows them inside. “I’m counting on it.”

Chloe and Beca wander down the hall a little ways leaving Hank when he turns off for the security room.

“Yeah, I don’t think he can actually hear the knocks from in there. I think he just watches on a monitor and assumes I’m doing it right,” Beca comments once he’s out of earshot. They come to a stop in front of a Jackson Pollock painting, and Beca can feel Chloe’s expectant eyes on her.

“What’s up, Zip?” Beca says, already sounding a little monotonous.

“There’s clearly a story there about you and Hank, and you’re just glossing over it!” Chloe seems to quietly explode with the hushed words.

“Okay, and?” Beca asks, drawing out the “a” in and.

“And, you can’t just let that hang in the air,” Chloe explains, as if that solves everything.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude.”

“Is that it?”

Chloe’s eyes seem to burn as they bear down into Beca’s. “If you don’t tell me whatever the story is, it’s going to hang over us like the figurative elephant in the room, Becs. It’s going to be our constant companion, this story, because you’ll know what it is, and I’ll know that you don’t want to share yourself with me.”

Chloe straightens suddenly, “And basically our relationship will be doomed from the start, and I don’t want that to happen.”

Beca heard every word, she swears she did, but she gets stuck, “Relationship, eh?”

“Have I not been obvious about my interest?” Chloe asks, somewhat rhetorically. At Beca’s noncommittal shrug, she waves her hands around them to gesture to the museum, “Is this not a date at a museum because you thought I’d like it?”

“Okay, yes, it’s a date!” Beca says defensively, only responding to Chloe’s increasingly agitated, maybe worried, voice. “Clearly I like you, dumbass, I did the whole meeting you for shitty coffee without my disguise thing, remember?”

Now grinning, Chloe says, “Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Do you want to have this date, or not?”

Chloe reaches forward to grab Beca’s hand. “Totes!”

Beca just raises an eyebrow at the odd slang.

“But I do want that story, too,” Chloe adds as they begin walking around the first hall.

“Maybe at a later date,” Beca hedges. It’s really not a very interesting story, and she doesn’t want to embarrass herself with her dumbass teenaged shenanigans this early in the game.

“When then?” Chloe asks, relentlessly.

Beca tries to find a good answer in the paint-splattered canvas before her eyes. “I dunno, dude, like if you make it to date seven?” She pulls on Chloe’s hand to shuffle three feet to the next painting, but Chloe doesn’t budge.

“You don’t think I’ll make it my mission to get to date seven just for this story?” Chloe asks.

Sighing deeply, Beca tries to placate Chloe. “I mean, of course you will, so I’ve just guaranteed myself six more dates with you, Zip.” She works hard not to let the tail end of her plan lilt upwards and make it obvious that she’s making this stuff up as she goes.

“I see how it is. You hook them with the intrigue of a secret story, then use it as leverage to secure yourself plenty of dates which just so happen to span longer than your target’s sex rule, thereby making you more desirable and ensuring you get laid all in one fell swoop!” Chloe declares, voice getting noticeably louder as she works up to her finale.

Beca blinks slowly, like she’s trying to take all of that in. “Dude, no. I can barely even follow that.”

Suddenly Chloe’s smiling. “It’s not a bad thing, Becs, you know what you want.”

“But that’s not my—”

“I might even need to steal such a genius plan,” she adds, finally stepping toward Beca so they can continue around the museum.

“Oh my God, why did I bring you here?” Beca whines.

Chloe winks at her and flips her hair dramatically. “Because you like me and I like you and you can’t deny; we’ll be super hot together.”

The way Chloe says it as a statement instead of a suggestion throws Beca off. “We’ll be super hot together?”

“Oh totes, Becs. You’re gorgeous.”

Despite herself, Beca feels herself flush at the compliment. “Oh, um, you too, Zip.”

Chloe squeezes Beca’s hand. “You know, Bec, Zip was a mildly creative nickname back when we were friends—”

“We’re not friends?”

“—But now that we are more than that, I don’t think Zip is really sexy enough to encompass what we’ve got going on here,” Chloe muses, pulling Beca to a stop in front of a collection of variously askew jars.

“What have we got going on here?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Chloe says happily. “What we have here is your classic romantic half-doomed superhero love story.”

The matter of fact way Chloe says it is what gets Beca laughing. A wandering museum-goer gives her a look and Beca straightens up. “Can you not see the humour Santalta imbibed within these angles?” Beca asks, gesturing to the jars in front of her. Beca raises an eyebrow and then looks away, watching from the corner of her eye as the woman looks a bit harder at the piece of art and finally lets out a light chuckle.

Woman forgotten, Beca turns to Chloe again, “That’s not a thing.”

Chloe scoffs. “Aca-scuse me, it most definitely is a thing and it’s happening right here and now between us.”

“What the—what the fuck,” Beca drops her voice to a hush for the last word, “is that?”

“What?” Chloe asks, oblivious.

“What the hell is an ‘aca-scuse me’?”

Surprisingly, where only something very suggestive had gotten the job done before, Chloe blushes.

“Story time!” Beca declares, but her expression turns serious as her body stiffens. Abruptly the tone of their date shifts. “Sirens. Three fire trucks, two ambulances, and at least two police cars.”

“Which way?” Chloe shifts gears as instantaneously as Beca does, already leading them towards the fire exit they came in.

“North, not too far,” Beca surges ahead and opens the door, holding it for Chloe to slip out too. She lets is close behind her and turns briefly to wave goodbye at the surveillance camera. “Bye Hank!”

Then they set off at a run. Two blocks away, Beca dashes down an alley, “Keep going, I’ll meet up with you!” And then she throws a web toward the sky and swings up onto a roof.

Chloe listens, running straight for the sirens that get louder as she gains. A minute later, she hears “Go with it!” and Beca crashes into her, holding on, and swinging Chloe with her up onto another rooftop.

“Should be just on the other side of the building,” Beca says, the two of the moving closer to the opposite edge of the roof. And Chloe isn’t trying to notice things about Beca right now, but she can’t help but admire (and find incredibly sexy) the calm and calculated decisions Beca seems to be making.

Way back in the day, when Spider-Man was basically just a whisper of a nuisance to Chloe and her pals, their whole group questioned Spider-Man’s ability to be a contributing superhero in the city. She could make questionable, even bad calls, and made them fairly often. Regular people would suffer from the consequences of her actions, like when she fought inside convenience stores, destroying thousands of dollars worth of products instead of moving the fight outside. Or ignoring the laws of New York traffic and helping cause accidents and injuries.

Spider-Man disappeared for a while after that, but then she came back and it was like she had undergone some kind of transformation. She almost always made the right call, and that’s about when Chloe and the rest of the team starting dropping in on her calls to try and make friends, or at least an ally.

In Chloe’s case, she’s been more than successful, because right now, yeah, they’re going to try and stop some bad people, but the sexual tension is palpable, sliding across her skin as she leans over the edge to get a better view of the situation, still listening to Beca.

“Looks like armed robbery, multiple injuries and/or casualties,” Beca rattles off, listening intently down below. At least five suspects, all still inside the bank. Estimates are 15 hostages. No location on a getaway vehicle, if there is one.”

Chloe’s awed, “You can hear all that from up here?”

“Not exactly, Red, I don’t have like super hearing or whatever, but I’ve got those spidey senses and it’s more like vibrations in the air that I can feel - words have certain patterns to them, and I can feel the patterns.”

Chloe scoffs, “Sounds like super hearing to me.”

She knows that underneath her mask, Beca’s rolling her eyes.

“We should find a way to sneak in, rescue any hostages we can find, and once we’re in there we can form a better plan as to how we’re going to save the rest and take down the baddies. Any thoughts?”

“Can you sense anything about the layout of the bank?”

“I’m not an X-ray machine,” Beca sighs. “I can hear them talking about it though, seems like they’re also just starting to make a plan, although theirs involves talking to them over the phone and negotiating.

“Seems like there’s a basement. If we can find a way in, we can work from there. They’re talking about the sewer system and trying to get a copy of the blueprints to see if they’re close enough.”

“It’s kinda hot to hear you eavesdrop with the vibrations in the air,” Chloe says offhandedly.

Beca turns to her, and Chloe swears that if the mask weren’t in the way she’d be able to see Beca flush.

“Remember Zip, the kissing comes after the bad guys.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow suggestively and then Beca’s wrapping an arm strongly around Chloe’s waist and once again, Chloe feels like she’s flying. Beca drops them on the roof of the bank’s building and without verbally confirming, Chloe flames up and drops them into the top floor of the accounting firm beside the bank through a vent.

They work their way down through the floors and into the basement. Chloe burns them a tunnel into the bank’s basement, and Beca slips ahead to do her sneaky thing.

She looks around as she goes, noting a lack of bad guys as she scales up the wall and makes her way toward the main atrium of the bank along the ceiling. At the doorway, she can see about a dozen people in the middle of the room with three armed thieves circling them. Two more are behind the tills, one is stuffing money and anything else they can find into a duffel bag. The other is working on the computer.

Beca sinks back away and rejoins Chloe in the basement to fill her in. “The way I see it, we gotta take the gunmen out quietly one by one. The location of the hostages is too visible for us to steal them away in chunks. We gotta eliminate the threats entirely so they can just leave out the front door.”

Chloe nods, “Any suggestions?”

Beca rubs her nose and chin through her mask. “I’ve got one, but it’s pretty dumb.”

“It’s more than I’ve got.”

“If you can cause a distraction, like pretend to be a patron who got lost, that might cause enough of a disturbance for me to sneak into there without being seen. Once I’m in, I can start removing them from the equation one by one, but I’m useless in here and I can’t see another way to get behind the tills.”

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever head,” Chloe says, trailing off.

“I don’t want to put you in danger, Zip.”

“We’re all in danger, Spidey, we just can do something about it,” Chloe responds, and walks past Beca.

Chloe gives herself a pep talk as she approaches the atrium door and then steps through, tears streaming down her face, “I’m sorry! I got lost!”

Immediately, the armed men point their weapons at her, the two closest charge towards her and incapacitate her by grabbing onto her arms. Another approaches and puts her wrists into plastic manacles. The two behind the counter look up from their work, but they only briefly look at the commotion before returning their attentions to their tasks.

Beca manages to sneak in along the ceiling as the robbers start interrogating Chloe about where she came from and they start arguing amongst themselves about where she came from. Beca drops behind the man at the computer once the hostage-wrangling men look away from that direction. She gets right behind him and strikes at the point two inches adjacent to the spine at the back of his neck. There are hollow places there that some martial artists call Gall Bladder 20.

He drops almost immediately, the jolt to his brain knocking him out. She catches him and lowers him gently to the floor, and then retreats behind a desk to wait for the opportune time to strike the guy shoving valuables into his bag.

Her moment comes about twenty seconds later as he moves farther to the back of the room. She crawls around another desk and gets behind him, too, as he’s shoving papers off of one desk into his bag. She does the same thing, and with the element of complete stealth, he too falls into her arms before being lowered to the floor.

One of the men circling the hostages and Chloe glances over at the counter just as Beca flattens herself back against the ceiling.

“You alright back there?” he calls out, drawing the attention of the two other men. They all turn to investigate. “Bloody hell,” he says, then he spits on the ground and walks toward the counter.

As Beca watches this all unfold, she tries to think really loudly toward Chloe. They need to eliminate one more before they can take on the last two together, otherwise there are wildcards at play and that’s when hostages get injured. For better or worse, Chloe is stalwartly not looking up towards Beca on the ceiling, refusing to give away her partner’s position.

What she does do however, is melt the plastic around her wrists to free herself, and then she coughs hard enough to draw the attention of the two men around them back to her.

Beca seizes the opportunity to take down the man who’s come to find her, sending him to the floor to join his comrades. And then she traverses the ceiling until she’s right above the man farthest from Chloe.

Without looking at each other, Beca and Chloe both fly into motion. Chloe flames her hand as it comes up to lock around her guy’s wrist, using her other to take the gun from his hands and throw it aside. Beca drops from the ceiling, kicking the gun out of her man’s fingers and jabbing him right in the neck, pinpointing the vagus nerve.

Chloe lands a solid punch on her robber’s neck, leaving an angry burn in his skin to boot.

“Alright everyone, please head outside slowly with your hands up. The cops are out there and they’re going to help you out,” Chloe says as she lets go of the fire and her hands return to normal.

They’re awash in a sea of thank yous for a moment before Beca’s yanking at Chloe’s arm back the way they came in. They head back up to the roof and Beca once more swings them across the alley.

“Not a bad first date, Spidey,” Chloe says as Beca releases her and she finds her feet. Beca peels off her mask and smiles at Chloe.

“You’re the one who said we had to plan for things like this,” Beca reminds her. And then she marches right up to Chloe, takes her face into both hands, and presses her lips solidly against Chloe’s.

Their lips meet each other’s over and over again, growing more lazy and content as the number of kisses increases. When Chloe finally pulls away, her cheeks are red and her eyes are warm as she says, “I think I’m getting hungry.”

Beca nods, “Yeah, sorry, we didn’t get a chance to eat, I swear it was on the list.”

Chloe just smiles lasciviously and with a wink, she says, “Different kind of hungry, Becs, but I’m sure we’ll have time for that later.”

“Christ,” Beca says, and then Chloe’s pulling her along to take the date to a new destination.

[sly-merlin]

Killing Me - 4 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings : curse words, mention of murder, guns, knives, smut!

words : 5.4k

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

                                         or

                  “  curiousity got the cat hitched”

taglist :: (not tagging the old ones because they have read it already bt if u want , lemme know! )  @yiyi4657​​​ @sorrywonwoo​​​ @sillywinnergladiator​​​  @suhweo​​​ @exfolitae​​ @minejungwoo​​

K.M masterlist

k.m 3    k.m 5 

Previous morning in Taeyong’s office

“What was that for!” taeyong questioned jaehyun, clearly annoyed by his previous hostile mannerisms towards you. Jaehyun was on the receiving end of taeyong’s infuriation immediately after you departed from his office with doyoung.

“What!?” jaehyun tried to act oblivious at taeyong’s accusations.

“Why were you trying to scare her? Escort ring! For fucks sake Jae, I expected better from you.”

“But it wasn’t a dead loss. And even you went along in the same wagon, so don’t put everything on me alone.” jaehyun justified himself shrugging his shoulders lightly. “And admit it! She was giving you a hard time. That bitch was not buying anything!

Taeyong knew jaehyun was right. Your unsatisfied replies and never ending enquiries were exasperating him, but he would rather preserve his precious ego than admitting that to jaehyun.

He ruffled his well-made hair before replying to jaehyun, who was expecting some gratitude with a smug face.

“I-- just be careful and refrain from doing and saying anything that might put a dent in my plan. It’s a chance neo would never get again. So be patient and don’t go around opening your mouth about this to anyone.” jaehyun reluctantly nodded,not hearing what he wanted but his affirmation calmed taeyong’s nerves. He couldn’t trust jaehyun entirely but his options were limited.

All the pieces were in right place, for now. Nothing could go south right!

But jaehyun couldn’t completely understand the rationale behind Taeyong’s design.

and nor could the figure standing outside, completely hidden from the insiders.

The dread of the forthcoming finals substantiated the shortage of vacant seats in the kwanjeong library. You tried your best to arrive as expeditiously as possible for a person who partied, got abducted, arranged her own marriage, and again partied in grief, all in spam of about 34 hours. Finding no available seat, you decided to settle down on the floor. You gulped your cup of Americano in one go and began with the donut. As per a wise saying, Caffeine and sugar were the best combination as a breakfast for someone trying to get through their day with only 4 hours of sleep, the intellect being none other than your own self!

Yesterday was pretty long day. Though you were worn out from the adventures with wonwoo last night, your brain wasn’t exhausted enough to shut down properly when you tried to close your eyes.The flashes of the events had shrouded you with mixture of regrets and worries. What was the guarantee that you won’t end up dead tomorrow! What if taeyong was lying! But the fact regarding moon industries was absolutely legible. Maybe you should get a restraining order or something! But the existence of a person is necessary for that and yuta was a fucking corporate in the public eye and you were sure taeyong held some powerful position in the rich hierarchy as well, otherwise, covering the shits without revealing their true identities was not the job of some measly gang leader. There was more to taeyong than what someone could perceive just by looking. Will you be considered one of them now! After the little stunt that landed you straight into yuta’s life, you weren’t sure that he’d not strangle you in sleep. And What were you going to say to them? Chelin, yeom, guk, yeong.

and your thoughts spiralled from taeyong,yuta towards chelin and your friends and didn’t rest anytime before 4a.m. Waking up at 8 sharp , you took a shower and made your way towards the library.

And now you were here. 2 students passed your figure indicating that there were 2 vacant seats. Finally, after 15 minutes. They might have been the overnight students, you thought and walked inside before anyone else could claim the treasure. You had to find a new topic of thesis and do some research for international paper your professor was writing, and you being his designated so-called subordinate had to help him, involuntarily of course. But in this world, the student who could refuse their professor’s demands was yet to be born! Marking the place by placing your bag, you started the search for last month’ law journals and digests. One and a half hour passed, but you couldn’t find anything on international court of justice i.e. what your professor hadn’t already included. The urge to go out was profusely weighed down by your own sentiment of avoiding your friends. So you decided in favour of swallowing the bitter pill.

5 hours passed. The vibration of the timer in your phone prompted you to run off and get some food. It was already 2:30 and the lack of real food was making the tasks harder than they already were. Stepping outside into fresh air, instant regret of not bringing an umbrella washed over you. The sun was too bright unlike your mood and walking all the way to your favourite canteen would end up in you getting another headache. But you silently wished that every being from yesterday’s party was suffering from the same treatment of the over-the-top optimistic planet. why to suffer alone!

“Shortie” you lifted your head, spotting the combo of buy 1 get 1 free, heading your way.

“Where were you whole day? And if you aren’t going to pick calls then please do that poor thing a favour and sell it!” yugyeom barked while running his hand through his hair.

You shrugged jungkook’s elbow from your shoulder and replied “I was busy with prof. Joong’s work. And I have to be somewhere after 4 so I was a bit-

“Joong should adopt you already man!” Jungkook interrupted, nudging your sides with his fingers.

“ but I thought he wanted to be her sugar daddy!”  at that gyeom gave a serious and stern look to kook, pretending to ponder over his statement for a second and then suddenly they both starting laughing, hands hitting you everywhere to support their doubling figures.

“Get away from me, idiots!” you shouted, trying to get away from them. Once they were done with showing their exaggerated emotions, you all giggled together in unison. they were wearing their fundraiser t-shirts, you noticed.

“When is the fundraiser?”

“At 5. But you won’t be there to support us cause you are busy with your daddy!” kook exclaimed while bumping your shoulder with his arm.

“I didn’t say I’m going for Joong’s work and no, he’s not my sugar daddy, doofus. I’m busy with tutoring. I missed someone’s Saturday class so—

“Okay, chill tiger. You need to breathe. It’s a boring event anyway.” gyeom said in a comforting tone, interjecting your rapid fire speech.

“I’m gonna have lunch, are you two going?” you suggested.

“Yeah, it’s our break and yeong and minjun have eaten already, so that left you!” kook pouted when gyeom mentioned his boyfriend’s name.

“Let’s go! I want my sugar” your dramatic pout made yugyeom pet your hair lovingly and the three of you started walking on stone pathway on the way to the canteen.

“Where’s your umbrella?” jungkook asked you. He knew how much you hated walking under sun after the drinking escapades.

“I forgot but let’s not talk about it. it’s making me grumpy.”

“Okay! but why don’t you cover your head with that scarf instead.” he said pointing towards the silky material around your neck.

“Naahh, it ruins my fashion” they gave each other a puzzled look, shrugging their shoulders for they both couldn’t gather the reason of your weird behaviour.

At lunch, you talked to them about the fundraiser and gave your own contribution for the noble cause. The conversation with them progressed too easily and for about an hour you forgot about the turmoil in your life, which was still unknown to them.

After parting away, you went straight to your professor to show him your progress. He took note of the materials you found on recent cases and dismissed you without showing any gratitude. Not even a word of appreciation.

A ping!

Jaemin: noona, doyoung hyung is picking you up at 4 but he won’t enter the campus. Be out at 4!

You let out a frustrated groan at his text. You had only met him once, when he conferred upon you the honour of connecting your phone to his server but that was not the only favour you received! He also saved his contact number with various hearts that you obviously removed after reaching home. you could only pray to heavens that he won’t be there today as well!

You made your way to the library again, this time to work on your thesis. The time passed quickly than you thought. The alarm you placed earlier vibrated, indicating it was 4 already! You hastily made your bag and ran out of the library. It took 10 minutes to reach the gates of the campus. When you passed your dorms building, the idea of ditching doyoung and going to bed sounded tempting but as usual, nothing was going your way these days. You felt like the old catch 22 was in action.

You passed through the gates and looked around the road to find doyoung’s car but he was nowhere to be seen. While you were scanning the whole area, a low voice called your attention.

“What are you finding, I’m right here under your nose” a voice said through gritted teeth.

Yes, he was indeed sitting in the car right in front of you and the only one you missed apparently. You walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat, the tinted windows hiding you from the outside funfair.

“What took you so long? Its 4:15 already.”

“I don’t have a car like you so I walked myself here and it’s not like I did it purposely anyway.” You contended, the annoyance in your voice matching his own.

“Whatever, we are already late so turn around. Taeyong would be mad.”

“No I’m not turning around. First that cloth bag, then the handkerchief you tied on my eyes yesterday, its painful man. I’ll lose my eyesight this way. And I can navigate whole city from this place, you can’t hide your dungeon from me now” you reasoned. He didn’t tie your hands yesterday but your eyes were still covered.

“Then give me your scarf. I’ll cover your eyes with your own choice of article. It’s not painful or else you won’t be wearing it right! he said mockingly, pointing towards your neck.

“Umm, this scarf is act-

“Give me that already. I have some other things to handle as well.” assessing your options, you hesitantly removed the scarf, turning around to face the window immediately. Doyoung tied it across your eyes, checking the knot twice and tapped your shoulder. As you turned around, doyoung’s doe eyes widened, if that was even possible. Your collarbone and neck, which was visible through your v neck top, was covered with pretty purplish bruises. You fidgeted with your hands, flustered, feeling his eyes on you. But he remained quiet, focusing on the task at hand.

The whole drive was quiet and though your hands were not tied, you kept them on your backpack, hesitant to start any conversation. The car stopped finally, the mixed feelings coming back. The same process followed. He guided you inside but this time you passed only one door and the walk was quite shorter as well.

As doyoung was about to remove your scarf, a hand stopped him, or that was what you understood from the movements at that time.

“Silky scarf, blindfold and hickies hmm! Being kinky doyoungie. She’s your sister-in-law. Show some respect boy!” a voice remarked, the air around your face suddenly filled with chocolate and coffee. You hiccupped all of a sudden, earning a chuckle from the unknown presence.

You tried to reach for the blindfold, but your hands were caught mid-air, the said hands removing it. You blinked your eyes a few times to make out the figure’s face. He was standing, mostly bending to match your stature, face smiling to show all of his teeth.

Yuta.

You, surprised, took a step back but instead bumped into the one behind you.

“I’ll take over from here, doyoung.” but fortunately, he didn’t budge, fortunately. Your hold on backpack tightened, your eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. The only thing in your view were his baggy pants and white sports shoes.

But yuta could see only you and nothing else. Taeyong wasn’t the only one awaiting your arrival. Yuta was equally anticipating you.  His night was just as sleepless and anxious as you. He was afterall at the other end of the rope.

He raised your head, fingertips lightly grazing your chin. His hooded eyes roamed around your face like he was expecting you show some contempt , hatred,nervousness! He straightened up abruptly and started tying the silk around your neck. You flinched at his touch but he remained void of any reaction. His half denim jacket and white t-shirt hid you from the surroundings, his arms almost engulfing you. He repositioned himself to match you height again, arms crossing against his chest.

“Looks like someone had a fun night.” and in a second, his honey smile changed into a smirk, letting go of any trace of earlier softer expressions. And the look on his face was enough to scare the shit out of anyone.

“Stop yuta” a taller man you recognised from yesterday as Johnny, pushed yuta aside from your view. It was then you saw that everyone was there. Including the one you were yet to encounter.

Your eyes wandered from one side to other of the room. Johnny let you inspect.

“Doyoung, what was the need to cover her eyes?” Johnny whispered to doyoung, breaking your trance.

“Why is everyone nagging me so much” he whined in a screeching voice.

“Karma bitch” Johnny pointed his forefinger towards him before giving his attention to you.

“Hey, how are you y/n.” he asked, his cheerful voice totally in contrast with the weather of the room.

“I’m- ummm.” you cleared your throat before continuing. “I’m fine Johnny. As fine I can be.” you mumbled the last part but he surely heard you.

“You remembered my name!” he clapped, his eyes turning into crescents. You gave him a tight lipped smile in return, waiting for some instructions. As if on cue, taeyong’s loud voice graced your ears.

“Come y/n. make yourself comfortable” he indicated towards the couches that were almost already occupied. Johnny gestured you to proceed, walking with you. You passed yuta who was still smirking and sat on the single seat available next to taeyong. You placed your backpack on the large table in the middle of the room. It looked like a normal living room for guests, just with too many couches to accommodate the gang. You felt like an uninvited because apparently everybody was watching you like a hawk. Their stares changed sight only when yuta came to take a seat on one of the couch, exactly opposite to yours. You met his eyes briefly before turning your face towards your bag again.

Who knew the rusty zips of your bag were so interesting!

“So y/n I thought you should meet everyone. You are going to be part of this family soon. Better get acquainted with all.” taeyong addressed you while he sat on his couch majestically like a king. You heard a dry laugh and if you had to guess it had to be from jaehyun or yuta.

You didn’t understand why he wanted that. You were just a risk till yesterday and now means to discipline yuta.

And why all the formalities if you were gonna leave anyway.

“I’m going to leave anyway, taeyong. So I don’t see a need to do it!”

You were too consumed to notice how your sentence turned all the heads around you. Some started giving side eyes to each other. There was something they were all missing.

“I said you could leave. But not without my permission. So, you’d be stuck for now, maybe till months or years.”

You gulped at his words. Taeyong turned your only hope into a distant dream. Maybe you were too foolish to gauge the situation.

“You want something to eat or drink before we continue” he asked in a sincere voice. Shaking your head, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to stop them from moistening. There was nothing more embarrassing than to cry in front of a bunch of strangers who didn’t give a shit about you.

“No, please continue.” you emphasised again to not draw any more attention to yourself than already was. And you internally thanked to taeyong who continued as if you weren’t just gonna cry!

“You will move in with yuta on Saturday,” it was Monday. “The wedding ceremony would be held in the morning. So you have few days to prepare, everything from your dress to every other thing you need shall be arranged. Just name it and you’ll have it!”

Wedding ceremony! That was not on the plate!

“I don’t want a cerem-

“Leave the bullshit ta-

You and yuta both cut off each other simultaneously. You glanced at his side, finding him already piercing his gaze into yours.

“There’s no need for it. The paper signing is enough. It’s not like we are in-

You knew taeyong understood what you were trying to say, so you didn’t continue. But you were already having a feeling of superiority over yuta for being the first to offer your opinion. It felt like a payback for flustering you earlier. You refrained from facing him again, your body turned towards taeyong only, but you felt satisfied with the thought of him being riled up.

“Oh, but I want a ceremony taeyong and mark is going to be the best man. He’s so excited. You can’t do that to him!” yuta emphasised through the variation in his voice. You knew he changed his argument purposely , but you maintained your cool, opting to ignore him . bear and forbear.

Taeyong raised his eyebrow at you but you shook your head again.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea. It’s not a normal one anyway so why pretend!” you held your ground.

“You aren’t getting married to a mannequin.” yuta retracted. “I’m getting married as well and don’t anyone dare say that I made a mistake and blah blah. At last I’ll be hitching so I want a ceremony and Japanese at that!”

Oh yeah, he was Japanese. You has missed that as well.

All the other men in the room, 9 to be exact, were nodding at everything that was being said. They were unable to decide whose argument was worth taking side for. Finally Johnny spoke-

“I think y/n is right” looking at nowhere particular, he continued. “What’s with pomp and show when it’s nothing more than an agreement”

“But if yuta hyung wants it, then why not. They are going to live together, he should have his say as well.” it was mark who took yuta’s side. He didn’t know why but watching yuta losing ground urged him to support his brother.

You looked briefly at the boy who just argued with Johnny.

“He’s mark y/n.” taeyong said the answer you were looking for. “And he’s Jungwoo, jeno, doyoung, you have already met him, then jaehyun, johnny, renjunie, hendery. Others are busy so you’ll meet them some other day probably.”

A few waved towards you, including mark, who shyly withdrew his hand quickly. They all probably hated you as there was no other reaction towards a person who almost put your life in danger!

“Can we get to a middle ground now? I’m already getting tired of this” jaehyun grumbled, leaning into the couch.

“Ok so, he wants a celebration of a lie! What about me then. You are all here but I have no one. I’m alone and probably will be. Because taeyong, you haven’t told me how am I going to reveal this to my friends? I may not have a family, but still there are people close to me. they are my best friends, roommate, and many others who need to know! How am I going to explain them that their friend who didn’t even have a boyfriend, is getting married suddenly? I don’t even have parents to cover it with an arranged marriage. How to convince them? give me a way and I’ll agree” you pointed out the very important detail that they were missing. But they needed to know that there was other side of the paper as well and your reasons were not just a cry in the wilderness.

Nobody made a sound. Everything went quite like a dark night until-

“I hope this is not the calm before a storm!” you looked over to see the person who broke the silence. It was another young man coming with a food trolley, probably from the kitchen.

“I thought we have a guest so I prepared some coffee and donuts. I hope you like sweets y/n” the man was smiling ear to ear, seeming too happy with your visit.

“I-

“I’m kun.” he introduced himself and you shook his hand. He seemed too polite for a criminal. “Have this and tell me how it is” he forcibly handed you a dessert plate with a chocolate glanced donut. You took it out of politeness but felt a bit weird to be the only one eating it. You watched him with quizzical eyes as he took one for himself and sat on the arm of your couch. Everyone was now staring at your movements.

“Eat it, eat it. These are for you and me only.” he cajoled.

You decided to take a bite and then place it back just to stop the awkwardness.

As you bit it from one side, your brain short circuited. “Holy shit, bro. what is this sorcery.” your genuine and innocent reaction made Kun laugh loudly, some of the others joined in as well.

“Thank god, you like it! I’m so glad you aren’t one of weight conscious ones, otherwise it’d have been weird.” he starting munching on his own piece.

“I’m a sugar bear. I can’t live without sugar. I just had a donut in the morning but it was bleh comparing to this. You are a master chef bro.” and for a minute you forgot the previous tense environment. Everyone was glad that Kun came to save the situation and except to you, it was known that obviously he heard everything from the kitchen.

“You ate one in the morning! Then it’s the last one you’re getting. Everyone help yourself. She’s not having anymore!” as if they were waiting, everyone except mark and yuta picked them up.

“Mark” Kun motioned towards the tray and he grabbed one as well.

“What if I was allergic to chocolate, kun” you asked him while finishing your treat.

“Oh please! Even ten eats it.” he laughed to himself at his reference, which went over your head.

“Now coming to the point.” Everyone looked at taeyong who was already done with eating. “Y/n doesn’t want anything special so it’ll happen like that. No!yuta, lemma speak. And you y/n, it’s upon you to make your friends believe. Make up a story or do whatever you want. You don’t want to tell them about the wedding. Fine with me but do let them know at least that you have a boyfriend that you are moving in with! It’s on you both to make this arrangement believable.

“okay , sho now I shuggenly hab a voyfiend” you started speaking without even finishing the bite in your mouth. you continued once you chewed it.

“wont they be suspicious. They know exactly what I do and what I don’t. It’s almost impossible to put a façade in front of them.”

“Oh please, don’t tell me they even know from where you got those hickies” jaehyun’s curt statement was a hit below the belt. Kun was about to scold him when you elaborated his statement further to prove that he was doing nothing but burning his own fingers.

“Yes, actually they happen to know. When, where and from whom I got these. Anything else you want to ask?.” he rolled his eyes on your reply, busing himself with the delicacy instead.

“They don’t know yuta. So if you want you can introduce him to your people. He won’t be posing any problem, take my word for it.”

“I’ll go with you if you also accompany me,that I guess would be a problem for you. You don’t want to be seen with a criminal, or do you!” yuta jabbered. He was trying to push your buttons to measure your limit. But little did he know that you were far from being that easy.

“I just said I don’t want a wedding. I’ll agree to anything that is reasonable and is not degrading to me.”

“Ok then, nobody would force you to do what you don’t want.” taeyong decided to took matter in his own hands now. “And we’ll organise a small, very intimate gathering at taeil’s office to celebrate as yuta wants. And you’ll be introduced as Mrs. Nakamoto to our corporate world.” taeyong finished gauging both of your reactions. The surname was foreign and cringing to you. But it was going to be yours, so there was nothing you could do, for now.

“What do you mean ‘our’ corporate world.” you got puzzled at his choice of words.

“You’ll find out soon and its nothing scary, don’t worry.” Kun responded on behalf of taeyong this time, handing you your cup of coffee. “Tell me if it’s cold, I’ll-

“No it’s totally fine.” you assured him, without even taking a sip. He was being nice enough already.

“If my opinion has no value, then what am I even doing here!” yuta shouted, getting up from the seat.

“yut-

Before Kun could say anything, he stormed off. Mark tried to follow but taeyong stopped him from doing that.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a hot head.” Johnny laughed in between his bites.

You only nodded, sipping your coffee. You were glad he was gone. Sugar has always done wonders for you and it was having same effects now as well. You were able to think more rationally now.

“One more thing” you furrowed your brows at taeyong. What was left now!  “Do you want any specifications in the house? It’s my responsibility. A wedding gift you can say. If you need anything like extra closet, a more spacious kitchen-

“Kitchen?” you let out a brief chuckle at that. Everyone’s eyes were on you now. “It’ll be totally fine if I don’t even get a kitchen. I can’t cook anything besides ramyeon and salads. So I won’t even need that.”

“You are a student. Don’t you know anything basic.” it was Jungwoo who spoke in the voice sweeter than even Kun’s.

“No. I grew up in an orphanage and they provided us everything. I left when I started law. So all in all, I never had anyone to teach me. That’s why if you want to know best food trucks and restaurants in the city, I’m your best option.but, if that yuta knows how to cook, ask him about the kitchen.” you spoke non chalantly .But you didn’t realise how uncomfortable the air had become. a heavy silence took over the light atmosphere.

“I’m sorry noona” Jungwoo apologised sheepishly.

“It’s fine. After all there are some things that your hacker can’t find out. only I can tell you those.” saying that, you faced taeyong again. “But if you insist, I can always use a study room.” you tried to enlighten the mood again.

“Ok. I’ll find something suitable for you both.” you hummed, not knowing what to say anymore.

“Can I go back now?”

“Yes, doyoung will drop you.”

“No, I’ll go with her.” Johnny said, grabbing your attention. He didn’t look sulky like doyoung so, it’d be fine, you guess.

They said you goodbyes. Mark seemed hesitant to even look at you, but you couldn’t care less. He was just a stranger after all.

Yuta couldn’t realise why everyone was trying to be so nice to you. Till yesterday, he was allowed to put a gun on her head but now every being was against him. He didn’t know why he was so furious at taeyong, to forcing him to marry you or from dragging mark into this mess. Taeyong knew how to play dirty, but yuta never thought he’d use his own brother. There was no option for him as well, as taeyong has said. He showed interest in a fucking celebration to contradict you, but you were not backing down and that felt like a punch to his gut.

He drove towards his stress reliever. The infamous Japanese club. Only place where he could drown his sorrows.

The club was packed despite it being Monday. That was one thing he liked about it, you’ll never be disappointed in this place.

“ゆた!” The hostess chimed seeing yuta. “久しぶり” [ long time, no see!]

He signed her to give him 2 shots. She did as told but her gaze was following yuta’s, which rested on her cleavage. He came here only for 2 things after all.

He gulped the drink in a second without blinking an eye.

“バックルーム” [ back room]

She wasn’t someone to be told twice. She handed her hand towel to her co-worker and followed the path. Who was she to reject him after all?

As she opened the door, yuta pressed her against the door, shutting it with a thud, His tongue directly fighting with hers. Sinful sounds escaped her throat as yuta’s hand started working on the skimpy fabric she wore to cover herself. She moaned loudly as yuta pinched her nipples hard, his groans matching her loud ones. His eagerness always started a fire in her body, with intensity too much to handle. Her hands undid his pants, dropping them on the floor. They have done it so many times that the whole process imprinted in their minds by now.

without breaking the kiss,she changed their positions making yuta’s back hitting  the door . With a loud smooch, his lips parted hers, to let her function pn her own.

She got to her knees while he got rid of his shoes to remove the boxers. She gave a few pumps before giving kitten licks to the tip while her gaze was fixed on his face.

“Hisoka, I’m in a hurry” he warned her. Smirking, she took him in her mouth, going up and down as head bobbed with the motion. Yuta fisted her hair, roughly stroking himself inside of her. She whimpered on the action and hit his balls with her other hand, earning a chuckle from him. Yuta knew how much she hated when he took charge. Yuta’s head hit the door as she sped up, the grip on her hair tightening and with a few deep throats, he was done. Yuta looked at her fucked up eyes, chin dripping with his seed. He picked her up with her elbow, his mouth latching towards her breast as soon as her back hit the same spot again. she moaned in pleasure as her shorts were removed hastily by him. Yuta merely smirked at her lack of panties.

“You knew I was coming hmm!” he growled sensually in her ear. Her body almost crumbled on the floor at his voice. “Let’s do it then!” he exclaimed, slipping himself into her. Her one leg that was wrapped around his waist provided him a perfect angle to stroke while his hand perfectly trapped her against the door. his mindless thrusts made her breasts to bounce with the same pace. “Faster”  her  moans were muffled from the outside world due to the high bass music that was playing in the club , providing them the coverage from any 

“もっと”[ more!] Yuta asked her while giving a final hit to her insides, her body losing all the strength as she released her love juices. She slumped towards his chest as yuta let himself undone. As they rode their highs, yuta kissed her neck from behind, leaving her body in shivers for the next few minutes.

He drove back silently again. The relieve he felt was all dissipated now. Instead his mind was already wandering towards you. Your headstrong attitude was troubling him more than he anticipated! his plans were all down and out. He hated you , from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You acted like you were invincible but he knew it was just a mask to protect yourself.

He had noticed how you had rubbed your eyes to hide your disappointment for you didn’t want to appear weak. All he had to do now was to find a vulnerable part of you, to hit you where it’d hurt the most. It’d be last time he lost to you. from now on, you won’t be able to keep up with him.

Afterall, beginning is always easy, it is continuing that’s hard!

[marigoldbaker]

very really married (11/15)

read it on ao3!

we’ve reached That Part Of The Fic where everything i say will be a spoiler. so. shall just say that i’m very happy w this chapter and leave it at that

Giles thought he might have minded overseeing the talent show quite a bit more if not for Jenny. Bothersome as it was to be expected to take time away from his duties as a Watcher, he couldn’t quite get over how delightful it was to spend that time entirely with his wife, who had been forcibly delegated to help at his side. Much like him, Jenny was quite pleased about the close proximity that this allowed them, but she wasn’t at all happy that Snyder was very clearly trying to get back at her for not passing any of his failing athletes.

“It’s a complete lack of administrative integrity!” she was ranting, painting violent splashes of color across the backdrop for the first act. A splotch of paint very nearly hit Giles, who winced anyway. “He’s using his position for something petty and stupid! If I could just, like, wait till he’s inevitably killed by something, then take his job—”

“—my library would be digitized already, I’m sure,” Giles finished, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She smiled a little tiredly, relaxing at his touch. “And for the record, usurping the position of our utterly odious supervisor, no matter how suited you yourself are for it, errs a bit on the side of unprofessionalism.”

“Just a bit,” said Jenny, mouth twitching.

“Just a bit, yes.” Giles was doing his best to tone down public displays of affection in the workplace, if only because of the many objections raised by Buffy and Xander (Willow didn’t seem to mind), so he settled for taking her hand and lightly kissing the knuckles. Her smile softened. “You’ll be finished with the backdrop in a minute, yes? Cordelia’s up next to rehearse her act and I, ah,” he winced delicately, “may need the moral support.”

“Of course,” Jenny agreed.

Just as Giles was about to head towards the auditorium, he heard the clatter of footsteps. Turning with slow reluctance, he saw Buffy, Willow, and Xander rounding the corner. “Kindly don’t put me through the wringer,” he said ruefully. “This was certainly not my choice.”

“Yeah, Snyder roped us into it,” said Jenny. “Willow, can you help me with this backdrop?”

“What? Oh!” Willow, blushing nearly as red as her hair, all but tripped over herself in her hurry to help Jenny.

“Buffy—” began Giles, attempting to replicate Jenny’s casual tone.

“Nope,” said Buffy.

“Lovely,” said Giles. “Can’t as much as get a word in edgewise before I’m shot down.”

“Hey, I mostly showed up to take on your traditional role!” said Buffy, grinning. “You know, watching? This’d be really funny to watch if it was just you doing it.”

“Yeah, too bad you and Ms. Calendar are rocking the whole showbiz-couple thing,” added Xander, who had somehow been commandeered into painting Jenny’s section of the backdrop. “Otherwise, you can bet we’d be laying on the constant mockery.”

“I’d help,” said Jenny, and kissed Giles on the cheek, leaving a green handprint on the shoulder of his vest. She winced. “Whoops.”

“Marriage to you, my love, is a series of unexpected consequences,” said Giles, smiling slightly. “I would never have signed up if I didn’t enjoy them.”

Jenny opened her mouth, then shut it. She’d gone a bit pink.

“Oooh, Giles has game!” Buffy teased, then grimaced. “And that’s a sentence I never wanted to say. Or hear.”

“Um,” said Jenny, and cleared her throat. “We should go out and watch Cordelia, huh?”

Giles extended his arm. Jenny took it. They were about to exit the backstage area when Principal Snyder entered, looking as ill-tempered as always. “Unprofessional,” he informed Giles and Jenny’s linked arms. “And what are those three doing here? They didn’t sign up for the talent show.”

“We just wanted to check in on Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar!” babbled Willow. “Ms. Calendar’s my favorite teacher, she’s really great—”

“Save the praise, Rosenberg,” said Snyder, glowering. “All three of you left campus yesterday.”

“Yeah, but we were fighting a—” Buffy was cut off by a swift elbow to the side from Willow.

“Fighting?” Snyder echoed, eyes gleaming.

“Not fighting!” squeaked Willow.

“Yeah, we left to avoid fighting,” Xander added.

Giles and Jenny exchanged a look.

“Real antisocial types,” said Snyder. “You need to integrate into this school, people.” Crossing his arms, he said decisively, “I think I just found three eager new participants for the talent show.”

“What?” said Buffy.

“No!” said Xander.

“Please?” said Willow.

“Actually, Principal Snyder,” said Jenny with a saccharine smile, “the kids are helping me out backstage. It’s not exactly performing, but Rupert and I could do with three extra pairs of hands. You know. Seeing as neither my husband nor myself have any theater background, but you put us in charge anyway.”

Principal Snyder stared at Jenny, eyes narrowed. “Are you contesting my authority, Ms. Calendar?”

A dangerously playful look in her eyes, Jenny opened her mouth. Sensing a potential calamity, Giles placed a hand at the small of his wife’s back—more a gentle reminder than a reprimand. She froze, looked up at him, and then sighed, turning back to Snyder. “No, Principal Snyder, I’m really not,” Jenny said reluctantly.

“We merely believe that these students would be better socially integrated through assigning them the work that’s already readily available,” Giles explained. “Not to mention that Jenny’s the most aware of what this production needs, seeing as her tireless work has largely contributed to the—”

“Save me the thesis statement, Mr. Giles,” snapped Snyder. “Just make sure those kids are put to work.” He turned, stomping out.

“Ms. Calendar, you’re a lifesaver,” said Xander emphatically.

“I think I’d have died if I’d had to perform,” Willow mumbled.

“I can’t take all the credit,” said Jenny, who was still glaring after Snyder’s retreating form. “Mostly I just wanted to stick it to Snyder. That man thinks he can come in and order me around just because he’s—”

“Our employer?” said Giles.

“Ugh,” said Jenny.

“Well, as long as I’m not reading some dumb monologue, I’m good,” said Buffy cheerfully, and went back to painting the backdrop.

“So,” said Giles. “Any thoughts on the talent show?”

“As soon as this thing’s over I’m setting the entire auditorium ablaze,” said Jenny, who was lying sprawled across the couch. She hadn’t yet taken off her jacket and heels, and didn’t look like she had the energy to. “I signed up for sponsoring maybe one school club at most, and now I have to listen to Cordelia Chase butcher Whitney Houston? God, I wish I’d been the teacher to end up headless in a freezer. At least then my ears wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“You have a very wonderful head,” Giles reminded Jenny, amused by her theatrics. “It’d be a shame for it to go missing.” He crossed the room, dropping a kiss to Jenny’s temple. She gave him a small, tired smile. “I’ll make you dinner, dear, how’s that?” he suggested.

“You always make dinner,” said Jenny, reaching up to play with his tie. “I want to order in.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Jenny, I like taking care of you—”

“—and I like snuggling on the couch with you while we watch whatever’s on TV, which I can’t do if you’re all the way over there.” Jenny waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchenette. “I’m all achy and I’ve been on my feet painting for way too long and if I want my husband to cuddle me he should really just do what I say—”

Giles leaned down and kissed Jenny. “I’ll get your shoes off, if you like,” he offered.

“You’re the best husband,” Jenny mumbled. “You’re, like, the best husband.”

“Am I the best husband or like the best husband?” said Giles, tugging off Jenny’s shoes. “There’s a distinct difference.”

“God, I love you,” said Jenny, a half-laugh in her voice.

Absolutely everything that Giles had been thinking—perhaps we should order pizza, I need to restock the green paint in the school supply closet, what happens if this lie I continue to tell my wife has consequences I did not anticipate—came to a complete and utter standstill at those words. He tried to think of—something, anything beyond this terrifying, dizzying mixture of incredible elation and incredible horror, but nothing could come to mind. She loved him. She loved him, and she didn’t know he was a Watcher.

But before he could stumble through some sort of clumsy response, Jenny said shakily, and very fast, “I just meant—I mean, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and—fuck. Rewind. Can I just, just take that all back?”

Giles felt a lump in his throat at the fear in Jenny’s eyes. “Do you want to?”

A beat. Then Jenny raised herself up on her elbows, pressing her mouth clumsily to his. It was a kiss without her usual finesse, but it was heartfelt in a way that Giles hadn’t ever thought he would experience, and he kissed her back with that same half-frightened urgency.

“I really didn’t mean to say that,” Jenny mumbled. This was not at all close to taking her words back. Giles’s heart was pounding as he pulled back to look at her. “You don’t have to—to say it back, I didn’t even mean to tell you now, I—”

Admitting to himself that he was anywhere close to loving Jenny meant admitting that Jenny needed to know he was a Watcher. Telling Jenny that someone she cared deeply for had been lying to her from the very first day they met would shatter her, especially after she had been so vulnerable with him not two weeks ago. “I don’t know if I—” Giles began, hating himself. Jenny deserved a man who could accept her love, something that (he realized this now) she was utterly unaccustomed to giving.

Jenny drew in a half-sobbing breath. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she managed, bumping her nose against his. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—it’s waytoo soon, I know that, I just—”

Giles kissed her again, hoping that his actions might convey what his words couldn’t.

Jenny took a bit longer than usual getting ready for bed that night, and Giles stayed up to wait for her, flipping nervously through a book without really registering what he was reading. When she finally arrived, she hesitated by the door, looking apprehensively at Giles. “I, I can sleep on the couch,” she began.

“Come here,” said Giles quietly. “This doesn’t change a thing.”

“You promise?”

“Why on earth would I lie to you?” Giles asked, and winced.

Jenny didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. Her eyes were on her neatly painted toenails. “It was a moment of weakness, okay?” she said. “It wasn’t—I don’t—”

“Love isn’t weakness,” said Giles. “Who on earth told you that?”

Jenny didn’t answer.

Giles extricated himself awkwardly from the blankets, then crossed the room, stopping in front of Jenny. He tilted her chin up, then cupped her face in one hand. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. Something warm unfurled in his chest at the way her eyelashes fluttered, but…that wouldn’t do. For her protection, for the Slayer’s safety, for the sake of generations of secrecy, he couldn’t tell her he was a Watcher, and he couldn’t tell her he loved her.

He let his hand drop.

The murder of one of the dancers in the talent show didn’t help matters in the slightest. Buffy was convinced that the perpetrator was demonic in origin, which meant that Giles would inevitably be prodded into researching vague snippets of information. Emily’s friends were too distraught to continue their act, which meant an entire reconfiguration of the talent show. And Jenny…was making herself scarce, mostly, which left Giles with a terrible feeling in his chest. He had never once considered the possibility of losing Jenny outside the possibility of Jenny finding out the truth, solely because he had never once considered the possibility of too-good-to-be-true Jenny Calendar falling in love with him.

Buffy, of course, hadn’t picked up on the change between Giles and Jenny, so focused was she on Emily’s murder, and in better circumstances this would make Giles proud of his Slayer’s ability to block out anything besides potential threats. Xander was too busy trying to figure out how to look like he was helping with the talent show (while not really helping at all) to notice anything outside that. But Willow, as always, was frustratingly attuned to Jenny’s moods, and came up to Giles in private after their first round of questioning students who might have been involved in Emily’s demise.

“So, hey, Ms. Calendar seems a little sad lately,” said Willow, sounding determinedly chipper. “And that’s pretty weird, considering how well you guys were getting along a few days ago—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Giles sharply. The memory of Jenny’s pained expression that night in his room stuck with him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her more. How would that even go? Your statement was nowhere close to premature, I have fallen madly in love with you when I wasn’t expecting it, and there has never been a moment we’ve known each other without my omissions between us. You make me feel happier than I’ve ever been, especially when I’m lying to your face. Being your husband has been a privilege and an honor, even as I treat you like an inconvenience—

“I think you should,” said Willow, her smile fading. “Talk, I mean. Maybe not with me—okay, definitely not with me, I don’t think I can work out marriage stuff—but probably with Ms. Calendar.”

“I still haven’t told her,” said Giles.

Willow blinked, then frowned. “Giles, I think you need to,” she said.

“If I tell her and I lose her—”

“—then that’s her choice to make,” Willow finished. “And it’s better than her finding out some other way, isn’t it? What if she comes into the library and sees you training Buffy? You can bet she’s not gonna be happy. Plus,” she blushed, smiling dreamily, “it’d be kinda nice to have Ms. Calendar hanging around the library more often.”

Giles swallowed. “I quite agree,” he said finally. “But I think it should wait until we’ve found out a bit more about what Morgan Shay might be up to.”

He’d been saying this sort of thing quite a lot since the morgue-drawer kiss. I’ll tell her after the hyena mess clears up. I’ll tell her after I know what’s going on with Angel. I’ll tell her after patrol, after school, after everything is perfect and I know she’ll be safe. At this point, Giles thought, there was little to no chance that he would follow up on it, especially not now—not when telling Jenny had the potential to hurt her even more than he already had.

Everything he did seemed to hurt Jenny, one way or another. Part of him was beginning to think that this marriage should have had an end date stamped on it way back in the beginning, when they were planning the whole thing. But then, even at the beginning, he’d been rather taken with the idea of staying married to Jenny. After what had felt like a lifetime of loneliness, the concept of some sort of companionship had been too much to resist.

Willow gave him a dubious look, but dropped the subject, hurrying out of the office after Xander and Buffy. Giles sat down and took a cup of tea, trying not to think about the fact that Jenny usually stopped by for lunch around this hour.

“I don’t see why I have to follow Brett and his stupid band!” Cordelia was objecting when Giles entered the auditorium.

“Because we have to clear the stage for the finale, Cordy, we’ve been over this,” said Jenny thinly. Giles’s heart caught at the sight of her; she looked terrible. Angry and miserable, clutching a large stack of flyers to her chest, and very obviously unable to handle Cordelia’s complaints. She hadn’t yet noticed Giles, who found himself feeling somehow worse at the sight of her. She’d been long gone when he woke up that morning, and had left for school without him, marking the second day that Giles had woken up alone.

Giles decided to intervene. “Cordelia,” he said, stepping up next to Jenny (she stiffened), and then frowned theatrically, directing his gaze at her hair.

“What?” said Cordelia.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Giles, doing his best to sound embarrassed. “It’s just…your hair?”

Cordelia reeled. “There’s something wrong with my hair?” she gasped. “Oh my god!” Without preamble, she turned, dashing out of the auditorium.

“Xander was right,” said Giles, amused. “Worked like a charm.” He didn’t dare look over at Jenny.

Jenny sighed. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Giles nodded, eyes still on the empty space where Cordelia had been. “Of course,” he said.

Jenny exhaled. “I didn’t mean to make it weird,” she said. “I don’t usually get this clingy this fast.”

Every single self-deprecating remark of Jenny’s hurt Giles so much more than he had expected. There was no way out of their marriage that didn’t end in disaster for Giles, but he’d thought that he could have at least spared Jenny the heartache. “I—” he began, turning slowly to face Jenny, lost in all the things he wanted to tell her.

“Giles, have you seen Morgan?” Buffy called, a strange, flat note to her voice.

“I’m sorry?” said Giles, turning away from Jenny.

“We can talk later,” said Jenny, and hurried away, pushing past Buffy, Willow, and Xander.

“Is Ms. Calendar okay?” Buffy asked, peering around Giles at the discarded flyers. “Willow says she’s just been handing out worksheets in class.”

“And aren’t we all grateful for that!” said Xander jovially, but his smile flickered as he saw the way Jenny was leaning against the stage. “Hey, Giles, what’s going on?”

Willow looked up at Giles with a pointed expression. “I think you should tell them,” she said.

Buffy and Xander exchanged a bemused look. “Tell us what?” Buffy asked.

“Frankly, Willow, anything going on between myself and Jenny shall remain—” Giles began sharply.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but this is getting ridiculous,” said Willow. She was glaring. Giles hadn’t once seen Willow glare, and certainly not at him. “Giles, Ms. Calendar’s been miserable. She’s been ignoring her lesson plan and giving us worksheets so she can program in a sulk without being interrupted. And you’re keeping a whole big secret from her, and a whole big secret from Buffy and Xander—”

“Because it is none of their business!” snapped Giles. “And frankly, Willow, it isn’t yours either!”

“Well, maybe it should be!” Willow shot back. “You’re hurting her, Giles—”

“Willow.”

Willow froze. Buffy and Xander now looked extremely unnerved. Giles, exhausted, turned to face Jenny, who was looking steadily and tiredly at all of them. “Jenny, I’m sorry,” he said. “The children seem to have picked up on—”

“Yeah, I can see that,” said Jenny. “Willow, don’t harass my husband. He’s right. It isn’t any of your business what’s going on between us, and you should know better than to tell him off for something you don’t completely understand.”

“Ms. Calendar—” Willow began, looking a mixture of horrified and furious.

“Don’t,” said Jenny. She gave Giles a small, sad smile. “Rupert, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s true that I haven’t been handling our personal stuff well, and if it’s starting to affect my work, I think we should probably talk about it. If—that’s okay with you?”

Giles didn’t know how to respond to that. There was a painful lump in his throat. “You’re not at fault, Jenny,” he said. “It’s my own cowardice that’s causing us both all the trouble. But yes. We should talk after school, before the talent show starts.”

Jenny was looking at him a little differently, now. At the word cowardice, her lips had parted, and there was a small spark of hope in her eyes. Giles felt a flutter in his chest; she had become rather adept at reading between the lines, with him, and now seemed no exception. “I love you, you know,” she said, lightly enough that it wasn’t quite clear whether or not she was saying it as his fake wife or as Jenny Calendar.

It was a clear invitation, a way for Giles to respond in kind without the consequences of a true declaration of love. And it made him love her all the more, for trying to help even a complete idiot like himself, but he couldn’t take the coward’s way out. If ever he told Jenny he loved her, it would be without pretense. “I know,” he said quietly, and reached out to her, but she was already turning and hurrying out of the auditorium.

Buffy and Xander exchanged a concerned look. Willow, however, had gone from infuriated to a pained understanding. “Oh,” she said. “Huh.”

“Yes,” said Giles, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Willow was smart enough to piece the mess together. “Well. Buffy, you mentioned wanting to talk to Morgan?”

Buffy seemed rather stuck on the concept of Morgan’s dummy being behind the murders, which Giles severely doubted. Still, every theory merited investigation, and a second day of after-school research seemed apropos. A few quiet hours in the library would also enable Giles to have some sort of a conversation with Jenny while the children looked for more information, which terrified him thoroughly. He would have to tell her the truth about himself, he knew, but he just so didn’t want to. She’d be angry, or worse, hurt, and it would throw yet another complication into an already muddled arrangement.

Arms full of costumes, Giles followed Willow and Buffy into the library, where they found Xander sitting at the desk with Morgan’s odd little dummy.

“Where did you get that?” said Buffy uncomfortably.

“Took it out of Mrs. Jackson’s cupboard,” said Xander nonchalantly. “You said you wanted to speak to Morgan alone, so, well…”

Giles set the costumes down, turning to Willow. “You and I have some hunting of our own to do,” he said. Willow was really the only one he trusted around his books, especially after what Xander had called The Orange Pop Rock Catastrophe and Giles had called a sticky mess on the encyclopedias.

Willow wavered. “Giles,” she said. “Ms. Calendar’s right that it’s not any of my business. But it bothers me that—”

“Willow, I am well aware that I have thoroughly mishandled the situation,” said Giles stiffly. “My primary goal is to hurt Jenny as little as possible, and it’s becoming incredibly difficult to do that right now.”

Willow seemed satisfied with this answer. “Then you’d better tread carefully,” she said, not unkindly, and set her own pile of costumes down, heading up into the stacks.

Buffy, meanwhile, was heading out of the library to find Morgan; as she exited, she held the door open for Jenny, who looked a little taken aback at Willow and Xander’s presence.

“Isn’t that Morgan Shay’s dummy?” Jenny asked warily.

“I’ve found it best to ask as little as possible,” said Giles, trying to smile. It came off as more of a nervous grimace. “Should we—”

“Yeah, okay,” said Jenny, and stepped into Giles’s office, sitting down on his desk.

Giles followed her in, shutting the door. “Jenny,” he began.

Jenny held up a hand. “This isn’t your issue,” she said. “Okay? This is mine. Regardless of how you feel about me, I don’t want Willow Rosenberg jumping down your throat because she thinks you’re a bad husband. And if she’s been noticing my moping around over the last two days, I’d say that’s a pretty reasonable conclusion to make, which is entirely my fault. So before we get going on whatever it is you’re afraid of, I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” said Giles immediately.

Jenny fixed him with a fondly exasperated look. “You’re kinda bad at taking apologies,” she said.

“When they’re not needed—” Giles began helplessly.

“I don’t think you’re the one who gets to decide what I’m sorry about.”

“I think, if an apology is directed at me, I am within reasonable grounds to dismiss it as completely unnecessary—” Belatedly, Giles realized how horribly he had put his foot in his mouth.

“And I think calling my apology unnecessary but not telling me why I shouldn’t be apologizing is ridiculous!” snapped a clearly humiliated Jenny.

“Guys!” shouted Xander, barging into the office. “Sid’s gone!”

“What?” said Giles, realized what might have happened, and narrowly resisted the urge to jump atop the desk next to Jenny.

“Sid as in the dummy?” said Jenny slowly. “As in Morgan Shay’s dummy?”

Willow tumbled in after Xander, waving a book in hand. “Guys, listen to this!” she gasped, leaning against the doorframe to catch her breath. “On rare occasions inanimate objects of human quality, such as dolls and mannequins, already mystically possessed of consciousness, have acted upon their desire to become human by harvesting organs.”

“Emily’s heart,” said Giles, nauseated.

“And it’d sure explain where Sid’s gone off to,” Xander added, looking pale.

“You know what?” said Jenny suddenly. “I can’t deal with any of this right now.” She slid off Giles’s desk. “I’m going to go home,” she said to a spot on the wall. “I’m going to go home until I’m needed for the talent show and, and not think about any of this, okay? Okay.”

“Jenny,” said Giles, feeling awful. This was really the worst possible outcome. “We still have to talk—”

“Heard you loud and clear, Rupert,” said Jenny, still not looking at him. “Let me know when I’m necessary again.” She hurried out of the office.

“What is going on with you two?” said Xander, sounding genuinely concerned.

“She knows there’s a creepy dummy running around trying to kill people, right?” Willow added uneasily.

“I need a cup of tea,” said Giles, a lump in his throat.

Buffy arrived with the dummy in tow. Sid then proceeded to tell them a tale the likes of which Giles had never anticipated. A demon hunter, cursed to be a living dummy until all the demons were killed…well, at least Giles’s initial research into demons that needed a heart and a brain to look human was of some use to the situation. Still, it was rather nice to have someone else explaining everything for a change, especially in his state of distraction. He said as such to Sid, who nodded.

“There were seven of them,” Sid informed the room at large. “I’ve killed six. One more and the curse gets lifted. I’m sure it’s someone in that stupid talent show.”

“Yeah, but our demon has his heart and his brain,” Buffy pointed out. “He’ll be moving on.”

“So once we know who’s missing from the show…” Sid began.

“We’ll know who our demon is,” Sid finished.

The show. The phrase clicked in Giles’s head. I’m going to go home until I’m needed for the talent show. “The show!” he said.

“What?” said Buffy.

“I have to go, I-I’m needed there,” Giles stammered, and was about to all but race out of the room when Buffy caught his arm. “What,” he said, his mind already on Jenny.

“Make sure you know who is and isn’t there!” Buffy reminded him.

“Yeah, form the power circle,” Sid chimed in.

“The what?” said Giles weakly.

“The power circle,” said Sid, looking about as close to bemused as a dummy could get. “You get everyone together, get ‘em revved up—”

“Right,” said Giles, shaking off Buffy’s arm and hurrying out of the library.

Backstage, the cast of Sunnydale High’s talent show was buzzing with activity when he entered. “Fifteen minutes to curtain!” Jenny was shouting, a last splotch of paint on her face, and Giles’s heart seized at the sight of her. She blinked, looking at him, and then turned away.

Giles hurried up to her. “Jenny, we need to talk,” he began.

“Save it for after the show,” said Jenny. “I have a whole bunch of equipment to set up.” Without waiting for his answer, she hurried away.

Giles swallowed, hard, and was knocked into by a wide-eyed Cordelia. “I can’t go out there!” she wailed. “All those people staring at me and judging me like I’m some kind of, of, Buffy! What if I mess up?”

“I have no idea,” said Giles. “Frankly, I’m the last person you should ask about something like that right now. Excuse me.” He hurried to center stage, then called, “In five minutes we’ll, we’ll all assemble on the stage for the power, um, thing, all right?”

“Power circle in five!” Jenny shouted.

“Yes,” said Giles. “What she said.” Then he sat down on a nearby bench and tried not to feel too miserable about the whole affair, which didn’t really work.

Somebody sat down next to him. “That was not helpful advice,” Cordelia informed him. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”

“Can’t you ask Jenny?” Giles asked heavily. “She’s a damn sight better at bouncing back than I am, Cordelia.”

“Obviously, because you’re in some kind of loser-librarian downward spiral right now, and that cannot happen when I’m about to go and sing onstage,” huffed Cordelia. “I need sage advice, Giles. Hand some over.”

Giles looked up at her, trying to think of some inane bit of advice that might make her go away. “Um, picture the audience in their underwear,” he said.

“Even Mrs. Franklin?” Cordelia’s face screwed up. “Ew!” But she got up and left, still shuddering.

Giles pulled himself up from the bench as well. Jenny was shepherding students into the power circle, which gave him ample time to observe—

“Oh no, get over here,” said Jenny grimly, grabbing Giles’s hand and pulling him into the circle. “You’re not getting out of this one, Rupert.”

Giles did a rapid head count, then frowned: not a single person was missing. He counted again, but ended up with the same result.

“Okay, just—just—” Jenny waved a hand. “Good luck out there,” she said miserably, and tugged herself free of the power circle, all but running backstage. The students looked somewhat confused, but Marc the Magnificent cocked his head a little and followed her.

Giles decided to let Jenny deal with Marc herself; she certainly wouldn’t take kindly to his help at this juncture. As Buffy landed in front of him, he informed her nervously, “There’s no one missing.”

“So the demon isn’t in the show,” said Buffy.

“All right, well, you warn the others,” said Giles. “I’d best get this show started.”

But as it turned out, there really wasn’t all that much for Giles to do. All the students were already waiting in the wings, Marc the Magnificent had (presumably) set the stage for his performance, and Jenny—wherewas Jenny? Giles wavered, debating whether or not going after her was a good idea—

There was a loud thud from the stage. Giles frowned. Had one of the props gone awry? There was that terrible guillotine of Marc’s that served no clear purpose whatsoever—

Giles was nearly bowled over by Buffy, who registered his presence and skidded to a stunned stop. “What?” she gasped out. “But—you’re Brain Man!”

“I’m sorry?” said Giles, bemused.

Willow reached them next, wheezing. “Not—Giles!” she gasped. “Ms. Calendar!”

Buffy went pale and ran for the stage.

“What on earth—” Giles began.

Xander steadied Willow, looking nauseous. “The demon’s in the show,” he said. “It doesn’t have a healthy brain. We thought it’d go after you—”

It took Giles a moment to fully understand what Xander and Willow were trying to tell him. It took him another moment to realize what the thud must have been. He ran, bursting through the curtains to find Buffy fighting Marc the Magnificent and Jenny—

Jenny was strapped, unconscious, to the guillotine bench, a blade poised to neatly chop off the part of her head containing her brain. Giles had to resist the very strong urge to full-on tackle Marc the Magnificent himself; as it was, he seriously considered it before the rope snapped. He lunged, grabbing it a second before it would have cut off Jenny’s head.

“Cutting it a little close there, Giles,” said Xander, his face pale.

“Pull that blade back up,” said Giles flatly, thrusting the rope into Xander’s hands. As Xander obliged, Giles ran to Jenny, undoing the restraints at her chest and feet. God, she would have died not knowing anything. She would have died knowing absolutely nothing. If he had told her that he wasn’t writing a book, that he was a Watcher, anything of importance, she would never have been put in this position—

In Marc the Magnificent’s haste to kill Jenny, he’d forgotten to lock the head restraint in place. Giles lifted it, pulling Jenny off the bench. Scooping her up in a bridal carry, he staggered back, hitting the curtain and very nearly falling to the stage floor.

The demon had been kicked into the guillotine. This was, of course, when Jenny stirred. “Ow,” she whispered, one hand fluttering to touch the bruise on her forehead. “Ow! Rupert, did Marc punch me out or am I just imagining—”

“I love you,” said Giles, dizzy with relief. “So much.”

Jenny smiled slightly. “Cool,” she mumbled, and turned her face into his chest. 

Giles bid the children a hasty goodbye and informed Snyder that he would be taking Jenny home, claiming a prop malfunction had led to injury and playing up the concerned-husband factor to the best of his abilities (though very little of his concern was feigned). Supporting Jenny, he hurried out to the parking lot, carefully unlocking the car door.

“So, you, like, love me?” said Jenny, who still sounded a little woozy. “Like love me love me?”

“I love you love you,” Giles agreed.

“You know I don’t love you love you yet, right?” Jenny informed him. “I mean I love you, but I don’t know if I love you, because that’s a whole buncha commitment and I’m still not even sure if I’m cool with being married. Even if it’s you and your nice face.”

“You did broach the subject,” Giles reminded Jenny, helping her into the car.

“It was an accident,” said Jenny. “And you’ve been all twitchy ever since, and—and I should still be mad at you for being all twitchy, but right now my head really hurts.” She tilted her head, looking up at him. “You love me?”

The gravity of his words finally hit Giles, jerking him from exhausted relief into something not unlike panic. “I love you,” he said weakly, and the genuine emotion behind his words only intensified his worry.

Jenny gave him a small, crooked smile. “You’re really bad at this,” she said, and tugged at his hand, pulling him down into a clumsy, impassioned hug.

“Yes,” said Giles heavily. “I really, really am.”

[swtltlmrvlgrl]

Three, Four then Five

Summary: Sebastian Stan AU, where Sebastian Stan is your childhood friend. You can seem to hide secrets from your best friend even if you try to. You ended up telling him something more than your secret.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan X Reader

Warning: Angst, Language, Mentions of Death

A/N:  This was originally a Bucky x Reader fan fic, but in the middle of writing this fic, I realized that maybe using Sebastian would be better (?) This is the second fan fic that I’ve ever written (and this was written in the midst of me writing my undergraduate thesis hehe)  And I think it’s better than the first one I wrote (?) As a part of my new year goals, I plan to write at least 5 fan fics, so four more to go yey!! Haha.

Number of Words: 1,436

I will be tagging my favorite people here on tumblr, if you don’t want to be tagged in the next 4 fanfictions that I will write for this year, feel free to tell me.

Also, if you have imagines/requests, I will take note of them and try to incorporate them in my future fics :D

Tags: @alphaabucky@smilexcaptainx @imperialnova @sebbys-girl @violentlyfarts @brighterlights @imyourliquor-youremypoison @bovaria @lowkeybuckytrash @callamint @sarahwroteathing @beccaanne814-blog @harleyqueen7

               You were fixing your bed when you heard your phone beep, alerting you that you received a message. You were surprised to see that it was from your best friend telling you that he will be arriving at your apartment in about 30 minutes. He doesn’t usually text you when he wants to go your place; he just knocks on the door and barges right in, most of the time.  

               Wow. You actually told me that you’re coming. That’s new. :)

After responding to his message, you immediately went to the comfort room and washed your face. You put on aloe vera cream around your puffy eyes. From your reflection on the mirror, you noticed that your clothes were wrinkled -maybe a result of you twisting and turning around your bed the whole night- so you decided to change your clothes. You wore your favorite sweater and matched it with your favorite cargo pants. You went to your fridge to check if you have enough supplies to feed a Sebastian Stan, and just one look you know that it wasn’t enough, so you texted him.

Gonna order pizza. You want?

And he immediately replied,

Already have, doll. ;)

You are such a reliable man. What can I do without you? :) <3

Easy there, doll. I didn’t mention anything about sharing. :P

You love me, Seb and you’re gonna give me everything. :P

He didn’t respond after that.

“He’ll be arriving soon.” You told yourself and went to the soft brown sofa, you lied down and played with your phone.  When you were about to defeat the monster in the rpg that you were playing, you heard a knock on the door. Since food is more important than your game, you left it behind and opened the door. You were greeted by a blue-eyed man, carrying a box of pizza, two boxes of chocolates on top and two bottles of root beers.

“Wow, Seb. What’s the occasion? Come inside” You grabbed the bottles and the boxes of chocolates. “Did you win a bet or something?”

Sebastian looked at you, confused by your statement. “No. I... don’t know. I just woke up and felt that I wanted to see you and check on you.”

You giggled. “I always knew you were impulsive, but not THIS impulsive.”

When you were about to take the box of pizza that he was holding, you looked at him and found that he was staring at you. “What? Is there dirt on my face?”

He stared at you for a little while longer, his face painted with worry and finally said, “Are you alright?” You smiled at him. “Of course I am! How about you are you okay? I’m sure you’re tired from carrying these stuff around. Just sit there by the table, and I’ll just get the plates.”

You took the box of pizza and placed it on top of the table and took some plates at the cabinets. While you were doing this, you can still feel Sebastian staring at you. To beat the awkward ambience, you changed the topic and ranted about the amount of office work that you had to do during the past few days.

“I did not sleep for two days to make a long-ass research paper, only to find out that Dr. Nick moved the deadline to next week. Bring back my precious sleep you damn doctor! ” Then you shoved the remaining piece of pizza into your mouth.

“Well, at least you’re done” he paused, stretched his hands into your lips and took a small piece of ham. “More time for me then.” He smiled.

“Yeah. Well you’re the busier one, being an actor and all.” You smiled back, with bits of cheese still present between your teeth.

The two of you finished the whole box of pizza. You picked up the utensils that you used and washed it. While you were washing the dishes, you felt Sebastian slowly approaching you. He stopped right behind you and said, “Y/N. I’m only gonna ask this one more time. Are you really alright?”

You could feel his breath at the back of your neck. You wanted to tell him everything, to hug him tightly and cry, but all you did was rinse the plates, place it in the cabinet and face him. “I’m alright, Seb. Let’s just go watch some netflix. I heard Civil War’s already on it.” And for the second time, you faked a smile, patted his shoulder and sat down at the sofa in front of the television.

Sebastian sighed and walked towards the television and turned it off.  He grabbed his phone and played “Marry Your Daughter” by Brian McKnight. He then slowly walked towards you, his hands reaching out to you. “Will you dance with me, Y/N?”

It took you a moment to let it all sink in, this was definitely a bold move from your friend. You weren’t that much of a dancer and you were definitely not a fan of dancing randomly inside your flat, but you still reached out to his hands and took it. You danced with him, maybe because of the guilt from lying to him or maybe because you just can’t say no to that smile -complemented by those blue eyes-plus the fact that you can’t ignore your best friend trying to cheer you up.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands around your hips, the two of you swayed in perfect sync with each other. Your bodies were moving with the music from the radio and your souls were dancing with the music of the wind. It was an intimate moment between the two of you; you felt the warmth of each other’s bodies and at the same time you felt the warmth of each other’s hearts.  The two of you were connected. The two of you became one.

Breaking the musical trance that the two of you were in, Sebastian finally spoke up.

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”  You answered, your head still resting on Sebastian’s chest. The two of you were still swaying and gliding through the notes. You were listening to his voice, it was calming and relaxing. His voice was music to your ears.

“We’ve been together since we were young. I know how much you love to run around the streets when it’s raining and how much you hate the fact that you get asthmatic afterwards.” You chuckled, he continued. “The first time you cried for a week because an asshole dumped you, the time when you shouted out and cursed out his name, the time when you were confused if you loved him or hated him or both – I was there and I witnessed it all. I was there when you heart was broken a year ago” He paused. And took a deep breath.  “... when your father died. At that time, you were pretending that you were okay, you kept smiling and I didn’t do anything about it. An -  ” He stopped dancing. He cupped your head and craddled it into his soft hands, and he looked straight into your eyes.

“And it’s breaking my soul. Seeing you like this. Just thinking that, a year after your father’s death, you’re still there pretending. Smiling.  Smiling, when deep inside I know you’re broken.”

Hearing the word ‘broken’ made your stomach churn, it was true. You were broken.  A tear fell from your left eye. In your attempt to break free from Sebastian’s grip and hide your emotions, you hugged. But Sebastian, he wasn’t just hugging you back. He was embracing you, he was holding and putting together all the pieces of your broken soul.

You can feel your heart bursting from emotions – with so many feelings for your childhood friend. You weren’t just grateful for him, no, it was much more than gratitude and you didn’t know how to express it. A mere ‘thank you’ won’t suffice; those two words are not enough. You needed something more than two words to express your feelings.

“I love you, Sebastian”

Three words and it felt more than enough.  

He pulled you closer to him and his embrace felt tighter. He rested his chin on top of your head, you can feel his warm breath travelling through the strands of your hair. “It took you long enough.” He chuckled.

He broke free from your tight embrace. He looked into your eyes. Your soul was drowning as were looking back at him - at his steel-blue eyes. Your heart was beating fast, and you can feel that his heart was too.

“And I love you, too. Y/N. I love you very much.”

Four words, and then five.

[englishchinesetranslations]

(简体字：为什么中文这么TM难？) 

(繁體字：為什麼中文這麼TM難？)

The first question any thoughtful person might ask when reading the title of this essay is, "Hard for whom?" A reasonable question. After all, Chinese people seem to learn it just fine. When little Chinese kids go through the "terrible twos", it's Chinese they use to drive their parents crazy, and in a few years the same kids are actually using those impossibly complicated Chinese characters to scribble love notes and shopping lists. So what do I mean by "hard"? Since I know at the outset that the whole tone of this document is going to involve a lot of whining and complaining, I may as well come right out and say exactly what I mean. I mean hard for me, a native English speaker trying to learn Chinese as an adult, going through the whole process with the textbooks, the tapes, the conversation partners, etc., the whole torturous rigmarole. I mean hard for me -- and, of course, for the many other Westerners who have spent years of their lives bashing their heads against the Great Wall of Chinese.

From

Schriftfestschrift: Essays on Writing and Language in Honor of John DeFrancis on His Eightieth Birthday

(Sino-Platonic Papers)

No. 27, August 1991), edited by Victor H. Mair

If this were as far as I went, my statement would be a pretty empty one. Of course Chinese is hard for me. After all, any foreign language is hard for a non-native, right? Well, sort of. Not all foreign languages are equally difficult for any learner. It depends on which language you're coming from. A French person can usually learn Italian faster than an American, and an average American could probably master German a lot faster than an average Japanese, and so on. So part of what I'm contending is that Chinese is hard compared to ... well, compared to almost any other language you might care to tackle. What I mean is that Chinese is not only hard for us (English speakers), but it's also hard in absolute terms. Which means that Chinese is also hard forthem, for Chinese people.1

If you don't believe this, just ask a Chinese person. Most Chinese people will cheerfully acknowledge that their language is hard, maybe the hardest on earth. (Many are even proud of this, in the same way some New Yorkers are actually proud of living in the most unlivable city in America.) Maybe all Chinese people deserve a medal just for being born Chinese. At any rate, they generally become aware at some point of the Everest-like status of their native language, as they, from their privileged vantage point on the summit, observe foolhardy foreigners huffing and puffing up the steep slopes.

Everyone's heard the supposed fact that if you take the English idiom "It's Greek to me" and search for equivalent idioms in all the world's languages to arrive at a consensus as to which language is the hardest, the results of such a linguistic survey is that Chinese easily wins as the canonical incomprehensible language. (For example, the French have the expression "C'est du chinois", "It's Chinese", i.e., "It's incomprehensible". Other languages have similar sayings.) So then the question arises: What do the Chinese themselves consider to be an impossibly hard language? You then look for the corresponding phrase in Chinese, and you find Gēn tiānshū yíyàng 跟天书一样 meaning "It's like heavenly script."

There is truth in this linguistic yarn; Chinese does deserve its reputation for heartbreaking difficulty. Those who undertake to study the language for any other reason than the sheer joy of it will always be frustrated by the abysmal ratio of effort to effect. Those who are actually attracted to the language precisely because of its daunting complexity and difficulty will never be disappointed. Whatever the reason they started, every single person who has undertaken to study Chinese sooner or later asks themselves "Why in the world am I doing this?" Those who can still remember their original goals will wisely abandon the attempt then and there, since nothing could be worth all that tedious struggle. Those who merely say "I've come this far -- I can't stop now" will have some chance of succeeding, since they have the kind of mindless doggedness and lack of sensible overall perspective that it takes.

Okay, having explained a bit of what I mean by the word, I return to my original question: Why is Chinese so damn hard?

1. Because the writing system is ridiculous.

Beautiful, complex, mysterious -- but ridiculous. I, like many students of Chinese, was first attracted to Chinese because of the writing system, which is surely one of the most fascinating scripts in the world. The more you learn about Chinese characters the more intriguing and addicting they become. The study of Chinese characters can become a lifelong obsession, and you soon find yourself engaged in the daily task of accumulating them, drop by drop from the vast sea of characters, in a vain attempt to hoard them in the leaky bucket of long-term memory.

The beauty of the characters is indisputable, but as the Chinese people began to realize the importance of universal literacy, it became clear that these ideograms were sort of like bound feet -- some fetishists may have liked the way they looked, but they weren't too practical for daily use.

For one thing, it is simply unreasonably hard to learn enough characters to become functionally literate. Again, someone may ask "Hard in comparison to what?" And the answer is easy: Hard in comparison to Spanish, Greek, Russian, Hindi, or any other sane, "normal" language that requires at most a few dozen symbols to write anything in the language. John DeFrancis, in his book The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, reports that his Chinese colleagues estimate it takes seven to eight years for a Mandarin speaker to learn to read and write three thousand characters, whereas his French and Spanish colleagues estimate that students in their respective countries achieve comparable levels in half that time.2 Naturally, this estimate is rather crude and impressionistic (it's unclear what "comparable levels" means here), but the overall implications are obvious: the Chinese writing system is harder to learn, in absolute terms, than an alphabetic writing system.3 Even Chinese kids, whose minds are at their peak absorptive power, have more trouble with Chinese characters than their little counterparts in other countries have with their respective scripts. Just imagine the difficulties experienced by relatively sluggish post-pubescent foreign learners such as myself.

Everyone has heard that Chinese is hard because of the huge number of characters one has to learn, and this is absolutely true. There are a lot of popular books and articles that downplay this difficulty, saying things like "Despite the fact that Chinese has [10,000, 25,000, 50,000, take your pick] separate characters you really only need 2,000 or so to read a newspaper". Poppycock. I couldn't comfortably read a newspaper when I had 2,000 characters under my belt. I often had to look up several characters per line, and even after that I had trouble pulling the meaning out of the article. (I take it as a given that what is meant by "read" in this context is "read and basically comprehend the text without having to look up dozens of characters"; otherwise the claim is rather empty.)

This fairy tale is promulgated because of the fact that, when you look at the character frequencies, over 95% of the characters in any newspaper are easily among the first 2,000 most common ones.4 But what such accounts don't tell you is that there will still be plenty of unfamiliar words made up of those familiar characters. (To illustrate this problem, note that in English, knowing the words "up" and "tight" doesn't mean you know the word "uptight".) Plus, as anyone who has studied any language knows, you can often be familiar with every single word in a text and still not be able to grasp the meaning. Reading comprehension is not simply a matter of knowing a lot of words; one has to get a feeling for how those words combine with other words in a multitude of different contexts.5 In addition, there is the obvious fact that even though you may know 95% of the characters in a given text, the remaining 5% are often the very characters that are crucial for understanding the main point of the text. A non-native speaker of English reading an article with the headline "JACUZZIS FOUND EFFECTIVE IN TREATING PHLEBITIS" is not going to get very far if they don't know the words "jacuzzi" or "phlebitis".

The problem of reading is often a touchy one for those in the China field. How many of us would dare stand up in front of a group of colleagues and read a randomly-selected passage out loud? Yet inferiority complexes or fear of losing face causes many teachers and students to become unwitting cooperators in a kind of conspiracy of silence wherein everyone pretends that after four years of Chinese the diligent student should be whizzing through anything from Confucius to Lu Xun, pausing only occasionally to look up some pesky low-frequency character (in their Chinese-Chinese dictionary, of course). Others, of course, are more honest about the difficulties. The other day one of my fellow graduate students, someone who has been studying Chinese for ten years or more, said to me "My research is really hampered by the fact that I still just can't read Chinese. It takes me hours to get through two or three pages, and I can't skim to save my life." This would be an astonishing admission for a tenth-year student of, say, French literature, yet it is a comment I hear all the time among my peers (at least in those unguarded moments when one has had a few too many Tsingtao beers and has begun to lament how slowly work on the thesis is coming).

A teacher of mine once told me of a game he and a colleague would sometimes play: The contest involved pulling a book at random from the shelves of the Chinese section of the Asia Library and then seeing who could be the first to figure out what the book was about. Anyone who has spent time working in an East Asia collection can verify that this can indeed be a difficult enough task -- never mind reading the book in question. This state of affairs is very disheartening for the student who is impatient to begin feasting on the vast riches of Chinese literature, but must subsist on a bland diet of canned handouts, textbook examples, and carefully edited appetizers for the first few years.

The comparison with learning the usual western languages is striking. After about a year of studying French, I was able to read a lot. I went through the usual kinds of novels -- La nausée by Sartre, Voltaire'sCandide, L'étranger by Camus -- plus countless newspapers, magazines, comic books, etc. It was a lot of work but fairly painless; all I really needed was a good dictionary and a battered French grammar book I got at a garage sale.

This kind of "sink or swim" approach just doesn't work in Chinese. At the end of three years of learning Chinese, I hadn't yet read a single complete novel. I found it just too hard, impossibly slow, and unrewarding. Newspapers, too, were still too daunting. I couldn't read an article without looking up about every tenth character, and it was not uncommon for me to scan the front page of the People's Daily and not be able to completely decipher a single headline. Someone at that time suggested I read The Dream of the Red Chamber and gave me a nice three-volume edition. I just have to laugh. It still sits on my shelf like a fat, smug Buddha, only the first twenty or so pages filled with scribbled definitions and question marks, the rest crisp and virgin. After six years of studying Chinese, I'm still not at a level where I can actually read it without an English translation to consult. (By "read it", I mean, of course, "read it for pleasure". I suppose if someone put a gun to my head and a dictionary in my hand, I could get through it.) Simply diving into the vast pool of Chinese in the beginning is not only foolhardy, it can even be counterproductive. As George Kennedy writes, "The difficulty of memorizing a Chinese ideograph as compared with the difficulty of learning a new word in a European language, is such that a rigid economy of mental effort is imperative."6 This is, if anything, an understatement. With the risk of drowning so great, the student is better advised to spend more time in the shallow end treading water before heading toward the deep end.

As if all this weren't bad enough, another ridiculous aspect of the Chinese writing system is that there are two (mercifully overlapping) sets of characters: the traditional characters still used in Taiwan and Hong Kong, and the simplified characters adopted by the People's Republic of China in the late 1950's and early 60's. Any foreign student of Chinese is more or less forced to become familiar with both sets, since they are routinely exposed to textbooks and materials from both Chinas. This linguistic camel's-back-breaking straw puts an absurd burden on the already absurdly burdened student of Chinese, who at this point would gladly trade places with Sisyphus. But since Chinese people themselves are never equally proficient in both simplified and complex characters, there is absolutely no shame whatsoever in eventually concentrating on one set to the partial exclusion the other. In fact, there is absolutely no shame in giving up Chinese altogether, when you come right down to it.

2. Because the language doesn't have the common sense to use an alphabet.

To further explain why the Chinese writing system is so hard in this respect, it might be a good idea to spell out (no pun intended) why that of English is so easy. Imagine the kind of task faced by the average Chinese adult who decides to study English. What skills are needed to master the writing system? That's easy: 26 letters. (In upper and lower case, of course, plus script and a few variant forms. And throw in some quote marks, apostrophes, dashes, parentheses, etc. -- all things the Chinese use in their own writing system.) And how are these letters written? From left to right, horizontally, across the page, with spaces to indicate word boundaries. Forgetting for a moment the problem of spelling and actually making words out of these letters, how long does it take this Chinese learner of English to master the various components of the English writing system? Maybe a day or two.

Now consider the American undergraduate who decides to study Chinese. What does it take for this person to master the Chinese writing system? There is nothing that corresponds to an alphabet, though there are recurring components that make up the characters. How many such components are there? Don't ask. As with all such questions about Chinese, the answer is very messy and unsatisfying. It depends on how you define "component" (strokes? radicals?), plus a lot of other tedious details. Suffice it to say, the number is quite large, vastly more than the 26 letters of the Roman alphabet. And how are these components combined to form characters? Well, you name it -- components to the left of other components, to the right of other components, on top of other components, surrounding other components, inside of other components -- almost anything is possible. And in the process of making these spatial accommodations, these components get flattened, stretched, squashed, shortened, and distorted in order to fit in the uniform square space that all characters are supposed to fit into. In other words, the components of Chinese characters are arrayed in two dimensions, rather than in the neat one-dimensional rows of alphabetic writing.

Okay, so ignoring for the moment the question of elegance, how long does it take a Westerner to learn the Chinese writing system so that when confronted with any new character they at least know how to move the pen around in order to produce a reasonable facsimile of that character? Again, hard to say, but I would estimate that it takes the average learner several months of hard work to get the basics down. Maybe a year or more if they're a klutz who was never very good in art class. Meanwhile, their Chinese counterpart learning English has zoomed ahead to learn cursive script, with time left over to read Moby Dick, or at least Strunk & White.

This is not exactly big news, I know; the alphabet really is a breeze to learn. Chinese people I know who have studied English for a few years can usually write with a handwriting style that is almost indistinguishable from that of the average American. Very few Americans, on the other hand, ever learn to produce a natural calligraphic hand in Chinese that resembles anything but that of an awkward Chinese third-grader. If there were nothing else hard about Chinese, the task of learning to write characters alone would put it in the rogues' gallery of hard-to-learn languages.

3. Because the writing system just ain't very phonetic.

So much for the physical process of writing the characters themselves. What about the sheer task of memorizing so many characters? Again, a comparison of English and Chinese is instructive. Suppose a Chinese person has just the previous day learned the English word "president", and now wants to write it from memory. How to start? Anyone with a year or two of English experience is going to have a host of clues and spelling rules-of-thumb, albeit imperfect ones, to help them along. The word really couldn't start with anything but "pr", and after that a little guesswork aided by visual memory ("Could a 'z' be in there? That's an unusual letter, I would have noticed it, I think. Must be an 's'...") should produce something close to the target. Not every foreigner (or native speaker for that matter) has noted or internalized the various flawed spelling heuristics of English, of course, but they are at least there to be utilized.

Now imagine that you, a learner of Chinese, have just the previous day encountered the Chinese word for "president" (总统 zǒngtǒng ) and want to write it. What processes do you go through in retrieving the word? Well, very often you just totally forget, with a forgetting that is both absolute and perfect in a way few things in this life are. You can repeat the word as often as you like; the sound won't give you a clue as to how the character is to be written. After you learn a few more characters and get hip to a few more phonetic components, you can do a bit better. ("Zǒng 总 is a phonetic component in some other character, right?...Song? Zeng? Oh yeah, cong 总 as in cōngmíng 聪明.") Of course, the phonetic aspect of some characters is more obvious than that of others, but many characters, including some of the most high-frequency ones, give no clue at all as to their pronunciation.

All of this is to say that Chinese is just not very phonetic when compared to English. (English, in turn, is less phonetic than a language like German or Spanish, but Chinese isn't even in the same ballpark.) It is not true, as some people outside the field tend to think, that Chinese is not phonetic at all, though a perfectly intelligent beginning student could go several months without noticing this fact. Just how phonetic the language is a very complex issue. Educated opinions range from 25% (Zhao Yuanren)7 to around 66% (DeFrancis),8 though the latter estimate assumes more knowledge of phonetic components than most learners are likely to have. One could say that Chinese is phonetic in the way that sex is aerobic: technically so, but in practical use not the most salient thing about it. Furthermore, this phonetic aspect of the language doesn't really become very useful until you've learned a few hundred characters, and even when you've learned two thousand, the feeble phoneticity of Chinese will never provide you with the constant memory prod that the phonetic quality of English does.

Which means that often you just completely forget how to write a character. Period. If there is no obvious semantic clue in the radical, and no helpful phonetic component somewhere in the character, you're just sunk. And you're sunk whether your native language is Chinese or not; contrary to popular myth, Chinese people are not born with the ability to memorize arbitrary squiggles. In fact, one of the most gratifying experiences a foreign student of Chinese can have is to see a native speaker come up a complete blank when called upon to write the characters for some relatively common word. You feel an enormous sense of vindication and relief to see a native speaker experience the exact same difficulty you experience every day.

This is such a gratifying experience, in fact, that I have actually kept a list of characters that I have observed Chinese people forget how to write. (A sick, obsessive activity, I know.) I have seen highly literate Chinese people forget how to write certain characters in common words like "tin can", "knee", "screwdriver", "snap" (as in "to snap one's fingers"), "elbow", "ginger", "cushion", "firecracker", and so on. And when I say "forget", I mean that they often cannot even put the first stroke down on the paper. Can you imagine a well-educated native English speaker totally forgetting how to write a word like "knee" or "tin can"? Or even a rarely-seen word like "scabbard" or "ragamuffin"? I was once at a luncheon with three Ph.D. students in the Chinese Department at Peking University, all native Chinese (one from Hong Kong). I happened to have a cold that day, and was trying to write a brief note to a friend canceling an appointment that day. I found that I couldn't remember how to write the character 嚔, as in da penti 打喷嚔 "to sneeze". I asked my three friends how to write the character, and to my surprise, all three of them simply shrugged in sheepish embarrassment. Not one of them could correctly produce the character. Now, Peking University is usually considered the "Harvard of China". Can you imagine three Ph.D. students in English at Harvard forgetting how to write the English word "sneeze"?? Yet this state of affairs is by no means uncommon in China. English is simply orders of magnitude easier to write and remember. No matter how low-frequency the word is, or how unorthodox the spelling, the English speaker can always come up with something, simply because there has to be some correspondence between sound and spelling. One might forget whether "abracadabra" is hyphenated or not, or get the last few letters wrong on "rhinoceros", but even the poorest of spellers can make a reasonable stab at almost anything. By contrast, often even the most well-educated Chinese have no recourse but to throw up their hands and ask someone else in the room how to write some particularly elusive character.

As one mundane example of the advantages of a phonetic writing system, here is one kind of linguistic situation I encountered constantly while I was in France. (Again I use French as my canonical example of an "easy" foreign language.) I wake up one morning in Paris and turn on the radio. An ad comes on, and I hear the word "amortisseur" several times. "What's an amortisseur?" I think to myself, but as I am in a hurry to make an appointment, I forget to look the word up in my haste to leave the apartment. A few hours later I'm walking down the street, and I read, on a sign, the word "AMORTISSEUR" -- the word I heard earlier this morning. Beneath the word on the sign is a picture of a shock absorber. Aha! So "amortisseur" means "shock absorber". And voila! I've learned a new word, quickly and painlessly, all because the sound I construct when reading the word is the same as the sound in my head from the radio this morning -- one reinforces the other. Throughout the next week I see the word again several times, and each time I can reconstruct the sound by simply reading the word phonetically -- "a-mor-tis-seur". Before long I can retrieve the word easily, use it in conversation, or write it in a letter to a friend. And the process of learning a foreign language begins to seem less daunting.

When I first went to Taiwan for a few months, the situation was quite different. I was awash in a sea of characters that were all visually interesting but phonetically mute. I carried around a little dictionary to look up unfamiliar characters in, but it's almost impossible to look up a character in a Chinese dictionary while walking along a crowded street (more on dictionary look-up later), and so I didn't get nearly as much phonetic reinforcement as I got in France. In Taiwan I could pass a shop with a sign advertising shock absorbers and never know how to pronounce any of the characters unless I first look them up. And even then, the next time I pass the shop I might have to look the characters up again. And again, and again. The reinforcement does not come naturally and easily.

4. Because you can't cheat by using cognates.

I remember when I had been studying Chinese very hard for about three years, I had an interesting experience. One day I happened to find a Spanish-language newspaper sitting on a seat next to me. I picked it up out of curiosity. "Hmm," I thought to myself. "I've never studied Spanish in my life. I wonder how much of this I can understand." At random I picked a short article about an airplane crash and started to read. I found I could basically glean, with some guesswork, most of the information from the article. The crash took place near Los Angeles. 186 people were killed. There were no survivors. The plane crashed just one minute after take-off. There was nothing on the flight recorder to indicate a critical situation, and the tower was unaware of any emergency. The plane had just been serviced three days before and no mechanical problems had been found. And so on. After finishing the article I had a sudden discouraging realization: Having never studied a day of Spanish, I could read a Spanish newspaper more easily than I could a Chinese newspaper after more than three years of studying Chinese.

What was going on here? Why was this "foreign" language so transparent? The reason was obvious: cognates -- those helpful words that are just English words with a little foreign make-up.9 I could read the article because most of the operative words were basically English: aeropuerto, problema mechanico, un minuto, situacion critica, emergencia, etc. Recognizing these words as just English words in disguise is about as difficult as noticing that Superman is really Clark Kent without his glasses. That these quasi-English words are easier to learn than Chinese characters (which might as well be quasi-Martian) goes without saying.

Imagine you are a diabetic, and you find yourself in Spain about to go into insulin shock. You can rush into a doctor's office, and, with a minimum of Spanish and a couple of pieces of guesswork ("diabetes" is just "diabetes" and "insulin" is "insulina", it turns out), you're saved. In China you'd be a goner for sure, unless you happen to have a dictionary with you, and even then you would probably pass out while frantically looking for the first character in the word for insulin. Which brings me to the next reason why Chinese is so hard.

5. Because even looking up a word in the dictionary is complicated.

One of the most unreasonably difficult things about learning Chinese is that merely learning how to look up a word in the dictionary is about the equivalent of an entire semester of secretarial school. When I was in Taiwan, I heard that they sometimes held dictionary look-up contests in the junior high schools. Imagine a language where simply looking a word up in the dictionary is considered a skill like debate or volleyball! Chinese is not exactly what you would call a user-friendly language, but a Chinese dictionary is positively user-hostile.

Figuring out all the radicals and their variants, plus dealing with the ambiguous characters with no obvious radical at all is a stupid, time-consuming chore that slows the learning process down by a factor of ten as compared to other languages with a sensible alphabet or the equivalent. I'd say it took me a good year before I could reliably find in the dictionary any character I might encounter. And to this day, I will very occasionally stumble onto a character that I simply can't find at all, even after ten minutes of searching. At such times I raise my hands to the sky, Job-like, and consider going into telemarketing.

Chinese must also be one of the most dictionary-intensive languages on earth. I currently have more than twenty Chinese dictionaries of various kinds on my desk, and they all have a specific and distinct use. There are dictionaries with simplified characters used on the mainland, dictionaries with the traditional characters used in Taiwan and Hong Kong, and dictionaries with both. There are dictionaries that use the Wade-Giles romanization, dictionaries that use pinyin, and dictionaries that use other more surrealistic romanization methods. There are dictionaries of classical Chinese particles, dictionaries of Beijing dialect, dictionaries of chéngyǔ (four-character idioms), dictionaries of xiēhòuyǔ(special allegorical two-part sayings), dictionaries of yànyǔ (proverbs), dictionaries of Chinese communist terms, dictionaries of Buddhist terms, reverse dictionaries... on and on. An exhaustive hunt for some elusive or problematic lexical item can leave one's desk "strewn with dictionaries as numerous as dead soldiers on a battlefield."10

For looking up unfamiliar characters there is another method called the four-corner system. This method is very fast -- rumored to be, in principle, about as fast as alphabetic look-up (though I haven't met anyone yet who can hit the winning number each time on the first try). Unfortunately, learning this method takes about as much time and practice as learning the Dewey decimal system. Plus you are then at the mercy of the few dictionaries that are arranged according to the numbering scheme of the four-corner system. Those who have mastered this system usually swear by it. The rest of us just swear.

Another problem with looking up words in the dictionary has to do with the nature of written Chinese. In most languages it's pretty obvious where the word boundaries lie -- there are spaces between the words. If you don't know the word in question, it's usually fairly clear what you should look up. (What actually constitutes a word is a very subtle issue, of course, but for my purposes here, what I'm saying is basically correct.) In Chinese there are spaces between characters, but it takes quite a lot of knowledge of the language and often some genuine sleuth work to tell where word boundaries lie; thus it's often trial and error to look up a word. It would be as if English were written thus:

FEAR LESS LY OUT SPOKE N BUT SOME WHAT HUMOR LESS NEW ENG LAND BORN LEAD ACT OR GEORGE MICHAEL SON EX PRESS ED OUT RAGE TO DAY AT THE STALE MATE BE TWEEN MAN AGE MENT AND THE ACT OR 'S UNION BE CAUSE THE STAND OFF HAD SET BACK THE TIME TABLE FOR PRO DUC TION OF HIS PLAY, A ONE MAN SHOW CASE THAT WAS HIS FIRST RUN A WAY BROAD WAY BOX OFFICE SMASH HIT. "THE FIRST A MEND MENT IS AT IS SUE" HE PRO CLAIM ED. "FOR A CENS OR OR AN EDIT OR TO EDIT OR OTHER WISE BLUE PENCIL QUESTION ABLE DIA LOG JUST TO KOW TOW TO RIGHT WING BORN AGAIN BIBLE THUMP ING FRUIT CAKE S IS A DOWN RIGHT DIS GRACE."

Imagine how this difference would compound the dictionary look-up difficulties of a non-native speaker of English. The passage is pretty trivial for us to understand, but then we already know English. For them it would often be hard to tell where the word boundaries were supposed to be. So it is, too, with someone trying to learn Chinese.

6. Then there's classical Chinese (wenyanwen).

Forget it. Way too difficult. If you think that after three or four years of study you'll be breezing through Confucius and Mencius in the way third-year French students at a comparable level are reading Diderot and Voltaire, you're sadly mistaken. There are some westerners who can comfortably read classical Chinese, but most of them have a lot of gray hair or at least tenure.

Unfortunately, classical Chinese pops up everywhere, especially in Chinese paintings and character scrolls, and most people will assume anyone literate in Chinese can read it. It's truly embarrassing to be out at a Chinese restaurant, and someone asks you to translate some characters on a wall hanging.

"Hey, you speak Chinese. What does this scroll say?" You look up and see that the characters are written in wenyan, and in incomprehensible "grass-style" calligraphy to boot. It might as well be an EKG readout of a dying heart patient.

"Uh, I can make out one or two of the characters, but I couldn't tell you what it says," you stammer. "I think it's about a phoenix or something."

"Oh, I thought you knew Chinese," says your friend, returning to their menu. Never mind that an honest-to-goodness Chinese person would also just scratch their head and shrug; the face that is lost is yours.

Whereas modern Mandarin is merely perversely hard, classical Chinese is deliberately impossible. Here's a secret that sinologists won't tell you: A passage in classical Chinese can be understood only if you already know what the passage says in the first place. This is because classical Chinese really consists of several centuries of esoteric anecdotes and in-jokes written in a kind of terse, miserly code for dissemination among a small, elite group of intellectually-inbred bookworms who already knew the whole literature backwards and forwards, anyway. An uninitiated westerner can no more be expected to understand such writing than Confucius himself, if transported to the present, could understand the entries in the "personal" section of the classified ads that say things like: "Hndsm. SWGM, 24, 160, sks BGM or WGM for gentle S&M, mod. bndg., some lthr., twosm or threesm ok, have own equip., wheels, 988-8752 lv. mssg. on ans. mach., no weirdos please."

In fairness, it should be said that classical Chinese gets easier the more you attempt it. But then so does hitting a hole in one, or swimming the English channel in a straitjacket.

7. Because there are too many romanization methods and they all suck.

Well, perhaps that's too harsh. But it is true that there are too many of them, and most of them were designed either by committee or by linguists, or -- even worse -- by a committee of linguists. It is, of course, a very tricky task to devise a romanization method; some are better than others, but all involve plenty of counterintuitive spellings.11 And if you're serious about a career in Chinese, you'll have to grapple with at least four or five of them, not including the bopomofu phonetic symbols used in Taiwan. There are probably a dozen or more romanization schemes out there somewhere, most of them mercifully obscure and rightfully ignored. There is a standing joke among sinologists that one of the first signs of senility in a China scholar is the compulsion to come up with a new romanization method.

8. Because tonal languages are weird.

Okay, that's very Anglo-centric, I know it. But I have to mention this problem because it's one of the most common complaints about learning Chinese, and it's one of the aspects of the language that westerners are notoriously bad at. Every person who tackles Chinese at first has a little trouble believing this aspect of the language. How is it possible thatshùxué means "mathematics" while shūxuě means "blood transfusion", or that guòjiǎng means "you flatter me" while guǒjiàng means "fruit paste"?

By itself, this property of Chinese would be hard enough; it means that, for us non-native speakers, there is this extra, seemingly irrelevant aspect of the sound of a word that you must memorize along with the vowels and consonants. But where the real difficulty comes in is when you start to really use Chinese to express yourself. You suddenly find yourself straitjacketed -- when you say the sentence with the intonation that feels natural, the tones come out all wrong. For example, if you wish say something like "Hey, that's my water glass you're drinking out of!", and you follow your intonational instincts -- that is, to put a distinct falling tone on the first character of the word for "my" -- you will have said a kind of gibberish that may or may not be understood.

Intonation and stress habits are incredibly ingrained and second-nature. With non-tonal languages you can basically import, mutatis mutandis, your habitual ways of emphasizing, negating, stressing, and questioning. The results may be somewhat non-native but usually understandable. Not so with Chinese, where your intonational contours must always obey the tonal constraints of the specific words you've chosen. Chinese speakers, of course, can express all of the intonational subtleties available in non-tonal languages -- it's just that they do it in a way that is somewhat alien to us speakers of non-tonal languages. When you first begin using your Chinese to talk about subjects that actually matter to you, you find that it feels somewhat like trying to have a passionate argument with your hands tied behind your back -- you are suddenly robbed of some vital expressive tools you hadn't even been aware of having.

9. Because east is east and west is west, and the twain have only recently met.

Language and culture cannot be separated, of course, and one of the main reasons Chinese is so difficult for Americans is that our two cultures have been isolated for so long. The reason reading French sentences like "Le président Bush assure le peuple koweitien que le gouvernement américain va continuer à défendre le Koweit contre la menace irakienne," is about as hard as deciphering pig Latin is not just because of the deep Indo-European family resemblance, but also because the core concepts and cultural assumptions in such utterances stem from the same source. We share the same art history, the same music history, the same history history -- which means that in the head of a French person there is basically the same set of archetypes and the same cultural cast of characters that's in an American's head. We are as familiar with Rimbaud as they are with Rambo. In fact, compared to the difference between China and the U.S., American culture and and French culture seem about as different as Peter Pan and Skippy peanut butter.

Speaking with a Chinese person is usually a different matter. You just can't drop Dickens, Tarzan, Jack the Ripper, Goethe, or the Beatles into a conversation and always expect to be understood. I once had a Chinese friend who had read the first translations of Kafka into Chinese, yet didn't know who Santa Claus was. China has had extensive contact with the West in the last few decades, but there is still a vast sea of knowledge and ideas that is not shared by both cultures.

Similarly, how many Americans other than sinophiles have even a rough idea of the chronology of China's dynasties? Has the average history major here ever heard of Qin Shi Huangdi and his contribution to Chinese culture? How many American music majors have ever heard a note of Peking Opera, or would recognize a pipa if they tripped over one? How many otherwise literate Americans have heard of Lu Xun, Ba Jin, or even Mozi?

What this means is that when Americans and Chinese get together, there is often not just a language barrier, but an immense cultural barrier as well. Of course, this is one of the reasons the study of Chinese is so interesting. It is also one of the reasons it is so damn hard.

Conclusion

I could go on and on, but I figure if the reader has bothered to read this far, I'm preaching to the converted, anyway. Those who have tackled other difficult languages have their own litany of horror stories, I'm sure. But I still feel reasonably confident in asserting that, for an average American, Chinese is significantly harder to learn than any of the other thirty or so major world languages that are usually studied formally at the university level (though Japanese in many ways comes close). Not too interesting for linguists, maybe, but something to consider if you've decided to better yourself by learning a foreign language, and you're thinking "Gee, Chinese looks kinda neat."

It's pretty hard to quantify a process as complex and multi-faceted as language-learning, but one simple metric is to simply estimate the time it takes to master the requisite language-learning skills. When you consider all the above-mentioned things a learner of Chinese has to acquire -- ability to use a dictionary, familiarity with two or three romanization methods, a grasp of principles involved in writing characters (both simplified and traditional) -- it adds up to an awful lot of down time while one is "learning to learn" Chinese.

How much harder is Chinese? Again, I'll use French as my canonical "easy language". This is a very rough and intuitive estimate, but I would say that it takes about three times as long to reach a level of comfortable fluency in speaking, reading, and writing Chinese as it takes to reach a comparable level in French. An average American could probably become reasonably fluent in two Romance languages in the time it would take them to reach the same level in Chinese.

One could perhaps view learning languages as being similar to learning musical instruments. Despite the esoteric glories of the harmonica literature, it's probably safe to say that the piano is a lot harder and more time-consuming to learn. To extend the analogy, there is also the fact that we are all virtuosos on at least one "instrument" (namely, our native language), and learning instruments from the same family is easier than embarking on a completely different instrument. A Spanish person learning Portuguese is comparable to a violinist taking up the viola, whereas an American learning Chinese is more like a rock guitarist trying to learn to play an elaborate 30-stop three-manual pipe organ.

Someone once said that learning Chinese is "a five-year lesson in humility". I used to think this meant that at the end of five years you will have mastered Chinese and learned humility along the way. However, now having studied Chinese for over six years, I have concluded that actually the phrase means that after five years your Chinese will still be abysmal, but at least you will have thoroughly learned humility.

There is still the awe-inspiring fact that Chinese people manage to learn their own language very well. Perhaps they are like the gradeschool kids that Baroque performance groups recruit to sing Bach cantatas. The story goes that someone in the audience, amazed at hearing such youthful cherubs flawlessly singing Bach's uncompromisingly difficult vocal music, asks the choir director, "But how are they able to perform such difficult music?"

"Shh -- not so loud!" says the director, "If you don't tell them it's difficult, they never know."

Bibliography

(A longer version of this paper is available through CRCC, Indiana University, 510 N. Fess, Bloomington, IN, 47408.)

Chen, Heqin, (1928)"Yutiwen yingyong zihui" [Characters used in vernacular literature], Shanghai.

DeFrancis, John (1966) "Why Johnny Can't Read Chinese", Journal of the Chinese Language Teachers Association, Vol. 1, No. 1, Feb. 1966, pp. 1-20.

DeFrancis, John (1984) The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

DeFrancis, John (1989) Visible Speech: The Diverse Oneness of Writing Systems, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Kennedy, George (1964) "A Minimum Vocabulary in Modern Chinese", in Selected Works of George Kennedy, Tien-yi Li (ed.), New Haven: Far Eastern Publications.

Mair, Victor (1986) "The Need for an Alphabetically Arranged General Usage Dictionary of Mandarin Chinese: A Review Article of Some Recent Dictionaries and Current Lexicographical Projects", Sino-Platonic Papers, No. 1, February, 1986 (Dept. of Oriental Studies, University of Pennsylvania).

Zhao, Yuanren, (1972) Aspects of Chinese Sociolinguistics, Anwar S. Dil (ed.), Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Notes

I am speaking of the writing system here, but the difficulty of the writing system has such a pervasive effect on literacy and general language mastery that I think the statement as a whole is still valid. back

John DeFrancis, The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1984, p.153. Most of the issues in this paper are dealt with at length and with great clarity in both this book and in his Visible Speech: The Diverse Oneness of Writing Systems, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1989. back

Incidentally, I'm aware that much of what I've said above applies to Japanese as well, but it seems clear that the burden placed on a learner of Japanese is much lighter because (a) the number of Chinese characters used in Japanese is "only" about 2,000 -- fewer by a factor of two or three compared to the number needed by the average literate Chinese reader; and (b) the Japanese have phonetic syllabaries (the hiragana and katakana characters), which are nearly 100% phonetically reliable and are in many ways easier to master than chaotic English orthography is. back

See, for ex., Chen Heqin, "Yutiwen yingyong zihui" [Characters used in vernacular literature], Shanghai, 1928. back

John DeFrancis deals with this issue, among other places, in "Why Johnny Can't Read Chinese", Journal of the Chinese Language Teachers Association, Vol. 1, No. 1, Feb. 1966, pp. 1-20. back

George Kennedy, "A Minimum Vocabulary in Modern Chinese", inSelected Works of George Kennedy, Tien-yi Li (ed.), New Haven, 1964, p. 8. back

Zhao Yuanren, Aspects of Chinese Sociolinguistics, Anwar S. Dil (ed.), Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976, p. 92. back

John DeFrancis, The Chinese Language: Fact and Fantasy, p. 109.back

Charles Hockett reminds me that many of my examples are really instances of loan words, not cognates, but rather than take up space dealing with the issue, I will blur the distinction a bit here. There are phonetic loan words from English into Chinese, of course, but they are scarce curiosities rather than plentiful semantic moorings. back

A phrase taken from an article by Victor Mair with the deceptively boring title " The Need for an Alphabetically Arranged General Usage Dictionary of Mandarin Chinese: A Review Article of Some Recent Dictionaries and Current Lexicographical Projects" (Sino-Platonic Papers, No. 1, February, 1986, Dept. of Oriental Studies, University of Pennsylvania). Mair includes a rather hilarious but realistic account of the tortuous steeplechase of looking up a low-frequency lexical item in his arsenal of Chinese dictionaries. back

I have noticed from time to time that the romanization method first used tends to influence one's accent in Chinese. It seems to me a Chinese person with a very keen ear could distinguish Americans speaking, say, Wade-Giles-accented Chinese from pinyin-accented Chinese. back