#perhaps i will even draw myself a special picture of some kind when i wake up

[longlostlorian]

reflexively said "hey don't hit me I'm just a little birthday boy" over chat with my friend while playing the elden ring dlc and then remembered with glee that, for a limited time only, I AM in fact a little birthday boy. And this fire knight should really respect that

[hauntedelation]

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧

Pictures found online, I do not own! - Click for higher resolution.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — In the wake of the festive holiday, you traverse through a newcome dynamic following several incidents working under the Barnes-Romanoff household.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — James Bucky Barnes x Pet Sitter!Black Female Reader x Natasha Romanoff 

𝐀/𝐍 — This is something that comes from an intimately personal place within me. Realizing my sexuality has been such a journey. And, because I am closeted to my family and some other people in my life, I am grateful that I have this medium to express myself in some way. And, BuckyNat fucks me completely up.  

I decided to go ahead and put out this before anything else. It is a consequence of how this relationship came about. I am most likely going to post the rest later on, as a way to connect whatever I may mention here. There is also no beta, sorry for any errors!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5.7k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — smut! (18+ only), Poly!BuckyNat, dub con, i would say Bucky and Nat are super soft dark in this, aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, minor deceiving, mutual pining, slight voyerism, shy reader, protective!Bucky, fluff, angst, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, slight anal play, dirty talk, fingering, age difference (Reader is in her early 20s, Bucky and Nat are in their late 30s), this is a pure indulgence I thought y'all knew?

Here is a link back to my masterlist, please enjoy!  ♡

 ──────✧──────

Two missed messages from Mr. and Mrs. Barnes-Romanoff. 

The glow of your phone screen becomes lightly dotted with snowflakes as you raise your head to look all around you. And in the bitter wind, in the chill of the night, you notice nothing but tiny white lights.

Perhaps your mind was too occupied when you were pulling up. Maybe you couldn't see it before, all the Christmas lights lining the trees and the bushes of their front yard, or how they reflected off of the two lustrous cars on the driveway.

You even regard the attention to detail that was taken in lining each bulb around the trim of their house. Not too much, not too little. It was breath-taking, surely standing out amongst the other mansions in the gated neighborhood. You had to think this was all done while you were busy with school. Maybe they hired someone special to do so.

Another source of light draws your eyes far more at the moment. It appears to you that you failed to respond to two of James' and Natasha's text messages. 

James: Good morning, Natalia and I are looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Natasha: We should be home before you arrive. Feel free to let yourself in, Darling.

It all resembles butterflies, whatever you are feeling right then. From reading those messages alone, thinking about the way that they have touched you, you're faced with that dizzy state of mind. The kind where every limb of yours is on fire. It's close to making the weather outside tolerable.

A visible puff of air billows out from your lips. You let that sensation flow within you, taking that winter air deep in your lungs to bring you back down to earth. This resolve won’t last, but you hope you can hold your wits about you.

The bags sitting on the concrete beside your feet hold most of your closet, half of your toiletries. 

Shortly before your finals, they had come to you with such an inviting tone, urging you to come to their home to not spend the holidays alone. And despite how much you want to avoid it, your heart ached at their outreach of kindness.

The thought of your friends is pushed to the forefront, everyone being around their loved ones, their parents, and siblings. It has been a little over a week since finals had passed, and a couple of days before you bid your roommate Clint goodbye for his trip to the Midwest. 

You and your family are, unfortunately, not in much contact with each other. As time marched onward, you found it no more difficult than it was easy to deal with.

Though, at this time of year, the holiday spirit seems to have a barbed effect on your mind.

"You know, if you stand out here in the cold long enough you just might turn into one of these Christmas decorations."

A resonant voice shakes you, almost causing your phone to slip from your fingers and fall to the pavement. At that instant, you snap your head toward the source and you meet irises darker than the nightfall around you. They spark with the element of playfulness, with sweeping eyelashes that have you envious.

His bronze skin was mostly covered in a corded grey sweater, not enough to veil the bulk of his arms and his chest. His cheeks are lined with a neatly clipped goatee, and, trickling down you watch his lips stretch to a soft smile.

Before you reveal that you already know his name, all from those gallant stories of him flying through the air, he beats you to it. 

"Name’s Sam, I'm a friend of Bucky and Nat's."

──────✧──────

You're thrown into abashment when you walk the great hallways of the home. 

The previous minimalist style of decoration was abandoned, and, for the first time, you see bright colors. You see festive decorations strewn about, making the home cozier.

There is that distinct combination of white, and black tufts of fur surrounding you, a trilling that melts your heart before you even realize it. 

Alpine and Liho greet you lovingly, hardly letting you within three feet of their home before they are brushing their faces into the fabric of your leggings. Your eyes light up, bending down to feel their fluffy coats on your fingertips. 

Sam, the man you were surprisingly introduced to before, took it upon himself to carry the bags that you brought over. He ignored your protests and held a curious look at the fact you brought luggage to the place you worked. 

You bit your tongue at this. Surely, you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of their closest friends. What could you say?

"I'm just gonna uh sit these down in the guest room. That alright, Sweetheart?"

You look up and meet Sam's eye, a pleasant twinge wound through your chest at his nickname for you. Unable to find the proper words right then, you stand back up from petting the cats and nod your head at the large man. 

His smile is warmer than anything else. Before he turns away with all of your luggage carried in his arms, he tells you that Bucky and Natasha are in the living room with another friend of theirs. 

"We are having a get-together of sorts."

The carved marble fireplace on the far wall was crackling under a roaring fire. The flat screen to the left was shut off and allowed a chorus of other sounds to echo through the living room. You took in the extra seasonal decorations placed about, the amber light reflecting off every shining surface. 

Their voices, Bucky and Natasha, were relaxed and more casual than you've heard them in a while. There was once again a feeling of unfamiliarity with one new articulation coming from a male.

All this, and you still have yet to take a look at the three shapes lounging on the ornate couches. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, collecting any remaining resolve to bring yourself from the edge of the entryway. When you pull away, nails grazing against the paint of the trim, one awfully timid step is taken. 

Oh, but you weren't quiet enough, silly girl.

"I bet that's Sam agai—oh. Oh...wait a second." The fire crackles loud once the conversation is placed on a sudden pause.

He appeared larger than life. With his hair sleek and coffee brown, his brows and goatee were just about the same shade and trimmed without a hair out of place. His glass, containing a tawny liquor, moved from his outstretched thigh to the table in front of him with a clink.

"Hello, you must be the famous sitter I've heard all about."

And when he stood up, he towered far above you, much like Sam had when you stood close. Those shadowy eyes laced with interest drifted openly about your form. Your clothes were being ripped off of you, no matter how many layers you wore from the harsh weather outside.

His cologne, how could you explain it? It drifted in increments into your senses and right then and there, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

"Mr. Stark," spills from your mouth. You work to not let it fall open too much, to not appear so ordinary under the attention of the people in this room. 

But this man—you'd known about him since you were very young. Anthony Edward Stark, world-renowned for his work with prosthetics and his philanthropy. How could you pretend that you didn't know him?

Tony grins slow, like a wolf, and takes your outstretched hand, "I-It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." How blistering his skin feels.

You maintain eye contact with the man as if to prove something to yourself. However, Tony makes it one of the most challenging things you could ever do. He takes your hand politely, letting his teeth catch onto his lower lip. 

It might go unnoticed to many others, but to you and quite frankly James and Natasha, he took his time sliding his hand from yours. 

“My my, James, Natasha, I can see why you’ve kept this one all to yourselves.”

You force back a frown at the man’s comment, opting instead to look away from the collar of his crimson dress shirt, over to the couch where the two people in question sit. 

Bucky, adorn in a light grey Givenchy suit, was reclined back on the couch. The black-tie hung loose around his neck. The coat remained on his torso, fitting his arms snug. And they lined the headrest, stretching far apart the same way that his muscled thighs were. 

The man's eyes were previously locked on Tony, emanating nothing but the caveat of violence. He bit down and the knots in his jaw shifted under the flickering light. Upon gracing your form you visibly saw them shift, bled from hostility into something far more acquisitive.

Your name drawls on his tongue. 

“It’s been a while,” he brings his glass of bourbon to his lips and takes a sip. The soft whir of his metallic hand resonates as he pats his left thigh. 

“Why don't you come over here?"

Your gaze darts to Natasha and you finally take in her low-cut ivory dress. She's entangled with her husband and drops her hand near his pelvis. 

A bare shoulder is tucked into his body, her free hand cradling a neat glass of something clear. Her copper ringlets move smoothly when she nods her head in agreement.

The glass in his right progresses to the side table, his upper half rotating, before returning to rest behind his wife's head.

"We've missed you, you know that?"

Nat's eyes peer at you, boring into your body as she accommodates room for you between her body and Bucky. You lose the remembrance of what Tony's cologne smells like standing so close to James. 

It winds itself around your senses and secures control over you tight. 

His breath, spiced from the alcohol, warms the side of your neck. The hairs of his beard drag against your supple skin and he presses your back flush against his chest. 

His vibranium hand moves from your smaller one, having tugged you rightfully into his lap. You look down in your nervousness and see his thumb rub just under your ribs as he splays his palm over your midsection. 

You begin to sink into his bulky body, your judgment abandoning you once Natasha's hand moves toward the inside of your thigh. 

"How were your exams?"

Having set her glass down, her right hand guides your chin up, shifting your eyes from your lap to her luminescent features. 

"They were..okay."

Sam's footsteps echo through the expanse of the Barnes-Romanoff mansion. Steadily growing louder in volume until the man's handsome face is brought next to Mr. Stark. Both the men murmur to themselves, their stares lingering on the three of you before them. 

"Yeah? No trouble with any professors?"

Your breathing has become a struggle to retain normally. With every chance you seek, you are rendered powerless in finding the ability to squirm in Bucky's large lap. 

Both Natasha and her husband have a salacious manner when they smile at you, genuinely pleased to see you again. They carry on leaving their hands on your body, caressing you while Mr. Stark and Mr. Wilson sit under five feet away. 

You ultimately shake your head at James' question, knowing full well that you're somewhat lying. A strange fit of unease runs through you when you consider the things he would do if you'd said yes. 

He wets his flushed lips and trails them over your temple, mouthing his reply with his flesh hand running down Natasha's right arm. 

"That's very good, Printsessa."

──────✧──────

You blink and you’re now perched on the cold granite of the kitchen island top, fluffy socks dangling over the edge. The low tones of the men spark distantly in your right ear. They, in their polished shoes, are strolling toward the front foyer. 

The time on your phone is 8:13 pm. Where did the time go? Two hours and you remember swaying on the edge of something perilous. You remember an intense discussion of places and people you didn’t know the names of, and the sensation of being under lock and key. 

You hadn't expected the both of them to act in the way that they have, in front of company no less. But this is what couples do, what you had established with them before. You're just learning your way through this. You're still rusty. 

You wonder about that lost time while looking down into the empty wine glass in your hand. Alpine is purring happily, laying on the floor by her water bowl. You can already see Liho trying to convince her owner to feed her outside the normal schedule. 

Nat pulls the bottle of wine from the special wooden shelf by the sink. She sees her onyx feline and mirth layers her face. "I'm afraid you've already had your dinner, little one."

Liho protests with a small mew and chooses to wander away from the kitchen, her tail high and the tip pointed forward toward the men in the next room. You move from where the feline wandered off back to the woman in white. 

"They'll really miss you both when you leave."

Natasha purses her lips, but the emotion is wiped away with a deliberate guise. "Will they?" 

The corkscrew yanks the bob with a recognizable pop and is placed forgotten by the rest of the wine collection. Nat shows her pearly teeth to you and her simper only widens when your confusion is visible. 

"Of course, what do you mean?" 

The woman comes to a stop in the space between your knees, one of her arms cages you in against the island, and the other carefully pours the drink into your awaiting cup. The shade is blood red and reflects the light above your head in thousands of microscopic sparkles. 

You find yourself dazzled and you take a curious sip.

"James and I wanted to surprise you with this but, we're not going anywhere."

Her fingertips trace your arms as you freeze. 

You freeze in response to a combination of things, the wine, the sweet and satin feel of it in your throat, but at her words. Your chin tilts to where her long lashes bat at you, her amusement plain to see. 

“I don’t understand,” you swallow and mull over her confession. They both made it clear that you would be needed during this time. There was something important planned, some trip halfway across the world calling their names. 

“You both aren’t going out of town?”

You’d be lying if you say you weren't overjoyed.

That wine bottle, at the moment foregone, is pushed far behind your back and away from any risk of being collided with. The older woman betwixt your legs now has got two hands on you, never fruitless with conjuring up shivers on your skin. 

Nat’s slender fingers brush along the back of your neck, her fingertips massaging your hair at the root and you feel yourself tipping into her personal space. The distance gradually erases between you and Mrs. Barnes-Romanoff, and the ridge of her nose brushes against yours before she kisses you on your open mouth.

She aims to subdue you in a way far different than a man ever could. The sweet gloss painted on her lips blends and blends with your wine.

You try to think of what the taste could be before she tugs you in deeper, providing soft licks on your tongue. A gasp breaks itself from your lungs, loud enough just for her. 

You aren’t thinking though, not when you reel back in a sudden clumsy wheeze, your palm darting from around the crystal glass to the space below her sternum.

“Are you okay? Was that too much?” She asks.

You can’t look at her, for the unexplainable shame burns your chest. “I-I’m sorry I’m just–” You run your tongue on your bottom lip and recognize the flavor now, raspberry. 

“Natasha I—” 

“–You have nothing to apologize for,” she reassures. Her thumb wipes around your mouth, cleaning up where her lipstick smudged on your face. 

“You’re still getting used to this, yeah?"

Bucky had long abandoned his suit jacket, cuffing his sleeves up his forearms as he does the polite thing and sees his associates out. As he stands near his front door he is favored with a provocative view of his wife and their pet sitter, something he thought he’d never see in all his years.

After months of him and his wife looking for the right caregiver to trust with their pets, here this young girl comes about. She was lucky enough to have a shared acquaintance that vouched for her passionately, and oh how did the cats love her. It was an anomaly, they never trusted anyone but his wife and himself. 

Not that this wasn’t enough, no.

The switch flipped when Natalia laid her eyes on the girl. It did not take a second more for the man to know that they had encountered something that they never expected. But it always starts like that, doesn’t it? 

Your crush on James from the beginning was ungainly suppressed, and for his dear wife well, your mind seemed to short-circuit when the redhead walked into the room. 

What they were aiming for would take some time. They both knew it, wanting nothing more than the feeling to be mutual amongst everyone. You were such a timid thing, though, Bucky and Natasha had much of their work cut out for them. 

His hand is dug into his pant pocket as he beholds his wife pressing her lips up your neck until she can whisper in your ear. She’s instantly awarded those quiet giggles you always try to conceal.

In the corner of his eye, he notes that Tony and Sam do a horrible job averting theirs, and this slaps a smirk on James’ face. He can’t help it.

“Well, Buck, it was great seeing ya tonight. And, I’m happy that I finally got to meet you and your wife's...friend.” 

Sam nods his head to the display in the kitchen before looking his friend square in the eye and lowering his voice. “I thought Tony was over exaggerating, man.”

James rolls his eyes and shakes Wilson’s hand. "I don't know why he felt the need to boast about another man's business."

At this, the man with the sunglasses on indoors pushes in between the two men with his arms rounding behind their backs. "You really think I don't find out about everything around here? Listen, Barnes," 

His middle finger nudges the frames down the bridge of his nose as his eyes flicker back to the island.

"We're here on business, but you know I just wanted to see your pretty little unicorn for myself," Stark croons.

James knows that at his core he shouldn't touch this man leering at a harmless girl like you, no matter how much his instincts propel him to do so. 

Sam, a much better man, gives him an eye that is a sobering reminder of where he is and who is in attendance. He settles on casually pushing Tony's hand off of his back, forcing a tight smile. The prosthetic he uses to shake Stark’s was the one granted to him by the older man, all but in faux courtesy.

“We’ll be seeing you after your little vacation, Barnes.”

──────✧──────

Alcohol and the last remnants of virulence flowed hot through James' veins, pooling to the tense pressure in his trousers. With a velvet red and white Santa hat on his head, he stretches his large body with the mess of blankets on the floor.

That bottle of shimmering wine, to the couple’s delight, became your favorite throughout the night. Natasha holds it in her hand, lips kissing down your neck as she pours a small amount in your exposed belly button. 

The woman perceives the way your hands still anxiously fist through the sheets, and she taps your hip bone.

"Don't be nervous, sweet girl. It's gonna feel real good."

She places a short kiss next to your navel, her tone light, "Has anyone ever done this to you before?"

The bottle is nearly empty, and once the woman sets it aside her husband soon makes work of wrapping his fingers around the bottle and draining any outstanding liquid down his throat.

And of course, you shake your head “no.” Your head that buzzes thoroughly with that giddy feeling. 

Natasha nips at your collarbone. Any other day, a simple noise would not have even been good enough for that woman, but tonight, she was feeling very generous. She hums and is content with your answer, gazes down at your bare skin glowing in the low light. 

Your breasts rise and fall with every breath heaving breath you take, and she fights the urge to nip and suck on your brown nipples.

"Honey, I'm gonna show you something."

The fingers of her right hand had not stopped their languid movements, slick and dripping from massaging your center. You hide your face in your hands as two of her digits resume pushing into you in a calculated fashion.

She dips her head as she mutters a request against your stomach, "Look at me, let me see those pretty eyes." 

It takes you enough to obey, where you feel your wrists gently encased in two different textures. You blink and right above you is Bucky with his eyes heavy-lidded and a sly curl to his lips. He shifts your hands away from your face, shushing your whimpers, and pins you down to the soft covers below. 

"It's gonna be fun, Printsessa. Look at Natty." 

Natasha rolls your clit under her thumb, and Bucky feels your hands reach for his, trying your best to grab onto something. When Natasha's swift tongue dips from your stomach to your belly button, drinking the last drops of the wine, you lock eyes.

The woman had flames by the fireplace dancing in her irises. 

She moves to drag her lips down the inside of your thigh and whispers praises delicately into your flesh. Soon, she dips lower, not able to help herself at the scent of your cunt at her fingertips.

Natasha is unhurried pulling her digits out of your hole but is greedy when popping them into her mouth. Her eyelids fall shut as she savors the way that you taste, thinks of what a mess you are beginning to make as your arousal trickles down to your cheeks and the blankets. 

She opens your legs wide and wraps her arms around your thighs to secure you to her upper body. Her thumbs move to spread your swollen lips apart, revealing you completely to her. Nat’s teeth sink into her lower lip seeing your slit clench around nothing, the effects of that wine pushing you more than ready for it all.

"Such a pretty little pussy, James."

Her husband grins, letting go of your wrists as he meets his lovely wife's eyes. 

“Oh yeah?"

Bucky's vibranium hand falls to pet your damp hair, brushing away the hairs stuck to your forehead. You heave several breaths when your dilated pupils move from Nat's to James' far above. 

The man's flesh hand reaches up to unbutton his dress shirt, a curse spilling out of his mouth when he feels your hands move up his thigh. Upon this, Natasha dips her head and drags her tongue slowly in between your lips, flicking along the inner labia and tracing your bundle of nerves. 

She gives that spot more attention as the seconds pass by, your soft whines being more than enough encouragement. "There you go, Darling. Fuck—let her take care of that pussy." 

The couple begins to see a shift in your demeanor, your hips bucking into Natasha's face, your fingers carding through her auburn tresses. 

Bucky's cock presses intensely against the zipper of his dress pants and his eyes widen a fraction when your wandering hand ventures over that tent once again. "Bucky," you pant, mulling over what you want to say next. It takes you several attempts with what Nat is doing between your thighs.

"I wanna touch you." Your hand grazes his over his belt, trying your best to show him what you want. 

He feels your skin, and can already sense how you’re burning up in comparison to himself. He takes heed to this and gingerly holds your smaller hand in his. 

"Yeah? Take me out, Honey."

James chooses to help you. The angle at which you lay made it challenging for you to reach hold of the buckle and the zipper. It takes you both some time and Bucky works to not be so restless. 

When his boxer briefs drag down his hips, his erection springing free, his head tips back at the sheer feeling of relief. 

The man listens to the wet and debauched noises arising from your lower half, his wife's lips wrapping around your engorged clit. 

Bucky can sense this, that he is losing himself in the sight of your body writhing about. And he wants nothing but to make it all about you, for him and the love of his life to give you everything you deserve all through the night. 

So, James’ fingers slide from his rigid stomach down to grasp his erection, squeezing and stroking his length in lazy passes. 

Whatever was in that wine was strong enough to work on someone like him, on someone like Natalia as well. He can see it in the way her pale cheeks are dusted with rosy pink. He hadn’t expected it to work so well.

He exhales a strained moan when he feels his dick twitch in his hand. Your eyes are glued to the vision inches from your face, his precum stringing from his swollen tip. The clear fluid drips and drips from his body, dotting your neck and over your breasts. Your mouth falls open as you reach up to help the man stimulate his length.

Bucky grunts a phrase under his breath, something you don't understand but his wife surely does. And as her lips and her tongue swirl over your center, she can only speed up in response to those signs. You were just about to let go.

"You want it in your mouth?" You nod your head meekly at him.

James’ canines flash at you in the warm-toned light, that fire bringing forth beads of sweat on his forehead. His fingers slide to grab hold of his thick base when he lowers himself over you. With his vibranium hand, Bucky takes hold of your jaw and rubs his thumb over your plump bottom lip.

"Say 'ah.'"

──────✧──────

Dawn approaches within any number of hours, the sky is still shrouded in darkness due to the snowfall outside their bedroom windows. The couple had opted for the move. 

For in those hours of them working you, and you taking every drop that your avid body could handle, you would fall into a doze for a short amount of time. The effects of that mysterious wine they got from Bruce were essentially waning.

You lay down with your angelic face buried in the blankets, small amounts of drool falling from your parted lips. The couple watches on with fondness lacing their eyes. Nat drapes herself over her husband's chest, with the slope of your backside resting snugly over his groin.

"Do you think she has anymore in her?" Natasha implores. 

His brows raise and he truly thinks for a moment.

"I don't know."

You had drained the man twice before and asked Nat with that very uncertainty if “maybe” you could see what her strap felt like. James shuddered at the mere mention of the toy, knowing full well that the last it was taken out, it was rightfully used on him. 

Bucky retains that very blush across his cheekbones when he looks down to where both of your bodies meet. You do a wonderful job keeping him warm. 

It is a sight to behold through the thin slits of his eyes and he inhales profoundly. He then palms the swell of your cheek and swipes his thumb over your puckered hole. 

"Wonder if she would let us play with this pretty little hole right here."

He laughs quietly when a drowsy cry escapes your lungs and your body twitches in his hold. He moves to wrap his left arm around his wife. With a kiss to her cheekbone and he whispers to her. 

"Are you happy that we decided to stay, Natalia?"

She nods evenly and pushes the drooping Santa hat away from his brows, "Of course, everything else can always wait." The woman clears her throat and drifts her attention down to you, "She needs us, right now." 

Her husband agrees, far more than anything else at the moment. 

James could do it if he wanted to, be on a plane heading to somewhere in eastern Europe, involved in some risky business with Steve or Sam. He’s done it for so many years now and it was safe to admit that he was tired of that. Just this once, the man takes a step back, Natasha doing the same.

The two lay there in the silence of their home with someone they have brought into their life that they never would like to let go of, all in the bliss of their first break together. Eventually, the stillness of the atmosphere is vanquished upon you stirring from your sleep. 

Green, and blue eyes land on you wearily raising your torso from between Bucky's legs. Onto two wobbly arms, you support yourself while you squint through your lashes. James soothes his warm hand up your back, keeping himself deep inside of you. 

"Nat," you rub at your eyes before you even think to. 

The woman answers you in a purr as you chew on your lower lip, looking away from her to the blankets. Even though all sense of modesty has abandoned you tonight, leaving yourself bare before your two lovers, you still hold that demure nature about you.

“What is it, Darling?”

Just when you had thought that whatever was inside of you had been at ease, the winding returns with force. You had no clue where all of this had come from, and to be truthful you were too sheepish to ask Bucky and Nat for an explanation. 

No amount of effort inside can stay when the twinge in your limbs gives into that craving, the very kind that you have been feeling since the start of the night. 

You look to Natasha’s bruised chest, the intermittent splotches of Bucky’s teeth on the pale skin surrounding her nipples, and your face grows hot at the thought of what you would like to do.

“I want to..make you feel good.” 

Her grin stretches at your use of words. She wants to extol you for this, touched that you are becoming more comfortable in being intimate with her. 

A grand idea makes a home in James’ head when he witnesses the exchange before him. Pleased in his own right that his two girls seem to be bonding more, he moves to rise from the pillows and effortlessly lifts you off of his cock. 

You are placed back on the bed, with the man eyeing you and Natasha. “Go on, Honey. Natalia loves it when her nipples are sucked on.”

The woman breathes out a shallow moan as you crawl your way closer to her, enclosed in her firm legs. 

She brushes her fingers on the sides of your damp face, and you tip your lips up to meet hers in a long kiss. You are distracted, enough to where the man in the festive Santa hat positions himself behind you once again, his hands gently bending you further into Natasha.

You pull away and snicker at how keen James is, continuing your venture biting and sucking down the column of Nat’s neck, over her collar bone, and finishing at her breasts. 

Bucky bites down on a groan as his dick throbs at attention once again, not helping his hands automatically steering those hips of yours up to where his groin is.

“She’s not used to all of this, my love,” Natasha warns with a sharp sigh, your lips wrapping around her nipple, your other hand wandering to arouse the other.

James scoffs and grinds his length against your cunt. His fingers slip over your tender hole, observing his cum ooze from your body as your walls pulsate. He lays a hand on one of her ample cheeks and growls once you begin rolling your ass back into him. 

“Look at her, Natalia. Her slutty hole is just begging for it.”

Your teeth sink into her areola shallowly, as Bucky draws himself back to line his dick with your slit. 

“Just one more Baby, you can do it.”

When he drives himself back into you, his grip is bruising and he doesn’t find the constraint in him to go any easier. Yet, every nerve is white-hot, howling at him that anything and everything is too much.

And maybe he starts to believe that when he sees how worn out your body is, or the look in his wife’s eyes as you begin to glide your fingers to the space below her navel. Both of his girls, including he, will be very sore come the imminent sunrise.

Amid his slow but firm thrusts, you bring a shaky palm behind you to press against his stomach. You gush around the older man, despite that feeble voice of yours muffled against Natasha’s breast. 

He knows, being the impatient man that he is, that this will cost him much later. 

“Bucky, I’m so sore.”

James lets his eyes roll shut, hushing your desperate pleas. “Shh, you’re okay.” His left hand, ice cold against your heated skin, surrounds your wrist and directs it to stay at the small of your back. “B-Bucky.”

“I know, Honey. I know,” he answers, as he digs his knees into the mattress and slams into you rougher than before. 

Natasha lays her lips on the crown of your head, centering her focus on not slipping under too soon herself from your eager touches. 

“Be a good girl, and later on, you can open the presents we got for you.”

──────✧──────

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — @little-green-love, @brandycranby, @punemy-spotted, @emyearns​

──────✧──────

[juliandev0rak]

Snow Day

The morning after the Yule ball brings snow, laughter, and some friendly competition.

characters: Ella Sagen (of @leechobsessed), Leila Lonan and Lachlan Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens​), Beatrice Viano, also ft. a brief cameo by Julian Devorak

words: ~3000

notes: writing about snow in the middle of summer was a very nice distraction from how hot it is outside

a Hallmark Yule side fic set after Netherfield Ball pt 2

When Beatrice wakes up the morning after the Yule ball something seems different. 

The air feels colder, and everything is so bright, the edges of the furniture in her room are sharper than they should be. She rubs her hands against her eyes to clear her vision which is still fuzzy from sleep, but the lighting in her room remains the same. Beatrice never draws her curtains at night, preferring to let the moonlight in, but this morning the usually weak sunlight flooding through her window is almost unnaturally bright. 

Her bed is warm and comfortable and the room is cold, but ultimately her curiosity wins out and Beatrice gets out of bed to look out the window. She gasps as she sees the Lonan’s garden covered in a blanket of bright white snow, the source of the light. She’s never seen so much snow before and in her excitement she opens the window and sticks her head out. 

The snow is still lightly falling and Beatrice laughs as a cold drop of snow melts on her nose. Before she can help it, she finds herself thinking back to the evening before when she’d sat out in the garden with Lysander. The snow had just begun to fall by the time he escorted her back to the ball, the frozen flurries sticking to his dark hair and getting caught on his eyelashes. They’d sat out there for a few minutes, watching the snow fall and enjoying each other’s quiet company.

A knock on the door pulls Beatrice from her thoughts. She can tell by the knock that it’s Leila, and she rushes over to open the door for her friend. “Good morning, you’re up early!’ 

“It’s snowing!” Leila is practically bouncing with excitement and Beatrice privately wonders how many cups of tea her friend has had this morning.

“It is! Did you have anything to do with the weather, by chance?” Beatrice watches as her friend’s expression turns into a grin.

“I might’ve helped the snow a little, it’s not Yule without snow,” Leila laughs, tugging on Beatrice’s arm to pull her out of the door. “Let’s go out and look at it! You’ve never seen snow before, this is a special occasion.” 

“Yes, I must admit I’m quite eager to see it,” Beatrice smiles. “But perhaps I should put on more suitable clothing.” She gestures to her nightgown and socks with a laugh.

“Yes, but hurry!” Leila makes no move to leave the doorway so Beatrice sighs and tugs her inside, pulling the door closed behind her. She pulls on her warmest clothing and takes her time lacing her boots even as Leila paces in the corner out of impatience. 

“Alright, I’m ready. You’re so excitable this morning.” Beatrice allows herself to be pulled down the hallway towards Ella’s room.

“I’ve already had two cups of tea, and as I said it’s a special day, your first real snow day!” Leila knocks on Ella’s door and Beatrice smiles at her friend, pleased that she’d guessed correctly about the tea. There’s no response to her knock so she tries again, and this time the door opens a tiny crack. 

Ella’s face appears in the doorway, just one blue eye and a mess of dark hair visible through the crack. “Why are you two up so early?”

“Beatrice and I are going out to look at the snow, come with us!” Leila says.

“You two go on ahead, I’ll be right there.” Ella starts to close the door but Leila puts her hand out to stop her. 

“Why don’t you just let us in, we can wait while you get ready,” Leila suggests. Beatrice watches as a look of panic flashes across Ella’s face and she tilts her head to try to get a better look through the doorway. 

“No! That’s ok!” 

“Ella?” A voice calls from inside the door, a familiar male voice. Leila turns to Beatrice who turns to Ella who blushes and tries to close the door in their faces again. 

“Ella, who's in your room?” Beatrice asks, though she’s certain she knows the answer already

Her question is answered as the door opens a bit wider and Lachlan’s face appears in the crack of the door next to Ella. 

“Good morning, ladies, what brings you to Ella’s door at this hour?” Lachlan smiles, not the least bit concerned at the embarrassed blush on Ella’s face as she tries to push him back into her room.

“I would ask you the same question, but I don’t think I’d like to know the answer,” Leila wrinkles her nose. “Just meet us downstairs when you’re ready, Ella. And Lachlan, you'd better not distract her, I worked very hard to make the snow perfect.”

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” Ella says, successfully pushing Lachlan out of the way so she can shut the door. Beatrice and Leila are left out in the hallway staring at each other. A moment of silence passes before the two of them immediately burst into laughter.  

“Well, I’m happy to see the two of them have made up,” Beatrice says as Leila leads her down the stairs. 

“Me too, though I wish I hadn’t seen it first hand.” Leila’s face scrunches up again.

Beatrice laughs as she dips down to pick up Bramble who had followed her out of her room. “I’m sure the snow will make us forget all about it, but first I’d like to get some breakfast.”

They head to the dining room where an impressive array of breakfast foods awaits them. There's everything from scones and fresh fruit to eggs and cured meats, and like every meal at the Lonan manor it’s a veritable feast. Beatrice sets Bramble down on the seat next to her and reaches for a plate which she piles with a variety of pastries. She does her best to try a little of everything else as well, but the scones are still her favorite.

As they eat, Beatrice and Leila talk about their plans for the day. Beatrice feeds Bramble a bite of apple from her plate and finishes her cup of tea as she listens to Leila tell a story about Julian’s dancing from the night before. She reaches to pour a second cup of tea just as Ella finally appears. Her hair is neatly brushed and she looks less tired than she has in weeks, but her cheeks are still quite flushed and her expression is a bit sheepish as she looks at her friends.

“Nice of you to join us,” Leila teases. Ella takes the seat in between Beatrice and Leila, who puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry we laughed at you, I’m glad that you and Lachlan are on good terms again.” 

“As am I,” Beatrice says and Ella gives her a kind smile in return. 

The three continue breakfast, talking all the while about the ball they’d attended the night before and all that has happened since. Though the conversation mainly focuses on Lachlan and Ella’s renewed relationship, Beatrice does not escape questioning. She blushes furiously as Leila asks her about her night at the ball with Lysander.

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Beatrice frowns as she stirs three sugar cubes into her cup of tea. “It was nice.” 

“Nice?” Ella prompts, and Beatrice looks away from her friends, her eyes travelling down to examine the decorative details on her plate. 

“That’s all you can say about the ball?” Leila asks, looking at Beatrice with a degree of confusion.

“What would you like me to say?” Beatrice says, perhaps a touch too loudly. Ella and Leila look at her in question and she sighs, keeping her eyes glued to the table. “I’m sorry. It was a lovely night and despite the fact that I hate balls I enjoyed myself immensely. Lysander was an excellent dancer and somehow he managed to make it feel like we were the only two people in the room. I wish the evening had never ended, and I wish that I could dance with him again.” 

“That sounds great, Beatrice!” Leila smiles, her open expression encouraging Beatrice to talk more.

“It feels like last night was a dream. We sat together in the gardens and he lent me his jacket, and for a moment I could almost pretend he felt the same way I do.” Beatrice looks down at her tea again. “But that’s all there is to it really, dreams and wishes and pretend fantasies.”

The table falls silent for a moment as Ella and Leila look at her. Beatrice keeps her eyes down, but her attention is pulled away from the table as Ella pulls her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice.” 

“It’s quite alright, I just need to manage my expectations. He’s my friend, and I care for him a great deal no matter the outcome,” Beatrice sniffs, determined to maintain composure. Ella releases her from the hug and Beatrice reaches for her teacup again to have something to do, missing the way Leila and Ella look at each other with concern.

“He cares about you, too, Beatrice,” Leila says softly, “He doesn’t know how to tell you that, and he doesn’t exactly know how to show it either, but Lysander does care about you.” 

At Leila’s words, Beatrice’s lips pull up into a sad half smile and she takes a sip of her earl grey. As she drinks her tea, she takes one last moment to think about Lysander and the ball. She can picture his face so clearly, all of the smiles he’d given her, and the way his hands had felt in hers as they’d danced.

When Beatrice looks up a moment later she’s determined to leave her feelings behind, and she meets her friends’ eyes with a happier expression. 

“Yes, well I’ll simply have to think about other parts of the evening instead, like the chocolate fountain. We need those in Vesuvia.” Beatrice thinks back to the buffet full of sweets she’d enjoyed, most of them were things she had never seen before but everything she sampled had been delicious.

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” Leila smiles, “As soon as I walked in I told Julian ‘If we lose sight of Beatrice just look for the chocolate fountain’. I’m glad you had a good time, I know how much you hate events like that.”

“It seems we all had a nice evening.” Beatrice looks over at Ella with a raised eyebrow, wanting to turn the attention away from herself again.

“Yes, I think we’ve already established that fact,” Ella grimaces. “Now can we please stop talking about it?”

“We’re your friends, it’s our job to torment you a little,” Leila laughs as she gets up from her seat. She gestures to the door, “Now, how about we take both of your minds off of my brothers and go enjoy the snow!” 

Beatrice manages to laugh too, her mood brightened by Leila’s enthusiasm. She sets Bramble down and her familiar hops off to find a warm spot in front of a fireplace. She links arms with Ella and the two follow behind Leila, who leads them out towards the gardens. 

When she steps outside Beatrice can hardly believe how beautiful it all is. Her eyes widen in awe at the winter wonderland around her and she lets go of Ella’s arm as she begins to wander. Everything is sparkling in the winter sun, the landscape glittering with ice dripping frozen from the trees and benches. Beatrice had thought the Lonan garden was beautiful before, but its looks are only heightened by the snow.

The air is cold and her breath comes out in visible puffs, it’s much colder than she’s used to but Beatrice finds she doesn’t mind it. Still, she reaches into her pocket to pull her gloves on and casts a quick warming charm on her cloak.

“Leila, did you really do all of this?” Beatrice asks, turning to look at her friend. 

“Not all of it, I simply encouraged the weather,” Leila grins. She seems proud of herself and Beatrice smiles at the thought, remembering how long it had taken Leila to come to terms with her magic. Leila’s magic is powerful, but it’s also breathtakingly beautiful. 

“It’s gorgeous, Leila!” Ella says, turning in a circle as she revels in the still-falling snow. 

Beatrice reaches over to squeeze Leila’s hand. “You never cease to amaze me.” 

She turns to wander further into the garden, but before she can make it very far Beatrice feels something hit the back of her head. She yelps and reaches up with her hand to feel the icy ball of snow she’s been hit with. She turns around to find Leila gleefully laughing as she bends down to pick up more snow. Beatrice’s eyes narrow and she realizes this has suddenly become a snowball fight, a concept she’s heard of but never had a chance to participate in until now. 

Beatrice hurriedly bends down to scoop snow into her hands, cringing at the cold she feels through her thin gloves, but determined to get Leila back. If this is a competition she intends to win. Leila manages to dodge the snowball, but it hits Ella instead who yells and quickly starts scooping up snow of her own. 

Soon enough the air is full of flying snow and the sound of their laughter and screams. Ella’s aim is impeccable, and she manages to hit both Beatrice and Leila in quick succession before either can duck out of the way. Beatrice hides behind a hedge to catch her breath and takes a moment to stockpile snowballs. When she pops her head back up she throws one towards where she’d last seen Leila, only to find Leila has constructed a wall of ice as a shield. 

“Hey! That’s cheating,” Beatrice calls, though she has to admit it’s a clever idea.

Ella’s voice comes from behind her, “We all have magic, it’s fair game!” 

Beatrice ducks out of the way just in time to dodge the giant snowball Ella throws at her, the size clearly aided by her water magic. Beatrice runs across the lawn, looking for cover of her own as Leila emerges from behind her ice shield with a barrage of icy snowballs. Beatrice manages to duck behind a large tree and begins to strategize. Leila might have won this round with her ice wall, but she won’t win the war. 

Beatrice hears Leila laugh as Ella tries her best to get past the ice but ends up covered in snow. It’s a direct approach, and Beatrice decides on a more subtle plan of attack. She can’t scoop up snow fast enough so she uses her magic to conjure the falling snow from the air into a ball, hurling it towards Ella’s turned back. She hits her target and Ella whirls around, her dark hair flying in her hurry to retaliate.

Beatrice catches Ella’s next snowball in a shield of water, dissolving the snow on impact. Ella throws her own wave of water in Beatrice’s direction and she doesn’t duck fast enough and ends up drenched in cold water.

“Ella, this is a snow fight not a water fight,” Beatrice complains, casting a quick drying spell so she won’t freeze in the cold. Ella simply laughs and runs in the opposite direction before Beatrice can get her back. Leila finally emerges from her ice wall to go on the offensive, and the fight continues for a few more minutes. 

There seems no clear winner as the three each use their magic to give themselves an advantage, they are evenly matched and equally determined to win. Leila is about to throw a snowball at an unsuspecting Beatrice when a voice calls from an upstairs window. 

“What are you three up to out there?” Julian calls, his red hair standing out brightly against the snow. Leila turns to look at Beatrice and Ella with a mischievous grin and they all understand her silent meaning. They each throw their snowballs up at the window instead, all three hitting their new target-- Julian. 

“Hey!” He sputters, brushing snow off of his face, “No fair! Leave me out of this.” He shuts the window with a huff and the three burst into laughter. 

The attack on Julian brings them to a truce, and Leila plops down on the snow to make a snow angel. Ella collapses next to her, still giggling as she moves her arms and legs wildly. Beatrice sits next to them with a happy sigh, but she yelps as Leila grabs her by the leg, pulling her down into the snow. 

“Beatrice, you must make snow angels with us! The trio must be complete,” Leila laughs and Beatrice gives in, tentatively moving her arms as she’d seen the other two do. After a few minutes it gets far too cold to be laying in the snow and Ella stands up first, offering the other two a hand. 

“Let’s go inside, I’ll make us some tea,” Leila suggests, throwing an arm around Beatrice and Ella’s shoulders. The three walk towards the house and Beatrice nods and smiles innocently at Leila’s suggestion, but she’s got one more trick up her sleeve. 

When the other two aren’t looking, she pulls the snowball she’s been saving out of her pocket and shoves it down the back of Leila’s dress. Leila squeals and turns to glare at her and Beatrice resists the urge to stick her tongue out at her. She lunges out of the way before Leila can grab her and runs towards the house. 

“I win,” Beatrice declares, shouting over her shoulder. She nearly skips as she runs, all memory of her earlier melancholy mood erased by the snow and the laughter of her friends.

“Lysander had better watch out, she’s crafty,” Ella jokes as she and Leila follow Beatrice inside. 

Leila links her arm through Ella’s and smiles, “I think he likes that about her.” 

[lumiereswig]

What if plumette left the castle shortly before the curse, and then returned after everyone was cursed? (Yeah I saw you wanted to write that)

i did want to write it, ive wanted to write it for years, i’ve never had the balls to write it because it was such a fabulous concept to play with. but here what the hell, why not here it is:

it’s pre-curse times and plumette gets a message from her sister, peregrine, that she NEEDS to be the godmother of her baby and thus has to haul ass to the christening. this is awesome but also fuckkkkkk because her sister lives in Sweden like FUCK thats SO far away in eighteenth century times

so she hops on a plane—an eighteenth century style plane—so that’s a rowboat—and waves goodbye to lumiere and douche canoe prince and mrs. p and all the rest, and she bippity-bops her way up to scandinavia to snack on some lutefisk and hold her first little itty-bitty niece. This being Sweden everything takes ages, like first the baby has to be born and then they have to plan the baby shower and then they have to do all this other stuff, so it’s months and months, all of which Plumette spends sending letters to Lumiere and eagerly waiting to hear back from him.

“mon cherie today the prince spent the entire day taking portraits off the wall and throwing them across the room because the painting style was apparently too ‘swishy’! And now Cogsworth has banned me from every serving him sangria at three in the morning ever again. Please be back soon mon ange, my heart cannot beat without you. Lumiere”

“mon chou today there was a fuss in the village, the prince has raised taxes again, I know, quelle horror!,  Mrs. Potts says a person can’t even afford jam anymore if you haven’t got a steady job! but i really doubt that, I mean how much does a jar of jam even cost, ten dollars? please hurry back mon amour, my breath fades so I can’t hear it, waiting for you to come into the light. Lumiere”

“mon coeur we are holding such a ball tonight! every eligible princess and countess will be there—as well as Chapeau’s little sister, we’re slipping her in with a borrowed old dress of the Queen’s—the lights will glitter and every taper will shine, but none as bright as you. Are you coming home yet? I cannot stand the waiting—I shall go quite still without you to dance with. I wait, eternally yours. Lumiere”

And then silence. Silence for a long, long time.

She writes letters, first funny— “what has happened? has Cogsworth run away with you at last?”—then alarmed, then jealous, then furious. “Why so silent, mon amour? have your hands fallen off entirely, do I count so little to your heart?” But she doesn’t get a response, even though she waits, she waits in the same place for weeks just so the letter will not miss her. but a month passes, and no note. Not even Chapeau responds, nor Cogsworth. she throws her hands in the air and stays on longer, just to show him; if he can’t bother to write, what’s a year? What’s two years?

She doesn’t make it quite two years; her heart throbs with missing him, despite her anger, despite her hurt. she gets on the boat, waves goodbye to little Plume nestled safe in Peregrine’s arms, and arrives back in France so, so long after she left.

The ride to Villeneuve is long. She breathes in the heady air, enjoying France’s roses; she forgot how much she missed this sort of spring! she cannot wait to be home, and hug them all close again. she can make peace with lumiere at last. perhaps some other accident prevented him sending her letters.

villeneuve looks disused, when she hops off the carriage; the taxes must have gone up again, she thinks, but doesn’t worry all too much. She doesn’t like riding, so she walks through the woods, ordering for her luggage to be left at the tavern to be called for later. She’s surprised how overgrown the ordinary road to the palace is. She’s surprised how the people in Villeneuve looked at her.

She’s extremely surprised when she starts walking through snow.

Her little satin slippers are drenched by the time she gets to the palace, and her hair is slipping out of her little summer straw hat, and she’s clutching her arms to keep from freezing in the gray, deep snow. Her teeth chatter as she climbs up the steps. Her little hand can barely push open the door.

She sinks in, with relief, and leaps up again when she realizes the marble is covered in a thin, deadly mirror of ice. The tapers are not lit. Not a sound comes out of the silent hall, but faraway up the stairs she thinks she hears a low, long grumble, like someone pushing a heavy chair across a stone-paved floor.

“Hello?” she calls. “Hello?”

Have they all left? Is it the plague again? she wonders. She tip-toes in, calling, and picks up a candle on the table to light her way. Into the drawing room, into the music room. A new harpsichord in the corner. The dining room sits empty, cobwebs on the chairs.

“Is anyone here left for me?”

“Mon amour,” whispers a voice, too too close, and the candelabra burns scathing in her hand.

she leaps back, clutching her hand, the candle on the floor righting itself and dusting itself off and murmuring soothing nothings, like she stepped on its foot at a ball or accidentally stole a sip from its wine glass instead of hers. It is talking, quite ordinarily, and calling in other furniture, and a hulking harpsicord is coming in and a squeaking tea tray and a hatstand with hammers for hands, and they gather round Plumette to gape and stare and cut off her escape, they don’t stop from crowding toward her until she screams “Lumiere, help!” and then it’s very, very silent in the dining room.

“Mon ange? You do not recognize me?” says the candle from the floor, and she comes close to fainting and then she is, the last thing she sees before falling into the swoon being Lumiere’s face, too little and too close, blazing gold, with hard yellow eyes creased in concern.

she wakes to cold, her hands draped in water, somebody kind laying a cool, wet handkerchief across her face. she relaxes, for a moment, then remembers the nightmare. the yellow eyes, where blue should be. the voice in the last place she expected it.

“look at me slow, now, dearie,” says Mrs. Potts, just beyond where she can see her. Another cold compress is laid on her hands. “I turned away from mirrors plenty of times before I got used to it. Slow, now, and breathe in—in through the mouth and out through the nose, that’s the way I used to tell Chip to do it.”

She looks, slowly, and then realizes turning slowly only adds to the horror of it, and she looks quick and bites back the scream before Mrs. Potts can quite pretend she hasn’t heard it. They both recover, fast, and look away. Mrs. Potts busies herself pouring hot water into a dish, and nudging the dish to Plumette’s fingertips until she can smell the lavender wafting gently up.

“Soothing,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, but Plumette notices she doesn’t look at her again.

It takes a long time to explain it. They all do it, in stages—Mrs. Potts, and then Cogsworth, so funny with his little clock face staring up at her, Cuisinier with a rattle and bang and Chapeau with tidy words, sparse but clean, painting a picture of the hag’s hand stretching toward them, the spell hovering on her fingertips. But Lumiere does not come to explain. He does not want to frighten her. He does not want to cause the pain.

Only when she can look at them evenly does she let him come in. He comes slowly, shyly, and her heart breaks—her Lumiere, shy! Her Lumiere, heavy and slow, his golden feet dragging him along, his candles barely flickering. He’s hot and ashamed and brave, looking her up in the face, love pouring out of him as he whispers, “you have not changed a day.”

they are frightened to show her the Beast, but they have to; he knows she’s there, his was the deep and wounded growl she heard from the first, echoing down the halls from his hiding place behind the stairs. She thinks she will be terrified, but then she sees him and oh!

the prince is terrified of her—of seeing his face reflected in the eyes of someone who knew him in his pride. terrified of seeing that someone shriek and run away in fear.

She reaches out and strokes the matted fur. “Do you know,” she says to him, “you have blonde hairs here, right in the pattern of the sun blaze I used to paint on you for special occasions.”

“I tried to do it myself that night,” he rumbles, the sound coming from deep in his chest through what sounds like miles of hair and thorn and tusks and teeth. “I didn’t do as good a job as you do, though.”

She brushes the fur with her hand and smiles at him, the curls descending down her cheeks, her battered straw hat still trickling snow.

She stays with them for days before they mention anything about her choice. She busies herself with tidying, in attempting to bring order to the darkness—“If only one of you could fly, we could get that dust out of the topmost chandelier,” she complains—and spends time with Lumiere, tentatively finding him out again, catching herself laughing at his bizarre jokes. She almost thinks he’s really there when he comes into a room behind her, and she looks up to the wall and sees that human-sized shadow drawing up....and then the disappointment when she turns, and he’s only there in soul, so tiny behind her she has to crouch to catch his face.

But the days cannot wear on forever, and soon she notes the looks the servants give her, and one night as she climbs up to bed she hears the stark sounds of an argument ringing up from the kitchen below. The next day, they corner her—much as they did her first day, but now she knows the names to match the faces, even the new ones she never knew before, like kind Madame de Garderobe and finicky Mr. Cadenza.

“Why so serious?” she teases Cogsworth. His hands tic-tic gloomily across his face, and his eyes search the room, and her eyes follow. Lumiere isn’t here. Cadenza paces near the door.

“It’s just...well, we don’t know how long it’s been on the outside,” says Mrs. Potts. “But here inside the palace, we’ve kept careful track of the days, and it’s been like to ten years. Not quite, you understand, but it’s been ten years almost to the dot. And we’re not figuring she’s ever going to come.”

“Who?”

“In the curse, when she laid the curse, the witch mentioned true love for the Prince,” says Cogsworth. “Reckoning, I suppose, that a parade of eligible young ladies would come lining up to the palace every morning looking to play croquet with the unfortunate Master. Well, there hasn’t been a one. Not even enough to invite in for a glass of water and a game of piquet. And if it goes on much longer like this I don’t fancy we shan’t become antiques.”

“What do you mean, antiques?”

“Never mind about that now, dear.” Mrs. Potts nudges Cogsworth aside and went on. “What he’s trying to get at, I think, is that we’re worried there won’t be anyone for the Prince. No young ladies have really stopped by once it snowed.”

“And if it goes on like this,” moans Cadenza, “I will never see my wife again. The spell will be complete. I’ll go kaput, coda, to resting beat; the symphony ends, no one applauds. The rose sits in silence. The diva, likewise.”

“This is—what will happen to all of you?”

“We’ll fade,” says Chapeau. “We don’t know what that’s like, exactly; it’s not quite death, but it isn’t living.”

“And why are you telling me this? So I can go get help?”

“There isn’t time,” says Mrs. Potts, gently. “There’s only a few petals left on the rose. We need...we need you to do something else.”

And then Plumette realizes why Lumiere isn’t allowed in the room.

She lies in her bed that night, cradled in the spot in the mattress where he used to sleep—his slippers still sit right next to the bed, covered in cobwebs, the gold brocade barely blinking out from the dust. She stuck her foot in one of them when she first arrived, but took it out in a hurry; the webs felt cold on her toes.

I have to fall in love with the Beast. She could hear them telling it to her, over and over, and she’d retold herself the same story so many times she could hear it in each of their voices, whether or not they had truly said so. “If you don’t fall in love with him, dear, Chip will remain a cup forever. My dear, that is my son.” “You’re the only eligible young lady we’ve had, Plumette, though I doubt the Prince will care much for your rank; but we can scrape up a baronetcy for you, it shouldn’t be too difficult, and then add some ranks and qualifications once you’ve married—” “Plumette, I know it’s hard. But help isn’t coming anytime soon. You’re the only hope we have.”

Fall in love with the Beast. Fall in love with the Prince. Fall in love not to love him, but to save every friend that had ever counted for her, every person who had ever treated her as family. Fall in love, and not with Lumiere.

Fall in love, to save Lumiere.

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot 

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

[wellhellotragic]

Dead in the Water (1/2)

You guys!!! It’s here! It’s our @csrolereversal drop date and I’m so excited for you all to see the amazing art @clockadile created for this event. Everyone, please go to her page, check out this amazeball painting, and send her all of the love that she deserves because this fic would never have existed without her! She is just such a wonderful person and I feel so honored that I got to make words in an effort to bring her art to life in a different way. I hope that I’ve done it, and her, justice and that you guys enjoy this. Shout out to @darkcolinodonorgasm for pulling this event together and to everyone in the rolereversal discord chat. It truly has been such a wonderful event and everyone has been so amazingly supportive of one another, so thank you all for being so awesome! Also tagging @cshalloweek​ even though my theme doesn’t completely match the day.

Summary:

Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.

“The sea is like a cruel mistress. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can never trust her.” - author unknown

Rating: M (foul language sprinkled in and some adult themes)

Also on AO3

“Mayday! Mayday!”

Nothing.

“Please, is anyone out there?” The faint words were met with radio silence. The only noise a high pitched whining from what was likely a busted eardrum. Weak and dizzy, blood continued to drip into the water filling the cabin. The once brown floor now covered in pink.

Searing pain, a sinking boat, and all hope lost. There was little to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable. There was nowhere to go, no reason to have hope. Climbing to higher ground had been a struggle, and pointless as the vessel continued to dip lower and lower into the icy water.

That night, prayers went unanswered. The heavens laughed as they flashed their pearly white teeth and the crackle of a thousand laughs filled the air. The rain continued to fall all around.

There was nothing to do but wait until the water finally claimed her prize. Until the sea took it’s claim. Until the world went black.

***

It was unseasonably hot in Boston. Granted, summertime was hardly a perfect oasis in the northeast on a usual year, but that July had seen it’s hottest temperatures in over sixty years, and the city had been a sweltering mess. The usually pristine buildings along Freedom Trail were littered with blinding metal as each window had suddenly become occupied with ac units overnight. There had even been rolling blackouts as the power company struggled to keep up with the city’s demands.

Why Ariel’s Antiquities had insisted on holding their event outdoors was a mystery to Killian. Women and men dressed in their best, hoping that fancy clothes would somehow insinuate that they had money and could easily out bid their competitors. Unfortunately for them, their power suits became far less intimidating by the minute as sweat lines began to appear sometime just before ten. As the hours drifted on, people became puddles, their shoes sticking to the sidewalks.

Killian found himself near constantly tugging on the collar of his shirt, peeling it away from his sticky skin. Unlike him, his brother had refused to undo the top two buttons on his shirt and seemed even more miserable, if that were somehow possible.

The two men had been sniping at each other for the better part of the morning, and now with the sun at full intensity above them, they’d resorted to silence as they milled their way through lot after lot. The auction advertisement Killian had seen online seemed to have mostly a mishmash of memorabilia and collectables, with a few actual antiquities mixed in.

But unlike the other bidders, the two men weren’t there for random knick knacks. There was one specific item that had caught his eye on the online inventory. A tiny thumbnail the only indication of its existence and he could only hope that it hadn’t been from a previous auction.

For over an hour, Killian traipsed through the old fair grounds, Liam in tow behind him, searching with no luck.

“Killian, I hate to be the one to say this, but it’s not here. We’ve been to every lot and it’s just garbage.” He turned to see his brother giving him a look of pity, infuriating his very being. “Perhaps this is a sign.”

“A sign of what? False advertising?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I just-” Liam took a deep breath, pushing the air out on an audible huff. “I just worry about you.”

With that, all of the anger and frustration from the day left Killian’s body. He couldn’t be mad at Liam any more, not when he knew it was true. When he still had memories of waking in the hospital, of seeing Liam’s eyes red and puffy from tears. It was the first time he’d seen his brother cry since their mother had passed years before.

“Liam, this is something I need to do. I need to prove to myself that I can get back out there. I can’t let this cripple me for the rest of my life.”

His choice of words hadn’t meant to convey the irony, but as his brother glanced down at the metal and leather covering his wrist, Killian couldn’t help but notice the cruelty of the universe. That even the most benign of words could cause such pain, even a year later. How even thinking about that day caused his missing hand to throb in pain.

“Killian, you are one of the strongest people I know. You don’t have anything to prove. Not to me or anyone else.”

Gone were the days where Liam teased him and called him little brother. Now, he was lucky if Liam said anything cheeky around him at all. And while he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone else, the truth was that he needed to show his brother that he wasn’t broken. Not anymore. That he didn’t need to be coddled like a wounded duck.

Before he could respond though, a glimmer caught his eye from a passing bidder’s reflective earrings, causing him to whip his head to the left. And there, tucked behind an old telephone booth, 2 huge entertainment centers, and a large canopy bed, there it was. There she was.

He didn’t wait for his brother, his jogging nearly breaking into a full stride. She was hard to see, tucked away behind items too heavy to move, but even in his limited view he could see that she was battered and bruised. Still, Killian knew that with a little sweat equity, she could be a marvel. He let his hand run down the fiberglass, feeling the strength of the hull, despite the hole in her port side. A gaping wound about the size of a bowling ball.

She was damaged, just as he was, but together they’d mend each other. He was sure of it.

“That’s it? That’s the boat you brought us all the way out here for?” Killian could only smile to himself. “Brother, she’s a mess. Where’s the mainmast? And did you see that hole? There’s no telling what kind of dry rot is on the inside.”

“Yes. I know she’s not much to look at right now, but-”

“No. You can’t be serious. She’s better off torn apart for scraps.”

Killian couldn’t explain to his brother the draw that he felt. He’d been searching auction houses for months. All of the boats he’d seen were either grossly overpriced, or faced the Goldilocks conundrum. Too small. Too big. But this one, it was just right. From the instant he’d seen that tiny thumbnail picture on his laptop screen, he’d felt it deep within his gut. He was meant for that boat, just as she was meant for him.

“And what kind of name is Jewel of the Real?”

“Realm.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Jewel of the Realm.”

Killian’s hand brushed over the faded wood, tracing the faintest outline of where an ‘M’ used to reside.

The rest of their time there was a bit of a blur for Killian. Liam trying his best to talk him out of buying The Jewel as people threw their paddles up in the air, capturing the trinkets on the stage. Killian fighting with a man two rows ahead of him for the winning bid, going over the maximum price he’d set in his head. Giving the auction house the delivery address, ignoring the way his brother huffed as Killian wrote them a check.

But none of that mattered, because in the end, she was his. The auction house delivered her a few days after his check cleared. The address he’d given them was for a warehouse another expat had told him about. Cheap monthly rates and all of that. What Will Scarlet had neglected to mention was that the warehouse was actually an abandoned building in a rather questionable part of town. Killian never should have trusted the man with a deposit sight unseen. The building lacked windows or doors, and Killian immediately knew he’d been had by the huxter.

He’d scrambled to find another place to fix up the Jewel. The drydocks at the marina were expensive and lacked space for him to spread out with tools, not to mention the absence of privacy while he worked. It was bad enough that people stared at his hook while he was picking up food from the local pub or out with Liam and his wife. He’d be damned if he was going to have people watch him work on a boat one handed. He even considered trying to work out of his friend, Robin’s, garage but the thirty two foot boat simply wouldn’t fit. No matter how imaginative he got with his sketches.

In the end, it was the most unlikely of allies that came to his rescue. The last man he ever expected to aid him with the Jewel. Liam owned a shipping company, specializing in European imports, with English ales and German lagers making up the bulk of his business. The main office was based in downtown Boston, but there was also a small warehouse down by the port where items were stored as they awaited inspection. His brother, still not happy with his decision made him an offer anyway. Come to work at Jones Shipping Monday through Friday, and he’d have the warehouse all to himself in the evenings and on weekends to work on the “abomination.”

Killian accepted begrudgingly. He wasn’t necessarily in need of a salary. He had the monthly stipends from the Navy to live on, the only benefit of losing his left hand, and the idea of becoming a corporate stooge maddened him to no end. He’d already sold his soul once, and they spit him back out once they deemed him of no further use. He wasn’t quite ready to lose the rest of himself to a full time day job pushing paperwork, schmoozing potential clients, and taking orders from Liam. But the perk of Liam’s harbor warehouse was too great to pass up.

So he took the job. He started on a Monday and the boat was delivered on the following Tuesday. Liam had neglected to mention his need for a key, so after driving across town, Killian ended up having to turn around without seeing her. The next day he’d nearly ripped into Liam when he saw him, but seeing three other men in suits sitting in front of Liam’s desk made him rethink his anger. Or at least rethink giving his brother a piece of his mind at work in front of people he’d only ever met at staff parties. He’d already had to deal with stares and questions from a rather bold intern. The stress from his own self-consciousness only amplified his frustration with Liam.

He finally got the key from Liam later that afternoon, along with another gift that he wasn’t particularly fond off. One that actually left him offended. One that he threw back in his brother’s face as he stormed out of his office, not caring one bit what anyone thought of him. Not when his brother obviously thought so little.

He was too upset to even go check on The Jewel at that point, choosing to head to a pub near the harbor instead. The Rusty Anchor was a fan favorite for expats. It’s where he’d met Scarlet, which unfortunately didn’t actually say much about the place. He’d met a few good blokes there as well though, like the bartender Robin. They’d become friends in a grief counseling group. It was mandated for Killian, but optional for the other man who was grieving his wife. Listening to Robin talk at their monthly meetings had helped put Killian’s loss into perspective. Suddenly his missing hand didn’t seem so catastrophic.

Robin had invited him to the pub knowing Killian was new in town with few friends, and the two men had formed a bond in the months since. In a way, he felt closer to the man than he did to Liam. Like he could tell him anything without the brotherly judgment that always radiated from the elder Jones.

After a few pints and a good talk with Robin, Killian had calmed. Liam was still a moron, but that wasn’t on him. And as Robin said, he just had to continue to remind himself that the only reason he was even working for his brother was so that he could fix up the Jewel. As soon as she was sea worthy, he could leave his job without breaking his word to Liam.

In a slightly better mood, he headed a few streets over to the warehouse, ready to take a full inventory of all of the repairs she’d need. The hole in the hull was obvious, as well as new paint all over, and she needed a new mast and sails, but there was always the concern of dry rot. That was the biggest worry. Having to replace every plank of wood and all of the fiberglass on the boat would defeat the entire purpose of restoring her.

Not to mention the difficulties he’d face using his hook. He was more than proficient with it for everyday use after eight months of practice, but some things still tested his limits. As he walked up to the warehouse, thinking about how he’d hoist the sails on without tearing them, he was completely lost in thought, oblivious to the man standing next to his boat. He was more than a little embarrassed by the shriek that escaped from his lips, but upon realizing that it was Liam there waiting for him, his distress turned to anger again. Especially when he saw the box from earlier on a nearby table.

“Killian, before you say anything, it’s not what you think. I never meant to imply-”

“What? That I’m a freak. That I’ll scare away all of the clients?”

“Actually, it was quite the opposite. I got it for you.” Killian looked down, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. “What? You don’t think I see you? The way you shrink in on yourself when you’re out with Elsa and me?”

Liam had him there.

“Look, Killian. I just thought that maybe it would help you to feel more comfortable. I never meant to insinuate anything by it.”

Perhaps he had overreacted. In his mind’s eye, it was just the cherry on top of a horrible year. The whole world judged him. Wasn’t it only a matter of time before his brother saw him as a disfigured beast as well? Except, that wasn’t what happened. He’d made a snap judgement, and thought the worst of Liam in the process.

“You’re right. I... it’s harder than I expected it to be sometimes. I thought,” he had to fight to keep his emotions in check as he remembered those first few weeks in the hospital. How he’d lost more than just his hand. “I thought it would be easier than this.”

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t handle it in a more sensitive way. I think I was just so excited to show it to you that I assumed you’d be just as enthusiastic. Obviously, it’s not all that functional, but it’s remarkably realistic and Elsa and I just thought it would make you more comfortable dealing with clients.”

Killian laughed to himself. A sad little thing. It was very realistic in a way that nauseated him when he first opened the box. Even now, as he walked over to it and lifted the top, he couldn’t help the catch in his throat. The prosthetic hand looked incredibly realistic, right down to the synthetic hair on the back of the silicone. There was a metal clip that popped into place in his arm sleeve and a metal wire that hooked into his shoulder strap, just like with his hook that allowed some slight mobility in the hand. It opened and closed, allowing him to grab objects if he needed to, but it wasn’t nearly as advanced as the mechanical hands he’d seen in the clinic. Although this one probably didn’t cost the same as Liam’s house either like the mechanical ones, which was a plus.

He lifted it from the box, testing the weight of it. It was slightly heavier than his hook, something that would take some getting used to. It was also probably going to end up being longer when all was said and done. Wearing suits might be a problem. He’d have to wait until he got home to check.

Liam, for his part, didn’t seem to want to make it any bigger of a deal than he already had. Instead, he changed the subject back towards The Jewel.

“Do you want the good news or the bad first?”

He’d already had a hard enough day. He didn’t need the bad news at all, much less first.

“The good.”

“Well, she’s not a total loss. I’ve been checking her over, and the bulk of the damage seems to be located here, in the hull where this hole is. The fiberglass is badly splintered around it. I’ve been trying to work out what exactly could have caused it, but aside from an act of Poseidon himself, it makes no sense. Whatever made the hole, it came from the inside of the boat. The furniture inside the cabin is also ruined. Smashed to pieces or rotted away. But the rudder and keel are still in perfect shape.”

Killian leaned in closer, allowing his hand to move along the edges of the hole. Liam was right. The edges was splintered towards the outside of the boat, and the fiberglass around it was all badly cracked. The auction house had sent him home with documents explaining that the ship had been docked at the marina and it had been hit by some object during a storm. They’d clearly been mistaken.

“And the rest of her? What shape does she seem to be in?”

“Well, the wood planks on the deck could use a good sanding, but if you’re just talking about integrity, I think she’ll hold up just fine.” Killian and Liam both climbed the ladder Liam had set up, allowing him his first good look at her. “You know about the mast and roping already. A full redo on both of those. But come look at this!”

Killian followed, letting his hand glide upon the metal railing. For the first time, it felt real. Look at this! It’s the original certificate showing the builder. You realize what this means don’t you?”

“That you’re excited she’s older than you are?”

“No! She’s vintage Killian! Once we fix her up, you can sell her for twice what you paid for her! Well done little brother.”

Killian took a deep breath, already out of patience with his brother for the day.

“Liam, I see three things wrong with what you’ve just said. First, it’s younger brother. Second, when exactly did this become a joint endeavor? Just a week ago you thought the very idea of my purchasing her was the single greatest mistake of my life. Thirdly, and listen closely Liam because I’m not going to say this again, I am not selling this boat.”

“Well you are my little brother. And I’m just trying to protect you. Why do you think I worry and watch after you so much?”

“You don’t need to worry about me!”

“Well apparently I do!” There was something about the way Liam’s voice, the way it broke as he screamed the words that tugged at Killian’s heart. “You almost died! I waited and waited while they searched for your body, sure that there was no way you’d survived that storm. And then I waited and waited again at your bedside in the hospital, praying to God that he didn’t take you away from me like he had mother. So don’t you dare tell me that I can’t or shouldn’t worry about you!”

Killian had to will back the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He knew that Liam had been at his bedside in the hospital, but he had never thought of what it must have been like for him getting the call that his brother was lost at sea in a storm. He spent a great deal of time clinging to some wreckage, just trying to stay afloat as the waves crashed over his head, and his body plummeted over and over for what felt like years. Once the storm had passed, he found a piece of the destroyed ship large enough for him to crawl on top of and he let the exhaustion take over. When he woke again it was to intense agony in the hospital ICU.

“Liam, I’m not out there anymore. I’m not adrift at sea anymore. I’m here, and I’m fine.”

“But you aren’t. You aren’t here. You say you are, but I think a part of you died out there that day, and I-” Liam gave up all pretense of hiding, letting the tears flow free, “I think part of you wants to get lost again. Why else are you so intent of fixing up this boat?”

“That’s what you think? That I want to put in all of this work just to go out and vanish into the ocean? Liam, I’m doing this to prove to myself that I can. Because the idea of going back out there sends a bolt of terror through my spine right to my very core. I need to show myself that it was just a freak accident. To get back up on that proverbial horse.”

Liam said nothing, just walked back down to the stern of the boat and down the ladder, walking straight out of the warehouse, leaving Killian alone with the guilt of everything he’d put his brother through. Even as children he was always managing to get into trouble, and poor Liam had always been the one to pick up after him. As he heard Liam’s car start up from the open warehouse door, he couldn’t help but wonder how much more Liam had left in him.

If it weren’t for the fact that he had work at eight in the morning, he very likely would have found himself back at Robin’s, downing a full bottle of rum all on his own. As it stood, he had a debt to Liam, far more than for the agreement he’d made for the warehouse space. He owed his brother everything, and though he couldn’t give Liam the one thing he wanted most, he could give him everything else. He could be the prodigal son in a way. Arrive to work everyday in nice clothes, rubbing elbows with Boston’s elite.

So instead of heading back to Robin’s he went down into the ship’s cabin. The space was small, not that he expected much. The boat was only thirty two feet long, and not that tall. There was enough space for a small kitchenette with a tiny sink and grill top. Across from that stood what should have been a small dinette area. Where a table and bench seat should have been was nothing but wood scraps and moldy torn fabric.

He nearly gagged when he opened the door to the tiny lavatory. The toilet was covered in black mold, or what he hoped was mold as nothing else seemed like an attractive option. And then he went to the bedroom area up at the front of the boat. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, knowing that the hole was in that area. What he found was nothing though. The bed and mattress had been removed, as well as the padding in the seat next to it. The wood forming the cabinets and closet had been torn out as well, leaving behind only the impressions of where they once fit in.

It was evident that the Jewel needed work when he bought her. And he knew that had he known at the time just how much work she needed at the auction house, he likely still would have bought her. But as he stood there, in the torn apart interior, he couldn’t help but feel scammed by Ariel’s Antiquities. They’d purposefully positioned her in a way that no one could see just what shape she was truly in.

Repairing her would take longer than anticipated, which only meant more time working for Liam. Exhausted, Killia headed back to his one bedroom apartment, crashing nearly the moment his head hit the pillow. The next morning, he rose well before the sun, even without the use of an alarm. Apparently you could take the man out of the navy, but not the navy out of the man.

After a nice run, Killian readied himself for the day by showering. Once dry, Killian placed his sleeve over his stump, followed by the hook he’d become so used to. He then picked out one of his better suits, not that he had all that many to choose from, dressed, combed his hair, and stepped back to take stock of himself in the mirror. It wasn’t a look he was used to. In fact, the last time he’d been dressed in such a way had been his mother’s funeral. He was still a teenager, Liam barely an adult himself, wearing suits they hadn’t yet grown in to.

Not wishing to dwell on that thought any longer, he headed for the door, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the side table.

And that’s when he saw it. The gift that Liam had given him the day before. His brother had left it in the warehouse in his haste to escape, and Killian had grabbed it on his way out, still not sure how he felt about it. He’d never really intended to wear it, not for everyday office use at least, but as he stood there in his suit, feeling completely uncomfortable and out of place, he decided to, just for once, do something for Liam.

It took him a few minutes to undress, removing his suit jacket and dress shirt so that he could disconnect his hook from the shoulder strap. The hand felt clunky on his arm, and it was difficult to get it through his sleeves, but in time he managed.

The drive to Liam’s, and now his office, wasn’t a long one, but at seven in the morning, it may as well have been a full county away. The traffic was horrible, not something he’d become accustomed to driving in. He’d always avoided rush hour like the plague, and now it would be a part of his daily routine. He also found that the hand was difficult to use. Because of his sitting position, it wouldn’t quite clamp shut around the steering wheel the way his hook would have.

By the time he arrived, he was over ten minutes late, and the morning staff meeting had already started. He did his best to sneak in, sitting at the back of the room, hoping to go unnoticed by Liam, but because the world was already against him that day, he failed.

Liam called him up to the front of the room, officially introducing him to everyone as the new head of client relations. Killian gave an awkward wave and that was it. He’d been inducted into the company, and day after day, week after week, he sat at a desk, working up contracts, researching possible leads. His nights were often spent at dinners, flirting with wives and schmoozing husbands into signing with Liam’s company. He hated it, and more still, he hated how little time he had for repairs on the Jewel.

Repairing the hull had been easy. He sent off for a patch kit, a misleading name considering the size of the hole to be touched up. After carefully cutting away the excess damaged fiberglass and setting the patch in place, he waited for the epoxy to harden, sanding down the excess so it was smooth. Aside from the lack of paint, she looked good as new. The hardest part had been placing everything where it needed to go with just one hand.

He soon realized just how difficult repairing the rest of the boat would be. The entryway to the Jewel was narrow, hardly wide enough for one person to enter at a time. He’d never be able to get fully assembled furniture and cabinets in. So slowly, he brought in all of the material, piece by piece. It took time, considering he’d had to carry all of the materials from the parking lot down the dock, and onto the ship. It was exhausting work, and there was still the matter of assembly. It took him weeks to get everything cut just to size, and assembly space had become a real issue after the new bench and table had been installed. Finding a place to store the cabinetry wood had almost broken him. The boat had almost broken him.

But he persevered. Slowly the cabinets came together. The bedroom in the bow of the boat found itself with a bed and a small closet, and the bathroom got a shiny new toilet. After two months, he’d finally finished the interior of the boat. All that stood in his way from land and sea was a new mast, the part Killian had been dreading most.

It was the very first thing Killian had ordered after he’d purchased The Jewel, but as with any special order, it had taken over a month to arrive, and then when it did, it wasn’t even the right size. He and Robin had spent the better part of a day trying to make it work, to somehow force the new mast into place, huffing and puffing at the weight. Hours later, Killian finally admitted defeat, and with shaky arms sent the company a firmly worded email chastising them for their incompetence.

Two full months and one paint job later, a new one arrived. Robin was unable to help him again though. Setting his pride aside, Killian was forced to ask for help. He and his brother’s relationship had soured. It wasn’t that there was ill will between the brothers, but there was a small bit of resentment on Killian’s part. Sometimes it seemed as if Liam was giving him extra work and setting extra meetings for the sole purpose of stalling his repairs. Some of the clients that Liam set him up with were too small to even have shipping needs.

We just want to make sure that they keep us in mind incase the expand Killian. You have to always be selling Killian. It’s called networking Killian.

He’d had enough. Eventually he’d declined enough of Liam’s offers to spend time together on the weekends that Liam had stopped inviting him over. The brothers discussed business needs, but outside of the office, they may aswell have not even have been related. Killian did feel bad. His brother was the only family he had left after all, but there was just the matter of his pride. He’d had so many arguments with Liam in his mind that he couldn’t remember which conversations were real, and which were made up. He just knew that he was right in all of them.

Which is why it was so hard for him to turn to Liam for his help. Unfortunately, the mast weighed a few hundred pounds and while the dock, where the boat finally resided, had a crane to help them move it in place, someone still needed to help him slide it into place and hold it steady as he secured it to the boat. The dock had a firm policy on not helping with certain repairs. They didn’t want to be held liable for any damages or injuries that occurred as a result of human error.

Asking Liam for help had been hard. It took him full two days of building up the courage. He’d nearly walked into Liam’s office three times before turning around at the last minute. Finally, he just had to man up. To his surprise, Liam agreed without much opinion on the matter, and that weekend the two brothers finally made up as they struggled together to install the mast. They tried seating it in place, but despite their best efforts, it was slightly off, leaning just a degree or two. While most people might have shrugged it off, both of the Jones boys were determined to get it in straight.

To the chagrin of the crane worker, they demanded he raise it back up so they could check to make sure the surface was level. Nothing seemed off to the naked eye, but again, the mast wouldn’t sit straight. After one final raising, Killian stuck his hand in the seat, trying to feel if there was bubbling or warping in the wood, and to his surprise, he felt something cold and smoothe, not at all like the wood plank he’d expected. After some fiddling, he was able to loosen the object enough to pull it from its hiding place. It was small, so small he wasn’t surprised that anyone at the auction house had missed it.

Liam, for his part hadn’t said much, but Killian could tell by the way Liam was breathing that his brother was annoyed, not with him but with the delay, and ready to finish working. Killian threw the gold piece in his pocket and together, he and Liam finished installing the mast and all of the rigging lines. Afterwards they went for drinks at Robin’s bar, a place Liam had never been before. They shared a few beers, caught up on all of the things they’d missed in the past few months, and each departed like it was no big deal, both ready for a good night’s sleep.

Killian had hoped to crawl into bed and fall straight asleep, but for some reason, as he laid there, his brain seemed to kick into overdrive. It started with thoughts of how he’d have to map out the currents and winds in the boston area before he could ship out. Before long though, all he could think about was work. He’d planned on leaving Liam’s company as soon as he was done, and while he hated some aspects of the job, he did like the structure it provided him with. It forced him to get back into the world again, something he hadn’t realized that he needed to do until Liam tricked him into it.

Unable to sleep, Killian got up to clean, something that usually relaxed him. He started with the dishes, washing and drying them all by hand before moving on to tend to his laundry. Most of his suit items were dry clean only, but his weekend clothes were soaked with sweat and best washed sooner rather than later. Checking all of the pockets and making sure everything was right-side out, he threw items in the washer one by one until he got to the jeans he’d been wearing that day. He’d managed to completely forget about the trinket he’d found on the boat, until just then.

He finished sorting his clothes and started the machine up before heading back into his bedroom, turning on the nightstand table lamp as he crawled back under the sheets. He let the metal turn in his fingers, inspecting the perfectly polished gold. It was a small locket with a bird etched onto one side. There wasn’t an engraving to go with it and told him nothing about the person who’d lost it. The chain that it was attached to was short and the links where tiny, meaning it likely belonged to a woman, but that was all he was able to gather. He continued to turn the locket, just feeling the weight of it in his hand, the surprising warmth of it, when his finger caught on a hidden clasp and the locket snapped open.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. Most women’s lockets contained tiny photographs, but the inside of this one held a small compass. The opposite side featured an engraving, but it didn’t have any names. It simple read: So you always find your way.

He should have wanted to search for the owner, to return what was probably a meaningful gift. There were plenty of news stories all the time about people helping to reunite lost items and owners. The soldier who had his purple heart stolen. The bride that lost her wedding ring on a beach vacation. They were always happy endings, and he knew that the locket didn’t belong to him, but for some reason, he just felt a call to it. Like he also needed it to help him find his way. So he kept it, slipping it on over his own head, having to pull it past his ears. He fell fast asleep soon after.

The next week at work had been grueling. Liam had lined up three dinners for him, one of them with a very sexually aggressive woman that ran a dog breeding company. Apparently there was a high demand for designer dogs and people were willing to pay high prices to have them shipped over the water during the summer and winter seasons when airlines restricted their pet travel policies. He’d had to pry her off of him at the end of the evening, promising he’d call her soon. A complete lie.

The whole encounter had left him feeling dirty. He hadn’t even so much as looked at a woman since his accident, not really, and he just wasn’t ready to move forward in a romantic capacity, even just a physical one. Not after having his heart shattered before. The woman in question wasn’t even interested in him. Not as anything more than a gigalo.

The weekend couldn’t have arrived fast enough. He just needed to get out of town. To get away from everyone, from his responsibilities. He was ready to hit the water and shed the ghosts he carried around with him. He’d planned meticulously. There were charts filling half of his closet and he’d popped by the Tuesday before to fill the kitchenette with snacks for his inaugural trip. He didn’t have a refrigerator yet so he’d done his best to stick with ready to assemble meals. Nothing big, just some bread and jams. A few tea bags and bottled water in case it got cold out on the water.

The plan had been to set sail just as the sun was rising that Saturday. To greet the new day on the water, but for some reason his alarm hadn’t sounded that morning, and for the first time since he’d joined the navy, he overslept. By the time he made it down to the docks it was just after ten, and the area was filled with people. Families going out on day trips. Tour groups trying to enjoy the last few weeks before the winter season. Before everyone would have to winterize their boats and leave them stored away until spring.

He was lost in his thoughts as he walked along the wood planks at the docks, past other ships, nearly tripping on a rope that someone has carelessly left out. Cursing under his breath, collecting himself from the slight embarrassment of it all, he glanced back at The Jewel. It was hard to see with the sun reflecting back on the water, but for just a few seconds, he could have sworn that he saw a shadow moving along her port side. There was a person on his boat.

It wasn’t unheard of, finding a vagrant living on an unused boat, or some random person lost and on the wrong ship. The Jewel had a very specific and unique paint job though. Mistaking her for any other vessel on the harbor would have been impossible. And he’d been there only a few nights before. He would have seen signs of a stowaway using her for shelter.

That could only mean that whoever was aboard his boat was looking for trouble, and after the morning he’d had, he was more than willing to give it to them. Swearing to himself, he picked up his pace, ready to give the trespasser a piece of his mind, but when he finally made it to The Jewel, she was empty. Thinking perhaps they’d gone below deck, he crept down the narrow stairs, doing his best to avoid making noise. There was no one though. She was empty. Just a trick of the mind.

Feeling foolish, Killian reemerged, on the deck, ready to give all of the lines one final check before setting sail when he heard a noise, a creaky wooden plank from down below. This time he ran, not giving a damn if the person knew he was coming or not. He was ready to find whoever was hiding.

Once again though, he came up empty. Even after searching in all of the cupboards and storage spaces under the kitchen bench and his bed. He checked all of the closets, but there was no one. He was all alone.

It was just in his head. Not surprising considering what a huge step he was about to take. The idea of going back on the water leaving him with an uneasy queasy feeling in his gut. Which was also the exact reason that he needed to do it. Why he’d tried to stress to Liam the importance of buying The Jewel.

He needed to conquer his fear. Even if his brain tried to scare him out of it. Because that’s all it was. A shadow from a person on a boat near his. An old creaky boat groaning from the change in humidity. It was all in his head, and it needed to stay there.

More determined than ever, Killian went back upstairs, ready to set sail, distraction free, but when he emerged from the cabin, he was met once again with an odd sensation. A feeling of being watched.

“Permission to come aboard?”

“Bloody hell, Liam? How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

And there it was. His older brother, his protector, playing games with his head to place doubt. Liam had done more than his fair share of things to delay the boat becoming ready, but to actually try to scare him away was just too much.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Come again now?”

“I’m talking about you playing games with my head, trying to frighten me away from taking my boat out. You’ve made it very clear that this wasn’t something you wanted me to do, but this is a new form of low, Laim.”

He was furious.

“Killian, I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only just arrived.”

He watched the elder Jones, the way his brow furrowed. Liam may have been a great many things to Killian, but he’d never known his brother as a liar.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’ve actually come bearing a gift.”

It was only then that Killian noticed the neatly wrapped bundle in Liam’s left hand. Liam didn’t ask permission again, choosing to come aboard The Jewel to hand the gift to Killian. He felt more than a little guilty for accepting it, especially after having just yelled at his brother, but Liam was insistent.

Carefully he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful not to tear it, lest he find paper scraps for weeks to come blown into every nook and cranky. Inside, he found a book, an old one by the look of it.

“It’s a first edition. Took some time to track down or I would have had it to you sooner.”

The significance of Liam’s thoughtfulness was evident. It was a first edition of Peter Pan. The book their mother used to read to them nightly. Each time she finished, Killian would beg her to start again from the beginning. It was the thing that first ignited his love for the sea.

“Thank you, Liam. This means more than you know.”

Liam just gave him a nod, understanding the emotional weight they both held in that moment.

“I, uh, guess you haven’t checked the stern of the boat just yet?”

It was on his list. First the ropes, then a walk around above deck to ensure everything was properly secured, before walking around the dock to check that everything was good on the exterior.

Intrigued, Killian climbed down from the boat and walked around to the back side of The Jewel. But what he found was that she’d been renamed.

“The Jolly Roger?”

“I very specifically remember you telling mum and me that when you grew up, you were going to own a huge ship, and you were going to name her The Jolly Roger-”

“Just like Captain Hook.”

He’d completely forgotten. As a small eight year old, he was determined that one day he’d own a pirate ship. That he’d sail the seven seas taking whatever he wanted from whoever he wanted. Probably in part because he was sick of getting Liam’s hand me downs.

“I hope you don’t mind. I know she’s not exactly what child Killian had in mind, but you’ve done exactly what you said you were going to do. And I know I’ve been a prick about this entire thing, so I wanted to do something to make up for it. To show you that I really am in your corner.”

Killian was touched. It was possibly the first time his brother had apologized to him since before their mother died. Even then, it was probably the first time he’d ever done it without being scolded into it.

“Thank you, brother.”

There’s one final thing. Last night, Robin and I came out here and installed a motor on the back.” Killian was about to say something, but Liam barreled on. “I know. But I just want to keep you safe. If you should find yourself without wind, you’ll still have a way to get back to shore.”

“Marvelous.” His annoyance only slightly tempered by Liam’s attempt at a kind gesture.

From his inside coat pocket, Liam produced a manual for the motor. ‘A guide to your new Stern Mounted Electronic Engine.’ He had to give it to Liam. He’d thought of everything. Even a Mr. SMEE.

Together, he and Liam set about getting The Jolly ready. After checking everything over twice, they finally set out, both men trying not to hold their breath as the docks become smaller and smaller. After about thirty minutes, they were able to relax, realizing that the ship hadn’t yet sunk, and likely wouldn’t anytime soon.

The trip was relaxing for the most part. The brothers argued still, as Killian realized that Liam had completely rearranged all of the food in the kitchenette. It wasn’t surprising and he’d seen Liam do it at his house, whenever Elsa would just quickly throw things back in the pantry. But what did shock him was how Liam adamantly denied it, even though Killian knew he’d left the tea bags in the cupboard above the tiny stove top, not under the sink. And the chips had been moved as well as other items. Still though, Liam swore he hadn’t touched them.

Killian eventually let it go, finding it not worth bickering over anymore than they already had. The real fist-to-cuffs came at the end of the day, as the two men had already redocked and were setting the boat back to rights. Liam had grabbed the trash and told Killian that he was going to take it all to the dumpster in the parking lot while Killian secured all of the sails.

Liam couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute when Killian stood to turn and move on to the other sail when he slipped and fell flat on his back. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, and in his haste to stop himself from falling, he’d somehow managed to catch his hook in the jib sail, tearing it as he fell.

Killian took a moment to compose himself, waiting for the sting of hitting his back on the rail to subside. He must have taken longer than he realized, because by the time he sat back up he heard Liam call his name and scramble across the boat to check on him.

Killian assured him that he was fine, or that he would be as Liam helped him back up. Careful of his steps, he turned to see just what exactly he’d slipped on when he caught sight of small water puddles in the shape of shoe prints. Absolutely sure that Liam had made them somehow, the two brothers had it out, causing Liam to storm away in a huff once more.

Killian stayed long enough to dry all of the water and to watch the sunset over the horizon before heading back to his place to grab a much needed ice pack. His back was still sore two hours later, so he opted for a shower instead hoping that the warm water might help soothe the muscles.

Slowly he undressed, trying not to twist or bend too much. Catching just a glimpse of himself in the mirror are he removed the small gold locket he’d found, he caught sight of his red cheeks, realising that even in October, he’d still managed to get a bit too much sun.

Getting to sleep had been tough. It was only after a glass or two, or three of rum that he was able to find a comfortable position. He drifted off, dreaming of being a child again. Of Neverland and Captain Hook.

The next morning he was still quite sore, so he’d opted not to take a second trip out on the water. Instead, he’d spend the day shopping for groceries and flicking through television programs until he settled on Wicked Tuna. Before he knew it, it was time to ready himself for bed and another dreaded week at work.

It ended up not being as bad of a week as he expected it to be. Liam hadn’t scheduled any meetings for him outside of normal office hours, and the clients that came into the office to settle contracts all seemed relatively normal for once. The brothers had quazied made up, but both felt it was best if Liam didn’t go out with Killian again for a while.

By the time the next weekend came, Killian was eager to set sail again, alone. No distractions. No mind games. Just him and The Jolly. Unable to hide the gold chain under his work shirt, Killian had chosen to leave the compass at home all week, but slid it back over his head before getting in his car to drive down to the water.

For a few moments he worried that his plans would be dashed as his car had refused to turn on. The starter trying to turn over and failing. Finally though, he got her started and headed straight for the docks.

He went through his usual routine, checking everything over, checking the weather once more. It was a little windier than he would have preferred, but the local station said that the wind would die down a bit by mid day. With everything ready, he set out, heading up the coast line just a bit.

The wind stayed stead for nearly four hours, despite the weather stations promise, and at one point, his life preserver ring had managed to come loose and blow straight off the ship. Not wanting to waste sixty dollars on a new one, he turned into the wind, stalling the boat, and dove dove in after it. A foolish endeavour on his part, considering he was alone if anything had gone wrong, but he figured if he could just get to the ring, he’d be fine.

The water was colder than he’d expected. In the navy he’d done cold water drills, letting his body adapt to it. But it had been a year, and his body simply wasn’t used to it yet. The moment he hit the water, his leg cramped up, and for just a second, he sunk under the surface of the water as he grabbed at his leg. When he resurfaced, it was with a mouth full of salt water. His nose burned and his eyes stung.

Once he managed to make it to the preserver, he tried wiping his eyes, but it only made things worse. Looking around to see just how far he was from The Jolly, his eyes had difficulty focusing. Everything became blurry as it felt like he’d had sandpaper rubbed against his cornea. At one point, it looked as if there was a figure standing at the bow of the boat. An impossibility given how far out he was and the lack of other boats.

He closed his eyes, giving them a few minutes to calm down, and when he reopened them, the figure was gone, and The Jolly was more in focus. Killian managed to swim back to the boat, a freezing mess in his wet clothes. He hadn’t actually thought about bringing a change of clothes with him for such a short journey. He stood there on the deck a shivering mess, ready to give up on the day.

As he tried to turn the wheel he began to feel slightly warmer. The wind had finally died down just as local weather woman Alfina Merryweather had promised, except that Merriweather had neglected to mention that her version of a slight breeze was actually a dead stop.

There was nothing, not even the slightest hint of movement. He waited and waited, at one point removing his clothes and doing his best to squeeze as much water out as he could. He thought of Liam, of how his brother would probably be worried if he didn’t hear from him soon. Thoughts that eventually reminded him of the motor his brother had installed for just such an occasion. The motor that Killian never wanted, and certainly wasn’t going to admit to using.

It took him forty two minutes to read the manuel enough to understand what he was doing, the whole thing one long novel of gibberish. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, and how many times he went through the manuel again, twenty minutes later he was just as stuck as before.

After another thirty minutes of attempting to start it and pretending that hyperthermia wasn’t a real threat, he finally caved, ready to call for help over the radio to a towing company. But the radio was just as dead as SMEE, and all of his calls for help were met with static. He began to worry, checking his phone to see the time only to realize that his phone was dead as well. He continued to plea for assistance, the static only becoming louder, eventually there was a spark as he felt a strange nasty shock from the microphone

He jumped back, yelling every curse word he could think of until he was nearly hoarse. Just as he’d quieted, shaking out his hand, he’d heard it. A creaky noise coming from above deck, The same sound he’d heard on his first day out. The sound of boards buckling under the weight of a person. He was sure of it this time, unless the jolt had managed to shock his brain too.

Slowly he crept back up the stairs, feeling every hair raise along his arm as he went. Something felt off. Something just felt very very wrong. But he persisted still, opening the door as quietly as possible. He crept along the deck, treading lightly as not to make any noise. As he moved high enough to see the front of the boat, he noticed a figure. An eerie ethereal blur of a woman.

But before he could say anything she turned and looked right at him. He watched her for a moment, as she seemed to float above the bow of the boat, somehow both there and not quite real. And then her mouth opened, and with the anguished scream of a hundred voices at once, she yelled at him to get out.

He nearly fell as he scrambled backwards, feeling his heart in his throat, trying to leap clear from his body. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. He was paralyzed in fear, completely unable to move when he heard the boat’s engine spring to life, snapping him out of his trance.

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝buried in art.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Class 1-A ]

「You developed a habit of drawing in your sketchbook and often drew in the middle of the class. Aizawa catches you drawing in class and make you go up and share it with everyone.」

You didn't know when it started but before you realized it, you've completely turned into someone who's obsessed with drawing. At the very start, it was supposed to be a method to relieve stress but it soon changed into a hobby. When you're free, you would sit on your desk, drawing something. On the day your friends decided to go for a picnic, you were dragged to a spacious field with a huge carpet of grass and a few trees providing shade. The sky was blue and the weather was just right, the girls had decided to play some game while you sat under the shade, watching your friends run around while drawing the landscape.

You loved your classmates. They were all amazing people you came to appreciate, and they each had a special place in your heart. Maybe not Mineta that much, but it’s not like you wished the guy was dead, he just seriously needed to respect women and keep his fantasies to himself. You've been drawing a bit too much of landscape that you wanted a change of pace. It started with doodles of the girls since you have a lot of pictures taken together with them but you would just change up the style a bit. They had great style and dressed up in cute clothes. Slowly, you decided to draw some of the boys. 

By now, you had at least drawn half of your classmates, your sketchbook was packed with various landscape drawings in the first half of your sketchbook and in the other half, there were doodles of your classmates. It wasn't that you're too shy to share it with your friends but they never seem to be bothered by the fact that you're always carrying around that book with you. Some managed to get a peek of what you're drawing from time to time but have never seen the end product.

As Aizawa went on and on about something during homeroom, you found yourself daydreaming a bit. The day before you were training your quirk and exercising in the gym, with everyone improving so vastly, you wanted to change to and decided to train all on your own. You looked down to see your sketchbook opened, a half-empty page greeting you. The occasional on taps from Todoroki who sat behind you kept you awake and you seriously have to thank him once class is over.

"[Last Name]."

The moment your teacher called your name, you were wide awake and alert, wondering why he suddenly called out to you. Maybe it was because you almost fell asleep 10 times? It has to be. Despite the anxiety swelling in your chest, you swallowed the saliva that pooled beneath your tongue and nervously gazed at your teacher.

"Yes, sir?" For a moment, you felt his gaze on you and you instinctively blinked, hoping that you were just imagining things. Aizawa's eyes were focused entirely on you and you couldn't help but think that you're in trouble now. You hoped that he would just tell you to go and wash your face to stay awake or remind you not to fall asleep and stay awake or something. By now, everyone had their attention on you.

"Is there something you want to share with us? Your face was practically buried in that sketchbook of yours."

"N-No! It's not like that, sensei!" you tried to wave it off with a smile, hoping that he would let you off.

"Get up here and share it with the class, maybe that way you won't be sleepy for the rest of my class." Aizawa said. With an exasperated groan and the realization that you can never win against your teacher, your grabbed your book and sauntered to the front of the class.

"Now that I think about it, what kind of stuff does [Last Name] draw anyway? She's always drawing something in her sketchbook." Kirishima muttered out loud.

"I've seen her draw some landscape, kero. But I've never seen the end product." Asui answered.

"Isn't it a bit exciting!?" Ashido quipped with a bright smile.

"It feels like we're back in elementary school doing show and tell." Sero said.

"It's nothing special, guys....." you mumbled with a small smile. Aizawa picked up the book you placed on the desk and flipped through the pages, his tired eyes quickly scanning over your sketches

"She says nothing special but I can't tell if she's being humble or not." he raised your book and showed everyone one of your most recent drawings. There was a moment of silence when your friends eyed your drawing closely.

"Amazing, [First Name]-chan! You drew all that!?" Ashido broke the silence, rising from her seat and skipping over to the front, leaning closer to the book being presented. Aizawa handed it over to the eccentric girl who shifted her gaze to you. One by one, your classmates began crowding you, flipping through the pages to find a drawing of themselves in different parts of your book. Aizawa stepped aside, muttering something about waking him up once this whole ordeal was over. In the midst of the chaos, you stood in the middle next to Ashido, overwhelmed by the attention. Even the ever so stoic Todoroki was next to you, eyes showing surprise when he stumbled over a drawing of himself.

"Ah, I'm there."

"You have the face of an ikemen! This is truly one of my favorite drawings of you! I hope I'm not creeping you out but you have such finessed features, and it felt like I'm redrawing a masterpiece by Van Gogh......" you muttered.

"I'm not that good looking." he replied casually.

"Please apologize to all the guys in UA." you pouted.

"Oh! I'm there too! You're a great artist, [Last Name]!" Kirishima pointed excitedly, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

"A-Ah, thank you!" 

"I'm a bit embarrassed, you drew me in such pretty clothes that I can never afford.....!" Uraraka said, turning to you with a teary expression. Just how broke is she?

"You're a natural artist [Last Name], I find myself drawn to you." Kaminari wiggled his eyebrows while you laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond to that.

"Stop embarrassing yourself." Jirou huffed.

"How do I look? Did you get my charm point?" Aoyama peeked over Kirishima and Kaminari's shoulder to examine the drawings. They all had different reactions but none of them said anything negative which made you relieved. Midoriya was in tears, saying things about how he doesn't deserve that much respect from you but when you told him that he was an amazing person and that you admire his hardworking nature, his face turned red and he cried even harder. 

"The detail in all the drawings are amazing! Not to mention, 

"Yo, Bakugou, you should have a look!" Kirishima called over to the ash blonde who remained seated the entire time.

"Why should I?" Bakugou barked back, narrowing his eyes at the red-haired teen who just beamed back at him. Kaminari nudged Sero and whispered something into his ear. The black-haired male nodded and turned to Kirishima who was given instruction on whatever plan they were hatching. The red-haired male had nodded enthusiastically, a sign that he's in.

"Well then, suit yourself! I guess you don't want to see how [Last Name] draws you." Kirishima replied.

"Hah, just look at that. I can't believe you drew him like this, [Last Name]." Kaminari turned to you. Still unsure why they were talking like this, all you could do was tilt your head in confusion.

"Is this how you perceive Bakugou, [Last Name]? I guess it's a very accurate image." Sero turned towards you with a smirk on his face.

"Eh? Um, thanks?" you mumbled.

Bakugou rose from his seat, the sound startling you. He began making his way towards you and everyone immediately made way for the angry boy who was marching over with an irritated look on his face. They all dispersed, including the ones who deliberately provoked Bakugou into coming. You stood there dumbfound, stepping back when the ash-blonde moved closer to you. When your back hit the board, you gasped. The loud slam of his hand hitting the board beside your head made you squeak. Without saying a word, he snatched the book from your hands to see a drawing of himself. The guys had made it sound like you drew a monster but it was the complete opposite.

He looked so fucking cool.

"It's just okay." he told you before returning to his seat. He tried to play it off by acting like he doesn't care but he's actually pretty happy to see your drawing.

"Bakugou, are you perhaps blushing?" Sero teased.

"Shut your mouth, you extras!"

Total: 1458 words Published: 17.09.2019

We’re now open to requests for Kimetsu no Yaiba! Please have a look before requesting!

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ This happened to me uwu It was suuuuper embarrassing and back then I was super awkward with people can’t barely had any friends. It was just public humiliation. ― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting! Lou loves drawing and owns like three sketchbooks. True art nerd. We hope you’re okay with this scenario, anon. ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[elceeu2morrow]

NEW DIRECTION Louis Tomlinson on why he’s not ready to make up with Zayn Malik and how fatherhood made him grow-up fast

Beth Neil  2 Feb 2020, 0:01  Updated: 2 Feb 2020, 3:06

Back then he didn’t appear to be a natural frontman. He wasn’t one to hog the spotlight, nor did he seem remotely interested in competing with the magnetism of Harry or the vocal range of Zayn.

“There were times I struggled to find my place in the band,” Louis admits today.

But it’s often the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.

Behind the scenes he was very much centre stage: Louis was the mouthpiece, constantly fighting the boys’ corner and acting as chief negotiator between band and management.

“Being from Doncaster,” he says, “I’ve never had a problem with telling anyone ‘no’.”

On top of this (and perhaps most significantly), in the six years that the band were together after finishing third on The X Factor in 2010, Louis diligently racked up more songwriting credits than any of the others, hinting that a hard-working and ambitious young artist lurked beneath the surface.

Indeed, while he might be the last of the band to release a solo album (four years after they announced their hiatus, breaking several million hearts in the process), the result suggests that Louis, having held his nerve and bided his time, might just prove to be the dark horse.

“There was a while when I was worried I was getting left behind – some of the boys are on to their second album now,” he says, taking a draw onthe first of several cigarettes. “At times, I’ve been swimming against the tide, working out who I am. I was trying to find a way back into the industry, thinking of it mathematically rather than going off feeling and emotion.”

He’s referring to collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki in 2016 and 2017 respectively, which, although successful, weren’t where his heart lay. With Kill My Mind – the exhilarating ’90s-inspired opening track of the album Walls – he sets his stall out with a clear departure from anything he’s done before.

Walls is about regret, reflection and ultimately, hope, and feels like Louis, who sings in his still-broad Doncaster accent, has finally found his voice.

“I’ve always wanted to be autobiographical and honest. And in the last six months the songs I’ve written and recorded are of a better standard because there’s an honesty there,” he says.

Honesty certainly characterises the album, sometimes devastatingly so. There’s no escaping the fact that Louis, 28, has faced unimaginable pain over the last few years.

First losing his mum Johannah Deakin, known as Jay, in December 2016 to leukaemia, and then his sister Félicité, who died last year aged 18 following an accidental drug overdose.

The lyrics to Two Of Us, written about his mum, include intimate details about Louis’ experience with grief.

“It wasn’t until after I’d written it that I realised how much vulnerability I’d put in there,” he says. “When I first performed it… I had fans coming up to me in tears telling me their stories, and that’s not something I’ve ever had before. And to do it on that level about something so delicate… It was really cool to take something so dark and make people feel like that.

“I had to get a song like that off my chest. It was difficult writing about things that felt trivial compared to what was going on in my life. There was, I think, a necessity to write that song before I could move on creatively.”

Understandably, Louis won’t talk specifically about Félicité. But when asked about how grief has shaped him both as a man and an artist, he pays tribute to Jay.

“I think it’s a credit to how my mum brought me up that I have a resilience,” he says. “There’s nothing I want less than to have people feel sorry for me, so having that mentality has helped me through the hardest of times.

"I’ve also felt a real support system through my fans. I’d always felt it on a lower level, but when it’s something so impactful and life-defining, I really did feel it from them.”

Days after Jay’s death, Louis appeared live on The X Factor to perform Just Hold On with Aoki.

He was clearly in pieces and it was hard enough just watching, but somehow he held it together, presumably thanks again to that resilience.

“Sometimes it’s fight or flight,” Louis explains. “And the way I was brought up and because of where I’m from, I only see one option in that situation. I also wanted to put myself second and do it for my mum.

"That moment was bigger than me and it was actually incredibly liberating. It used every bit of strength and power and I look back on that performance as one of the proudest moments of my career.”

He says he tends not to suppress emotion and is able to share his darkest points with those he’s closest to.

But as the eldest of Jay’s seven children (five girls and two boys), he also feels a huge weight of responsibility towards his younger siblings and hasn’t had any professional therapy himself.

“No, no, nothing like that. That might be down to a bit of Northern pride, but I have a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and that drives me. I’ve got siblings who look up to me and I’ve got my grandparents as well. So all those things keep my head screwed on.

“My mum had a massive influence on me and I lived with a lot of sisters in the house, so I do find it easier to speak about my emotions. But I’m also from Doncaster, where to be a guy is to be tough and traditional and I feel like [there are] times where pride kicks in and I just say I’m all right.

"I’m lucky that I’ve got good people around me who I can trust and who I can be completely vulnerable with and say how I feel. Nine times out of 10, I don’t bottle things up. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

[below the cut is the rest of the unedited article - including Eleanor, Freddie, 1D]

His model, blogger and politics graduate girlfriend Eleanor Calder, 27, who Louis first got together with back in 2010 during the last week of The X Factor (“before it got manic”) has been a crucial part of the stability he’s needed through such sadness.

“She’s been amazing. With any monumental time in your life you need people who understand and love you. She makes my life easier.”

In 2015 they split up for nearly two years during which time Louis became a dad to Freddie, now four, following a brief fling with LA stylist Briana Jungwirth.

The track Too Young is almost an apology to Eleanor for that period (“I’m sorry I hurt you, darling… I cut you off cos I didn’t know no better”), but Louis says the time apart taught him some tough lessons and has made them stronger.

“I think we both agree that we needed [that break]. I was too immature for a relationship of that seriousness. But I had to learn that and be an idiot first.

“A lot of young men won’t understand until they have hindsight. The responsibility of meeting someone you could spend the rest of your life with at 18 is too much for most immature men. I was very immature at that → age and didn’t understand the feelings or importance.”

He and Eleanor guard their privacy ferociously and very deliberately haven’t made themselves a public couple. They don’t go to places where they’ll get papped or post pictures of each other on social media.

“Me and Eleanor have been together ages and I don’t have a lot of private photos for myself,” he says. “Even on a night out there’ll be some f**ker taking my picture and it goes everywhere.

"So those moments to ourselves are special. It’s the same way I look at Freddie. Do I wanna show him off and tell the world how amazing he is? Yes, of course I do! But I know he’s amazing and he knows that and that’s what matters.”

He dotes on Freddie (“I cherish my time with my boy”) but admits the unplanned pregnancy was a wake-up call.

“Yeah, it was unexpected and I had to grow up very quickly. It was another one of them moments – being faced with the reality of a situation and having to step up. It was a very maturing time in my life.

“And, again, I’ve kind of got between two headspaces. I’m the responsible dad and brother some days and other days I’m still the reckless idiot chav I used to be. I’m still trying to work out a happy medium.”

Absolutely no one could have predicted the global phenomenon that 1D became, least of all Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry themselves.

They sold 20 million albums worldwide, earning over £40million each, but the pressures of fame were, at times, intolerable. Louis says they were only able to keep their heads screwed on because they had each other.

“You can never be prepared for that. It was such a head f**k. But we grounded each other so the minute one of us acted like a d**khead one of the others would say: ‘Stop being a d**khead’. I see people in this job surrounding themselves with superiority and they lose the concept of the real world.”

He remembers doing a shoot with the band for Pepsi over in the States with American footballer Drew Brees.

“This guy was like a god and we were insignificant when he was around, which we understood. But I’ve never seen anything like it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth he’d have an audience of hangers-on in hysterics.

"These people were so far up his arse and he didn’t have one good joke. He had no banter! I still hang around with my boys from Doncaster and I hear real stories all the time, which helps me understand the world that unfortunately I don’t get to see. Having empathy with people and a connection with the world is imperative for any songwriter.”

Harry Styles recently said that he never touched drugs during his time in the band (although he’s made up for that since), because he didn’t want to “mess it up”. Louis smiles as he confides that he can’t say the same.

“All I’ll say is that I did my fair share and enjoyed my time in the band. It’s right what Harry said and it was smart of him, but I definitely had a lot of fun in the band. I was always aware of how amazing the opportunity was, but also enjoying the moment for what it was. I lived like anyone else my age – the difference was that I was in One Direction.”

He’s in touch with Harry, Niall and Liam “sporadically” (we’ll come to Zayn shortly), but they’re all on very different paths for now.

“If we all went to a pub tomorrow it’d be like we’d never left. The enormity of what happened in One Direction creates a massive bond and we’ll always have that.

"There have been times when we’ve done each other’s heads in. There might be something I say in an interview that bugs Liam or vice versa, but we all know what each other is like and we can call each other up and say sorry for being a d**k. We’re like brothers.”

But that’s not necessarily the case with Zayn, who quit in 2015 and with whom Louis has had a turbulent relationship since. He was hurt when Zayn was the only one not to turn up at the X Factor studio to support him through his performance after Jay’s death, despite promising to be there.

Then there’s Zayn’s apparent repeated digs. In one interview he branded 1D’s music “generic as f**k”. There’s a difference between making a break from the past and dismissing it completely, and it’s a line Zayn perhaps hasn’t always managed to walk.

“Hmm,” agrees Louis, cautiously. “Other than maybe Niall, there is no one who is prouder of the band and the songs we created than me. But while what I did with One Direction is relevant, it doesn’t define who I am and I don’t struggle to make that dissociation.”

Does he think some of what Zayn has said has been disrespectful?

“Yeah, I do. But I can understand it. We have a lot of situations where we’re sat in interviews and if you’re in a certain mood you might run your mouth. The older you get the more you can tell if these things actually carry any malice or if they’re just a prod in the back. That’s life, innit? Sometimes people chat s**t and that’s the reality.”

He’s not ruling out resolving their differences in the future, but there’s no olive branch on the horizon.

“No, but I’ve not actively tried. We’ve all got a lot on our plates and there might be a day where I wake up and think: ‘OK, I want to right that wrong’, but not yet.”

After being in his company for a while, it’s not hard to see why Louis was 1D’s driving force backstage. He’s thoughtful, articulate, open and self-aware, but there’s a steeliness to him and the requisite pop-star swagger, which doesn’t seem to spill over into arrogance.

He’s based in LA these days, to stay close to Freddie, but “Donny” will always be home. He says comparing the two places is “literally chalk and cheese” and it’s taken him time to “come round” to living in the States.

“It’s taken a while to get used to spending so much time there. I feel like I’m very British at heart.”

And that is reflected in his music, which is heavily influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, The Smiths and Oasis. In fact, the title track and latest single Walls sounds so similar to Oasis B-side and fans’ favourite Acquiesce that Louis’ manager flagged it as a potential issue.

“These kinds of things happen. There are only so many melodies you can write and if you listen to a band all the time like I do with Oasis…”

Anyway, says Louis. He had to make a choice.

“I was ready to risk it, but everyone said we should get in touch with Noel [Gallagher] so we did. Often the industry, and especially Noel’s world, can be a bit snobby and say: ‘F**k you you’re not using this song’. But he was really cool about it, signed it off no problem and although I’m sure he’s not happy about this, I f**king am, I’ve got a writing credit from Noel Gallagher on my album. That is some sick s**t so I’m buzzing.”

Is he nervous about going it alone? “I think I’ve got a good record so I’m confident. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t little bit nervous – there’s three and half years work gone into it so there’s a level of anticipation.”

The most overwhelming emotion though, is relief.

“Because it’s taken such a long time. I’m excited to go on to the next phase of my career.”

Louis Tomlinson’s new album Walls is out now.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | May 2019

Happy 28th! If you want to promote your fic or your artwork head on over to @kingsofeverything and send Lauren a message! She’s doing self recs - fics and art - today. Thank you to all of you amazing authors who brighten my world with your words ♥ Here are all the fics I read and loved this month:

Let Our Hearts Collide || crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks) || While You Were Sleeping AU - 90s - mistaken identity - fake/pretend relationship - coma - amnesia - pining - grief - 76k When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son. In the Paynes, Harry finds the big family he's always longed for...and a love he never saw coming.

Can't Help Falling || Anonymous || open ending - 15k The one where Harry's a workaholic, until best mates Liam and Niall drag him away for a holiday to Ibiza.

24K Magic || Justalittlelouislove || famous/not famous - drug use - 32k A fic based on 24k Magic by Bruno Mars, in which Harry's a mess and famous, Louis is a mess and not, Liam and Zayn are probably hiding something, and Niall is a horrible flatmate.

For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry || amomentoflove || vampires - past abuse - slow burn - angst - depression - anxiety - 50k Harry is cold. His bones ache. Every movement draws a whimper from his cracked lips. The stone underneath him is practically like ice. He’s numb, but can clearly feel the sharp pains on his neck every timeHe visits him. Below the icy cold, the achy bones, and the pain on his neck, Harry Styles is pissed. There’s a fire burning in his mind and the anger for the man who keeps him imprisoned is the fuel. He despises him, the man who feeds from him and is a daily reminder that Harry’s suffering won’t end. The man who keeps Harry so weak that he can barely move most days. Harry’s waiting for the day when his owner will go too far and finally kill him. Death must be better than this cold hell he is in. It won’t happen, though. He has a way of keeping Harry’s heart beating. So for now, all Harry can do is wait for death to come. He’s been waiting for years.

Consequences || allwaswell16 || amnesia - exes to lovers - getting back together - injury recovery - angst - 74k Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

The Fire and the Fate || dimpled_halo || A Star Is Born AU - depression - alcohol abuse/alcoholism - addiction - drug abuse - famous/not famous - angst - hurt/comfort - break up - post-break up - getting back together - 56k An A Star is born au with a happy ending. Harry is a troubled musician about to reach the end of his rope when he finds Louis singing in a club one night. He’s instantly mesmerised by the man with blue eyes and breathtaking voice.

And That's The Tea || 2tiedships2 || a/b/o - soulmates - strangers to lovers - friends to lovers - 27k The one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

I Must Confess (I Still Believe) || objectlesson || High School - Catholic School - Girl Direction - coming of age - self-discovery - self-doubt - self-acceptance - angst - pining - slow burn - internalized homophobia - 44k Harry is the new girl at an all girl Catholic Girl's School, and Louis is the unattainable, dashing senior who changes her forever.

Like A Siren In The Night || whoknows || a/b/o - light dom/sub - 24k “There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet. Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?” For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months. It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

Let Me (Be Your Girl) || dimpled_halo || Girl Direction - cheating - pwp - 6k Louis hires Harry to help her find out things about her husband. What she doesn't expect is to discover some things about herself in the process.

Come together || bottomlinsons || college/university - One Night Stands - miscommunication - angst - pining - 11k Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven't talked. Their coming group project is gonna change that.

Tonight's not over (come over and stay) || louistomlinsons || famous/not famous - fluff - 17k Harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel

Born Ready For You || taggiecb || Sequel to That's What I'm Here For - children - adoption - family drama - 2k Harry and Louis' life gets turned upside down once again with an unexpected visitor.

Getting high in mine || bottomlinsons || meet-cute - drug use - 4k Getting home from a festival is miserable by any method, but a three-hour train ride is truly the bottom of the barrel. This time, though, with the help of the cute guy sitting on the floor, it might not be so bad.

The Daddiest Place on Earth || lovelarry10 || Social Media - Disney World & Disneyland - strangers to lovers - 23k Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs...

I Won't Give Up So Come And Get Me || runaway_train || strangers to lovers - Blind Date - 15k The one where Louis meets Harry and it all just seems too good to be true...

Picking Up The Pieces || Halos_Boat || strangers to friends to lovers - angst - slow burn - emotional hurt/comfort - 72k Harry just signed his second set of divorce papers. He felt like his life was over, like he had nothing left. Then he meets Louis.

Ready, baby? || jaerie || pain kink - rope bondage - earrings - 1k Harry gets an earring. Louis is the one to do it. Or a pain kink drabble.

Impress Me || lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) || Chefs - homelessness - fluff - 5k Harry's a new chef who can't cook to save himself, but when he meets Louis, he learns more than he thought possible

Drunk in Love (last thing I remember) || MrsStylinson || fluff - pining - banter - 22k The one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger's bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it's foul play. Maybe it's just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics.

Take The Bitter With The Sweet || rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife) || Coffe Shops - fluff - pining - 7k Liam recruits Louis to spy on the 'rival cafe', which Louis is less than enthusiastic about but it does lead him Harry, the pretty barista who works there.

Harry Poppins || jacaranda_bloom || strangers to lovers - kid fic - hurt/comfort - past character death - fluff - 32k When Louis’ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his wit’s end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what they’ve been looking for all along.

You Bring Me Home || reminiscingintherain || Saving Mr Banks AU - fluff - 22k The one where Louis wants to turn Harry's book into a film, and Harry's very picky about what happens.

Big, Bright World || || pining - jealousy - slow burn - cheating - miscommunication - 35k It really was just a little crush in the beginning, nothing to be worried about. Louis had never really liked anyone he'd worked with in the past, but he was sure he could control himself. Little did he know that over time his 'little crush' would develop into a blazing inferno of Hell-fire proportions. Every day, Louis' feelings became more intense, more immediate, each little smile and gesture and silly flirtation mounting up into something palpable, with a life of its own. Louis felt it every moment they were together. The only problem? Harry was engaged to someone else and had been from the moment Louis started working at Visionary.

Barren Souls || Snowy38 || Dystopian - mpreg - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - 37k It's 2907 and things are different. Organic men and women are no longer fertile and only genetically modified humans are permitted to procreate. The sexes have equalled, men are able to give birth in these dire times and roles have been created to both sire children ('Stud') and carry them ('Provider'). Public displays of affection are a criminal offence and the procreators cannot get emotionally attached without severe consequences. Harry has hit 19, the legal age to bear children. He's looking forward to producing babies for his host family and he's just had his placement confirmed. All that's left now is to meet the Stud who'll impregnate him. It might tug at his heartstrings thinking about the beautiful babies he'll be carrying who he'll have to let go but he's trained for this. He's spent his whole life preparing. Being a Provider is a special job and Harry's one of the chosen.

In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights || Anonymous || strangers to lovers - fluff - travel - 13k It's one of those nights there's nothing on the telly that Louis absently scrolls through Tinder. After swiping left on a bunch of profiles he comes face to face with a picture that stops him in his tracks. The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left. He’s barely checked the other pictures on the boy's profile before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. The shots are so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile. It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received. Harry: Hello! Harry: Thank you for swiping right Harry: I have a proposition for you

[nxrdist]

Letters to the Front

Summary: Set during the Great War. The letter hadn’t been meant for Tommy, but it landed up in his lap anyway. He hadn’t meant to do anything but inform the sender, courteously, of the fate of their loved one (who knew how long it took for the Crown to send those messages out). Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d be recieving another letter from the girl.

Rating: Teen for now

||Masterlist||

Words: 1568

A/N: Semi-inspired by a fic I read sometime ago. Canon and period typical triggers apply. If you watch the show you know what you’re getting into I hope! Any overly graphic decriptions will be added as specific triggers. I intend to do my best when it comes to historicla accuracy, but somethings will intentionally be bent for the purpose of the story. I hope you all enjoy :)

There hadn’t been gunfire for hours. A small burst had taken place that morning when a young kid had been brave enough to pop his head up, against strict orders not to do so, but since then there had been hardly a peep from either side. No man’s land laid out before them silent as ever. It wouldn’t be that way for long he was sure. The digging took time, but when the tunnels met it wouldn’t be silent anymore.

Digging the tunnels hadn’t been something Thomas was intending on volunteering for, but when no other had; how could he not? Their commanding officer sat silently for a long moment looking into the faces of all his men. Thomas’s eyes had also flicked over some of the younger faces surrounding him. He was young too, but some well they were even younger than he was. Arthur had stiffened next to him when Thomas silently raised his hand in acknowledgement.

Their CO nodded and shuffled off Thomas was ready for Arthur to rip into him, but he didn’t. Instead, Arthur was quiet. Though, he did watch Thomas with an uncannily close eye. Clearly, Arthur was wondering if Thomas had simply lost the will to go on. Thomas made eye contact with his brother and gave a sharp shake of his head.

No words were needed. Thomas knew the question. Arthur knew the answer in the sharpness of his middle brother’s eyes.

Someone has to aye?

It was late afternoon before John could make his way over to them again. Arthur didn’t say anything about the tunnels to John and neither did Thomas. John looked quite keen when he’d shuffled over to them and neither were willing to spoil the mood.

“What’s it then?” Arthur asked after a moment of looking at John’s grinning face.

“Mail’s come in.”

Thomas gave John a simple nod of understanding. Arthur clapped his youngest brother on the shoulder, squeezing it slightly, and grinned as well. John was the only one who really had anyone writing to him with regularity -his wife Martha. It had been heartbreaking to see John leave her and his children behind when they’d joined up. None of the children understood that their father wouldn’t be coming back for quite some time, but Martha had held on to John so tightly.

John was fidgeting nervously with his cuffs. Clearly excited, but also anxious that he wouldn’t be getting anything, John always worried in vain. If Martha hadn’t written him a several page long letter, then he would have drawings from his children. John always got mail. While Arthur and Thomas only occasionally got letters from their youngest brother Finn, their sister Ada, or from their Aunt Polly.

Just when Thomas was about to reach out and grab his brother’s hand to stop his fidgeting the mail carrier arrived. It was the same squat man as usual moving down along the row of men with a large sack of mail. John was nearly bouncing with anxiety by the time they were reached.

“Shelby, John,” said the man.

John greedily took two envelopes from the man. One of which was quite thick, likely the containing pictures from his children, and the other not quite so thick and with visibly clearer writing on the front. He was lucky this time. A letter from Martha and his children’s pictures on the same day.

Thomas sighed. He was thankful his brother would be able to relax for at least a few days while he read and reread Martha’s letter. A sigh escaped Thomas’s lips as he leaned his head back against the muddy side of the trench.

“Greene, Ernest?” said the mail carrier in a slightly unsure tone.

Usually Ernest was sitting near the brothers when the mail came. It had been over a month since mail had come though. So, of course the mail carrier wouldn’t know about Ernest. Thomas sighed. He glanced over at Arthur who shrugged.

“Here.” Thomas said, propping himself back up and sticking out his hand. “Ern’s dead.”

The mail carrier gave a short nod. He tossed the letter to Thomas before moving on down the line. It wasn’t the first or the last time a dead soldier’s mail would show up to the front. Thomas wasn’t sure what possessed him to take the letter meant for Ernest, but he had. Arthur arched an eyebrow at him briefly. Giving a shrug, Thomas tucked it into his pocket. John was busy with his mail, but Thomas didn’t want to read Ernest’s letter in front of Arthur and his prying eyes.

After a few moments of relaxing silence, Thomas moved from the trench toward the short walkway to a spot a bit further behind the line where soldiers could take breaks and play cards or dice. There was a badly battered table and chairs placed over some shabbily laid boards. Mud still squelched up between the boards, but it still served to allow one to wipe their boots somewhat which Thomas did before taking a seat. He took out the letter and laid it on the table in front of him.

Ernest Greene

It was scrawled in a neat feminine hand which made opening it more difficult for Thomas. He didn’t recall Ernest ever mentioning having a girl back at home. All Ernest ever mentioned about home was that he had a sister, a few years younger than himself, that worked the phone lines in Birmingham. Though, looking at the script Thomas worried that Ernest may indeed have had a girl back home. Some men were like that after all. They wanted to keep their lives at home to themselves somewhat. Something this damn war can’t take away, an older soldier had told Thomas not long after he’d first arrived.

Breathing a deep sigh, Thomas hooked his finger under the seal and popped the letter open. He pulled out a single sheet of paper on which was more of the same slightly slanted writing. Thomas looked at it without really reading it for a long moment. He took out a cigarette and lit it as he began to read.

Dearest brother,

Thomas exhaled a puff of smoke. Pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand holding his cigarette, he paused for a long moment. Finally he moved his hand away to puff again on his smoke. Was it worse or better that the letter was from Ern’s sister instead of a sweetheart? He wasn’t sure. The letter was open now though if there were some principal of invaded privacy he’d already broken it.

I’m afraid your letters may be getting lost. The last one I received from you was marked near four months past and I’ve written you twice since then. It’s no matter though. You know I will always keep writing.

You’re my big brother after all and I do miss you so terribly. The house still feels so very empty at times without you here. You tell me not to worry for you though I simply can’t help it can I? It is difficult not to, you know that don’t you. Ever since father passed, I have no one else to care for.

And don’t go telling me to get myself a sweetheart again, will you?

I could scarcely imagine such a thing until I know you are looked after. On the note of looking after oneself, I have been keeping well. Your kitten, well cat now, lays on the end of my bed when I sleep. I wake early every morning to go to work at the operator’s office. I am enjoying the work so much there. It is such a far cry from the factory you used to work at.

Perhaps when you return home, I will even be able to take you to a special lunch! Wouldn’t that be a treat Ern?

I’ve enclosed a picture. Many of the girls at the operator’s office send them to their sweethearts. I’ll send one to you just so you don’t forget what I look like yes? A strange concept, I know, however I find myself looking at our old family photos just to see your face some days. I don’t want to forget the face of my brother either.

All my love,

Helen

Thomas hadn’t even realized the cigarette he’d lit at the beginning of the letter had burned down to the butt while he read. His eyes were oddly glassy. It was difficult to read those last few sentences. He didn’t even realize why until a single tear drop fell with a plop onto the paper. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his dirty hand, Thomas

Inhaling deeply, Thomas pulled out another cigarette and inhaled deeply. The calming sensation of the smoke filling his lungs allowed Thomas to open the envelope again. Just as she’d said, enclosed was a photograph. The girl in the photograph looked hardly nineteen. Her hair was a dark shade which Thomas could imagine must have matched Ernest’s own chocolate brown. Though, her eyes looked less like the same dark brown of her brother’s it was difficult to tell from the photo; though, there was a distinct light in them. Her lips were turned up into a shy smile like she wasn’t sure whether she ought to be smiling for the camera or not. Helen Greene was a lovely young woman decided Thomas.

Sighing, Thomas looked around. Quickly he noted another soldier who was penning a letter of their own nearby. The soldier was kind enough to offer him a piece of paper and allow Thomas to borrow his pen as he’d just finished his own letter. He felt a certain sense of urgentness about finishing his response for several reasons one being the mail carrier would leave soon and the second being the tunnel. Thomas would be going down into the tunnels very soon.

---

end note: Tommy’s letter back will be in the next part ;D

Taglist: none (send me an ask if you’d like to be added)

[agentelmo]

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

“Fire”

Previous episode analysis - 1x11 Eve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tally ho, pip pip, cheerio!  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I don’t remember that episode.

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

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

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

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

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

Until Scully, of course.

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

Just get fucking married, already.

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

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

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

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

Nicolas Cage, is that you?

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

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

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

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

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

Aaaaaaanyway, back to Fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously, dis bitch man.  Scully is onto you.

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

That’s my girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah... Almost.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phoebe is fire.

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

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

I’m just sayin’.

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

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

To which he quips back...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway back to Phoebe…

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

So who wants to bet that he might have walked in on Phoebe with another guy?

Remember how Mulder later catches Phoebe with Sir Marsden?  I suspect there’s a mirroring of the past in the present.  You gotta feel for Mulder, though.  It’d be difficult to let go of something you can never unsee with the passage of time to dull the memory.

Not to mention other memories that can’t be dulled; like that one time they fucked in a graveyard, apparently..  Oh good times, good times.

Soooo... Mulder fucked Phoebe on a tombstone?  Yikes.  That’s simultaneously creepy as fuck and so Mulder all at once.

Also, with a bit of Google-foo I discovered that there is no grave for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in Windlesham.  He was originally buried there in a rose garden, but was exhumed and re-interred in Hampshire in 1955 – as far as I can tell, there is nothing left at the original Windlesham grave site.  1955 is long before Mulder and Phoebe would have been there.  So… yeah.  Whoever’s tombstone they were fucking on, it wasn’t sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s.

Perhaps there’s a metaphor for their relationship in that.  A complete lie?  A huge error in judgement?  That which appeared to be something it wasn’t?  You could go on forever.

Dana, babe... you need to get a freakin’ light bulb up in that office.  No wonder the two of you wear glasses -- that poor lighting is not doing your eyesight any favours.

Next we see that Scully -- despite Mulder’s insistence that she not get involved -- has decided to help him anyway.   

There are two reasons for this. First, she’s feeling insecure, she’s been dismissed by Phoebe and, to a lesser extent, Mulder too.  The two of them are still feeling each other out and defining the parameters of their working relationship, so I think there is a part of her that seeks some kind of approval from Mulder.  She is determined to assert her worth.  She’s worked with him long enough to know he can use her help; but I think a part of her wants to prove to Mulder that she can’t be so easily replaced as his partner.

The second reason is simply because she’s feeling protective over him after hearing about his history with Phoebe.  She can see he’s vulnerable and it concerns her -- she’s never seen him like that before, and she’s quick to fly into protective mode when she feels he’s in harms way.

What I love is that Scully proves her worth with flying colours.  Coming up with a stellar profile which pegs the guy perfectly.

Seriously, who is the profiler between these two?  Seems the majority of the profiling we’ve seen thus far has come from Scully.

She has the presence of mind to check immigration records for British citizens with a connection to the Marsden’s or previous victims that have recently come into the United States.

She also correctly analyses which accelerant he is likely using.

 As well as how he uses it.

Cough syrup?

Paint?

She does all this work without a sniff of help from Mulder or Phoebe.  They’re too busy fawning over each other and planning a little fuck buddy interlude at a swanky hotel.

All the while Scully is getting the job done.

She is forever the MVP of the series.  Seriously, Mulder and Phoebe would have been up fudge creek without a paddle if she wasn’t working the case.

The next scene with Mulder and Phoebe seems to lay the foundation for why Mulder finds himself being drawn back into Phoebe’s thrall.  

He shares his theory with her that the arsonist has some kind of pyrokinetic ability and Phoebe agrees without batting an eyelid.  Mulder laughs at her because he’s quite taken aback by this.  He’s more used to Scully who would have challenged him -- grounded him -- and got him to think of how what he’s suggesting could be scientifically possible.

Without that challenge, Mulder doesn’t even consider how the killer is doing it beyond “he did it with his magic fire!”  Thus missing the significance what Scully is investigating -- the accelerant.

Mulder has a bit of an issue with confirmation bias, so as soon as he gets even the slightest inkling of some kind of paranormal goings on, he will straight away gravitate towards avenues of investigation that prove his theory.  People agreeing with him plays into his egomania – having this beautiful, “brilliant”, woman agreeing with him is gonna get his “juices flowing” too.  But it also blindsides him -- this is a man that needs to be challenged.

While investigating apart on this case, they are coming at it from their own unique point of view, but both are missing a significant piece of the puzzle that they fill for each other.  If Mulder hadn’t ditched Scully they would have arrived at the complete answer by now.  That the killer cannot control fire, he does not have pyrokinesis necessarily, but he does have the unique ability to ignite fires if a powerful enough accelerant is present.  

In Fire, Mulder hasn’t fully recognised it yet, but this is the unique and beautiful dynamic that makes them perfect partners.  As he later says in season 11′s Nothing Lasts Forever -- they are reason and faith in harmony.  It’s been their magic formula from the very beginning.

Unfortunately their harmony is being stifled.  Mulder is distracted by Phoebe -- her agreement has flattered him, stroked his ego, and with that she goes in for the kill -- easily seducing him with an offer of spending the night together. 

It’s bittersweet to go back and watch this episode now; seeing Mulder pass Scully over in hopes of bedding Phoebe, knowing what we know now; what Mulder will come to realise.  That the woman who is perfect for him is the one that’s always right next to him. 

Ah the folly of youth, eh?

Oh Mulder...

He’s such a pathetic puppy.  The idea of getting laid gets him all giddy.

I think what you can take away from this, is how over the fucking moon he would have been in All Things when Scully comes to his bed.  I mean, can you imagine? 😂😂

Theeeeen it’s awkward-conversation-with-Scully time.  Mulder is clearly not focused on the case at this point, he is far more invested in getting his head away than catching this arsonist because Scully is there saying hey, I might know who this guy is, and he’s like, “yeeeeeeeah, that’s nice, but this is not a good time for me soooo...”

I mean, wtf Mulder!  Sir Marsden’s family is at risk, he has a wife and children.  People have been burnt to death by this guy and you’re all nah, sorry Scully I haven’t got time to solve the case, I am kinda busy right now trying to get laid.

Fuck. Me.  What a douche nozzle.

Look at Scully’s face at the end of the phone conversation.  She’s not liking this new side of Mulder at all.  She keeps pushing against his obvious resistance because she believes he’s ditching her in favour of Phoebe.  Her insecurity is more palpable here -- but this isn’t necessarily romantically driven.  I think she’s feeling insecure as his partner; like she’s being replaced.  Whereas Mulder just wants to fuck Phoebe; working with her is actually beside the point.  Poor Scully.

Then it’s the scene you’ve all been dreading!  Yep, it’s the dance/kiss scene.

So it starts with Mulder milling around the hotel lobby waiting for Phoebe to arrive, but she ignores him and walks straight by.  Mulder was clearly thinking they will be spending the evening together as well as the evening together, if you catch my drift.

It suggests that Mulder was actually interested in rekindling their relationship -- he was planning on a romantic evening with Phoebe  I mean, look at what he’s wearing.  He’s “undercover” but he could have gone as a bodyguard to one of the other guests, or as a member of staff to give him more freedom to move around without raising suspicion.  But no, he’s dressed to attend the party, not to stand guard dog outside of it.

He wanted to dress up for her.  I don’t think he was just in it for a one night stand.  He loved Phoebe once, and I think if she didn’t fuck him over later in this episode, he was in very real danger of falling in love with her again -- her betrayal pulled him back from that precipice.

Let’s not think about that too much.

He looks vaguely pathetic standing in the hallway, desperately waiting for Phoebe to throw him a bone.  

Phoebe, of course, wouldn’t want Mulder and Sir Marsden in the same room together since she’s playing both of them.  Yet, despite the fact she’s ditched him the entire evening, with just the tiniest scrap of attention, he’s eating out of her palm again.   

She truly does have a power over him.  For some reason he is enthralled by her, and it seems to be related not just to her beauty, but her intelligence, her “brilliance” as he called it.

But you know who else fits that criteria?  Yeah, not even gonna say it.

Scully is genius-level brilliant.  It’s a very rare occurrence when she’s not the smartest person in the room.  She was perhaps less conventionally attractive for the 90′s. She has a 1950′s Lauren Bacall-esque screen goddess look to her, especially in seasons 1-3.

Which is my only explanation for why people fall all over themselves when Phoebe is on screen but seemingly fail to notice Scully at all.  Oh that, and...

So back to this dagger-through-the-heart scene... Phoebe uses sex to lure Mulder in several times in the episode, and it happens again during this scene.

Scully arrives in time to see them start dancing and is more irritated, or fed up, than jealous.  She’s arrived at entirely the wrong moment and now she has to wait.

This episode does then establish that Scully wasn’t in love with Mulder this early on.  Attracted to him sure – but not so attached that she would be jealous of him with another woman.  We know exactly what that looks like for Scully, and when that woman is jealous she is completely incapable of hiding it.

As much shit as they’ve been through together at this point, it has still only been a matter of months since they met.

Although I think she does experience a bit of a sting when she sees them kissing – rolling her eyes at him.  This wasn’t what she came up here for.

She’s there to work, to focus on the-- wait....  WAIT.  WAIT.

Is that butt groping I see, Mulder?!

It fucking is!

That horny, sex-starved, puppy is just gagging for it!  GAGGING.

Fuck.  Seriously, in All Things I think he must have all but attacked Scully.

ANYWAY.

Scully is there to work, to focus on the case, while Mulder... well... 

Mulder is distracted by a handful of ass cheek and a tongue down his throat, it seems.  

It might be crossing her mind that she had decided to forego her own love life to work with him on the X-FIles back in The Jersey Devil.  She’d berated him for not having a life, and yet, here he is.  A taste of her own medicine, perhaps?  Let’s not forget, Mulder had a similar scene waiting for Scully as she went on a date, staring at the clock looking miserable.  

I suspect she’s probably also wondering what the hell happened to trying to avoid getting ensnared in the flames of Phoebe Green??

Scully then stops dead in her tracks as she sees Creeper McCreeperson hiding in the foliage.

But she doesn’t get the chance to think about that for too long before she spots that there is a fire on the 14th floor.  She rushes out to tell Mulder and Phoebe and then proceeds to raise the alarm in the rest of the building.

Dana Katherine Scully -- MVP.

Phoebe informs them both that the children are on the 14th floor, and so Mulder, being the action hero that he is, decides to go up there -- people need help and so he will save them, that’s his edict in life.  No matter how difficult it is for him, he’s going to try because that’s what he tells himself he must do.  In the psychotherapeutic sense, he is every bit a “rescuer”.  A person who feels connection to others through saving them.  It’s how he has learnt to relate to other people.  

The rescuer identity usually emerges in childhood in reaction to a feeling of powerlessness.  The child may have experienced their parents as emotionally unavailable, distant and unable to meet their emotional needs.  With these needs being unmet, the child learns to experience love and connection vicariously through meeting the needs of others.

Think about it.  Mulder lost his sister when he was supposed to be looking after her, and in his memory of these events he is powerless to stop her abduction -- no matter what he tries; grabbing a gun, screaming for help; nothing works.  We know from the Pilot that his parents refused to talk about what happened to Samantha and as a result the family fell apart -- his parents divorced and the first chance he got, Mulder got as far away from them as he could; going to Oxford.

To compensate for this trauma; the unimaginable weight of guilt and powerlessness he felt to save Samantha, he saves anyone and everyone he can.  This way he can sooth that voice in his head; the voice that tells him he is worthless, unlovable.  From his 12 year old perspective, his parents withdrew their love when he failed to save Samantha, and so now his self-worth is tied up in a need save -- if he can save someone, he is worthy of love.

So regardless of how terrified he is, he goes head first into the fire to save those children.  

He doesn’t want to do it, in his mind, he has no choice.

In a way, it makes me wonder if that’s why he took back Phoebe despite the fact she cheated on him.  Perhaps he saw her flaws, saw her destructive behaviour and believed her could save her.  Men and women often fall into the trap of believing they can change their partners through love.  Perhaps Mulder believed if he loved Phoebe enough, she would change -- that effectively, he would save her?

Poor Mulder.  He pushes himself to the point of passing out to save those kids, but fails.  While everyone else, including Phoebe, is fawning over Creeper McCreeperson for ultimately being the one to save them...

...it’s Scully who searches for Mulder and immediately goes to him when she sees he needs her help.   Regardless of where she falls on Mulder’s priority list, he’s always at the top of hers.

This whole hotel scene really tells you everything you need to know about how these two women feel about Mulder.

One casually discards him when it’s convenient, while the other will wait for him, and be there for him even when he doesn’t ask for it.

Even when he pushes her away.

The next scene emphasises this further, with Scully sitting at his bedside taking care of him.  Handing him water as he chugs up his innards and the first thing out of his mouth is...

The script notes for this scene are well known now.  Mulder apparently wakes to see Scully and muses on the fact this was not the woman he had anticipated ending up in bed with.

Chris Carter’s writing, everybody. 

Thankfully Scully is sensitive enough to his shame and embarrassment that she doesn’t give him a hard time.  In fact, she’s mothering him, using that soft, gentle, loving voice that she usually reserves for talking to children.   

She’s trying to sooth him, knowing he is going to be hard on himself.

When she asks what happened, he is entirely honest with Scully.  They have established a level of emotional intimacy in this episode that they’ve not touched on since Mulder’s emotional confession of his childhood bedtime ritual in Conduit.

This intimacy gives Mulder a feeling of safety that I suspect he hasn’t experienced in a long time.  He can be wholly open with Scully, all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities laid bare for her.  Represented physically by his walking around almost naked in front of her, wearing nothing but black silky boxers.

Oh Mulder, he really goes all out when he think’s he’s gonna get some.  Which just makes me think all sorts of fun thoughts about Mulder and Scully’s season 7 sex life.

(Here ya go, @allyinthekeyofx these gifs are dedicated to you.)  😉

There’s a significant shift in Phoebe’s behaviour when she enters the room.  First, she directly addresses Scully, and holds a whole conversation with her.  Shocker!  She dismisses a piece of vital information Scully gives her, of course, but she still has noticeably adjusted her approach to her.  She doesn’t seem to be treating her as a threat anymore.

When Mulder comes back in and sees Phoebe, he suddenly becomes conscious of his body, of his exposure and vulnerability, so immediately covers himself.  

The difference in the level of intimacy he feels safe sharing with these two women is clearly drawn by such a simple gesture.

It then becomes apparent why Phoebe is behaving differently, she is returning to England.  Mulder is clearly disappointed to hear she’s leaving.  Again, reinforcing the idea that perhaps he was hoping for more than a one night stand.  Was he hoping she would stay in the US for him?

Phoebe’s dwindled interest in Mulder is palpable.  She seems to have given up her romantic pursuit, no longer bothering to ostracise Scully.  She politely, and it seems genuinely, bids her goodbye as she leaves. 

Knowing full well what she’s just witnessed -- Mulder essentially being dumped -- Scully is ever protective.  Looking out for him once again.  It’s a shame you can’t hear gifs, because it’s all in that soft, gentle, tentative tone of voice she uses when she asks him...

Mulder is clearly deflated, but I love the next exchange between the two of them.

This is Scully’s chance to shine, to prove herself to him.  She basically single-handedly solves the case and discovers who the arsonist is after Phoebe and Mulder spectacularly failed.

She’s clearly making a point to him in outlining the entirety of her investigation.  She wants him to know exactly how much she has done.  Mulder seems to be only vaguely interested.

That is until she gets to the climax of her little tale, and he flips into overdrive realising they now have what they need to find this guy.

Scully’s face as Mulder leaps into action is perfect.  That smug smile of satisfaction.

Whose “brilliant” now, eh?

Mulder flies over to Cape Cod to warn Phoebe, only to find her wrapped in the arms of Sir Marsden.  Oh hey, I made these gifs already!

Mulder’s face... It all makes sense to him now.  This was all just another game.  She played him, and she played him good.

But it seems Mulder has finally learnt his lesson.  Fool me once, and all that.

Since it was clear Mulder hadn’t fully let go of his feelings for Phoebe in 10 years, I’d say this was a good thing for him.  If she had gone home and he was left to pine over her, that would have been disastrous.  So it worked out for the best, if a little painfully for Mulder.

It’s called tough love, bitch.  Suck it up.

After this moment, Mulder’s entire demeanour with Phoebe changes – he’s put his barriers back up, and the detached Mulder tone comes out.

He’s looking at her like he can’t quite believe he almost fell for it again.

When Scully arrives later, she can tell straight away that Mulder is upset.

Again, Mulder… what you are looking for is right in front of you.  He brushes it off, but she’s watching him intently.  She’s so protective of him, it’s so sweet.

So they discover that the arsonist is not the driver, but is in fact the caretaker, and as we know, has painted up the house with argotypoline -- rocket fuel.  

In a repeat of the hotel scenario, the children are up stairs in a building that starts going up in smoke.

Mulder valiantly but stupidly tries to put the fires out.  Bath towel vs. rocket fuel, Mulder.  Seriously?

Finally realising that whacking a rocket fuel fire with a towel is the stupidest thing he’s ever done whilst sober, Mulder orders everyone out of the room.

However, Mulder does find a moment to continue his hand’s love affair with Scully’s back.  All in the midst of facing his darkest fear of fire – nice!

Now this is going off book a bit, but I get the sense that there was supposed to be some kind of scene where Scully is in danger in the fire and Mulder overcomes his fears to save her.

I say this because there is a cut line of dialogue from the original script where Scully says “don’t let it be said that you wouldn’t want through fire for a woman” and Mulder apparently replies “and don’t let it be said that I wouldn’t do it for you again, Scully.”

To whoever it was that decided to cut that.  CC, I’m looking at you.

I mean, that’s pretty heavy handed stuff… perhaps they realised it was a bit too heavy handed for a show that was supposedly never going to put these two together romantically.

If it had been left in, it would have drawn a clear parallel between Phoebe and Scully.  Still along the vein that the episode is already toying with throughout, but those lines of dialogue would have made it far more blatant.  The comparison being that Phoebe is fire – she is a tormentor, a symbol of sexual desire and emotional pain for Mulder.   As such, his relationship with her compounded his fear; she feeds them.  Whereas Scully is a soothing, caring presence.  A symbol of love and friendship, and emotional healing for Mulder.  As such, his relationship with her helps him to overcome his fear.

The episode does still maintain certain aspects of this – once Mulder has severed his bond with Phoebe, and reunites with Scully, he does put himself between others and the blaze, trying to put it out.  He also takes control of the situation and orders everyone out of the house.  He’s no longer freezing at the sight of fire.

I really like that as they shuffle everyone out of the house, Mulder tells Scully to find a fire extinguisher but tells everyone else to get out.   It’s him and Scully again – together as partners, she’s the one he trusts to have his back.

Mulder, Gawd bless him, summons up the courage to face his fear without needing to save Scully in the end, its having the chance to vindicate his earlier failure at saving the children that motivates him to push forward.

Bless this brave puppy.

Success!

But yeah, being pulled from a burning building twice in one night?  Those kids are fucked.  Traumatised for life.

So remember I said there was some interesting symbolism with the camera work in the opening of the episode.  Well, now we’re at the end, the framing has flipped.  Mulder and Scully are reunited as partners on the screen, and now, with Phoebe’s influence over Mulder dashed, she is framed as separate from the two -- the true outsider.

The final scene is very sweet, and symbolic of Mulder and Scully restoring their equilibrium as they return to the casual bantering we saw from them in the beginning of the episode, before Phoebe showed up.

Where we started was that Phoebe was the one in on the joke, now she’s the butt of it.  Scully does have a fun side too.  

I just gotta say, she looks especially beautiful in this scene, thankfully this was a good wardrobe day for her.  Season 1 was very hit and miss.

Scully asks where Phoebe is, and Mulder, clearly more relaxed than we’ve seen him the entire episode, shrugs – he doesn’t know, and seemingly doesn’t care to.

Now if we were to get the romcom ending, Mulder would have noticed all the times Scully was there for him and would have thanked her, or at least recognised that he did need her help after all.  Or maybe he’d tell her he’s thankful she didn’t listen to him when he told her not to help.  But this is the X-Files, so... yeah who the hell do you think you’re kidding?

Phoebe also sends Mulder another tape, but he doesn’t need to hear it.  He’s free of her thrall now, and so there’s nothing she could say that would be meaningful to him anymore.

Would have been a nice touch to see him drop the tape in the trash, but I think we get the idea.  It took 10 long years, but Fox Mulder is finally over Phoebe Green.

Next up… My favourite episode of season 1.  1x13 - Beyond the Sea.

[shirlleycoyle]

Meet The Redditors Using Astral Projection to Escape Quarantine

Late last year, the internet was crackling with plans to stage a million-strong raid on the supposed alien stronghold, Area 51. Now, with the COVID-19 pandemic forcing everyone to quarantine at home, venturing farther than the local park seems like a dream from a lost reality.

But what if there was a way to explore our planet that didn't put us in harm's way and was more stimulating than scrolling through Google Earth? And what if, while we were at it, we could storm Area 51 too?

According to a group of paranormal enthusiasts on Reddit, astral projection could be the vehicle we need.

Falling somewhere between a lucid dream and a near-death experience, astral projection is the sensation of separating from your physical self, keeping your mind awake while your body is asleep. Early records of the practice trace back to the Roman Empire. Experiences feel profound, and astral travelers have even claimed to learn things they otherwise couldn't have known.

Today, thousands of practitioners not only trade success stories for consciousness-expanding cosmic exploration, but have built a network to share techniques for traversing time and space using a toolkit available to everyone—the human mind.

Reddit's /R/AstralArmy is a focal point for the psychically curious to embark on out-of-body “missions” to off-limits locations, including military bases, Wuhan, the Pentagon, and supposed hives of paranormal activity like Skinwalker Ranch. The idea is intriguing: if you could go anywhere at all, what secrets could you learn?

A nineteen-year-old Wisconsinite who goes by Commander XXX told Motherboard via voice call that he started the subreddit (motto: “projection for protection”) because he was intrigued by the possibilities of group astral projection.

Here's how he says it works: the traveller creates an “astral scape” by visualizing a location in great detail. How do you visualize somewhere you've never been? Well, you use your imagination.

Then, you connect this visualization to a “sigil,” an occult symbol that is energized with a certain intent. By meditating on this sigil and recalling it in the out-of-body state, you can use it as a shortcut to the desired location, mirroring fast-travel in a video game. There's even a sigil for hanging out together, like an astral group DM.

There is a long history of out-of-body experiences (or OBEs) as religious events, with biblical explanations concerning the soul, or more recently, 19th-century new-age spiritualism. Today, there's reams of discussion on faith forums about whether astral projection is real, allowed within a religious framework, or simply total nonsense.

One group that took OBEs seriously was the US government’s Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA).

In 1995, the CIA declassified details of the DIA's nearly two decades of psychic research, the $20 million Stargate Project. From 1978, the program investigated the potential for psychic spying during the Cold War. Some of the wildest accounts of “remote viewing” entail visiting civilizations inhabiting the red rocks of Mars.

Skeptics ultimately lambasted the project. But the archive continues to fascinate parapsychology researchers, and clearly inspires Reddit's astral travelers.

"Most people are pretty basic astral projectors," Commander said, amid a baffling explanation that their missions are not necessarily representative of physical locations, but could be muddied by the interplay of how thoughts impact reality. His argument is that you never know if anything is objectively true anyway, a concept about competing forms of perception that is not as far-fetched as it first appears.

"We choose to believe what we want to believe for the most part," he said. "I don't think astral projection is any less a question of being real, as the physical."

Some of the Redditors who had claimed to infiltrate the Pentagon or the White House reported running up against barriers that prevented them from exploring further, feeling physically drained, or in one case, encountering astral Green Beret-esque guards.

Others made even more extraordinary claims, including encountering a moon base protected by a gigantic bubble, and speaking to nautical folk legend Davy Jones aboard the ghost ship, The Flying Dutchman—a conjoining of myths pioneered by The Pirates of the Caribbean. Some of this, I felt, stretched the realms of believability, and I wondered if this was an elaborate form of crowdsourced role-playing.

**

But the group isn’t setting out to convince anyone, including me: they just wanted to discuss their experiments in consciousness undisturbed. Commander didn't care whether people believed, and would rather mainstream science did not investigate.

Some scientists are interested in out-of-body experiences, however.

Jane Aspell, a cognitive neuroscientist at Cambridge's Anglia Ruskin University, told Motherboard that one of the first studies was led by Olaf Blanke, who sought to determine whether people who had undergone these experiences had anything in common—say, brain damage.

Blanke discovered a shared abnormality among five patients—four with epilepsy, and one who suffered frequent migraines—in the temporal parietal junction (TPJ), a part of the brain which deals with cognitive function and perception.

Suggesting a link between the TPJ and OBEs is a 2007 paper about a 63-year-old man who had intractable tinnitus and was implanted with electrodes to alleviate his condition. Instead, the researchers found they were able to consistently induce OBEs in the patient by stimulating these regions with the electrodes.

But the very nature of OBEs—that they tend to occur erratically, if at all—means they're incredibly difficult to study in a lab.

"We think this area is not functioning correctly, either because of damage, epilepsy, migraine, a stroke—or all kinds of reasons," said Aspell. "Or by stimulating it you can cause it to behave abnormally, so any kind of abnormal activity in this area can give rise to an out-of-body experience."

Whatever is happening, there's still much that's unknown.

"What they see can be very detailed," said Aspell. "They can see objects in the room, maybe people in the room, and obviously they're not really seeing it from there. But what's in this person's brain knows what's in the room because they've looked at it at some point. The brain is somehow reconstructing how that room would look from above. It's as if you had to draw a picture of your office or your bedroom for a bird's eye view—you could do that mental transformation consciously.”

"The brain is able to do it spontaneously, in a very rich and vivid way. We don't know how that can happen," she added.

Astral projection has never been proven in a scientifically controlled way, but Aspell doesn't think most experiencers are lying.

"They're as old as humanity, I think," she said, adding they may not even be limited to our species—chimpanzees might be having them too.

There's also a proposed link between quantum physics and consciousness. While perhaps the most famous OBEr in science, Dr Susan Blackmore, has put distance between her own experiences and these theories, the ideas persist.

Anthony Peake, who authored The Out Of Body Experience: The History and Science of Astral Travel, took me on a whirlwind tour of quantum physics, theorizing that entanglement, where particles are innately linked by some special quality, suggests instantaneous communication at a distance could be possible. If every particle that exists has a single source (the Big Bang) can we perhaps tune into "certain information fields non-locally?" Peake suggests maybe this is what happens when we travel out of our bodies.

But Dr Alastair Butcher, author of Super Smart Science: Astrophysics Made Easy, said that although seemingly instantaneous communication occurs between certain particles, there's no way of externally accessing this information. "These phenomena are extraordinary and throw up questions about the nature of quantum mechanics and, therefore, reality itself," Butcher told Motherboard.

"There are many interpretations of quantum mechanics, each with interesting implications. However, they're not currently provable or, more importantly, disprovable,” Butcher continued. “It's tempting to take one and run with it, especially as an explanatory device for something else not fully understood such as consciousness. However, this is an unscientific and in many cases unprovable approach to determining the nature of things."

Clearly, the only way I'd be able to see if there was something to all this would be to try it out myself.

Short of stimulating my TPJ by jamming a q-tip deep into my ear, I would have to rely on tried and tested techniques to astrally say "hiya" to my target: my cat, Zeus, who I'm cruelly separated from at this time.

I had a head start: a decade ago, I started lucid dreaming regularly during a period of insomnia. Being generally anxious, these perturbations spilled into my dreams, so when I reached the buzzing sensation practitioners associate with bodily separation, I would awake in a panic. Rather than roll out of body and into the cosmos, I'd roll out of my bed and onto the floor.

I tried the "Wake Back To Bed Technique" first. You wake up and go back to bed, holding the intent to astrally separate. The “back to bed” part was easy, but that's all that happened for me beyond better dream recall.

Next, I experimented with a technique an /r/AstralArmy mod outlined for me called “half-projection,” which is a little like remote viewing.

Although I could clearly visualize Zeus, I wasn't convinced I really was using some innate psychic ability to grossly impinge upon his privacy. I could easily have been merely imagining the one activity I know he gets up to day in, day out: waiting between refills of his crunchies bowl.

The author's cat Zeus was the first target of astral spying.

I turned to the organization that had perhaps achieved more than any other in popularizing out-of-body experiences, the Monroe Institute, founded by the guy the Simpsons loosely based Dr Marvin Monroe on. Monroe, a former radio executive and author of Journeys Out Of The Body, was mystified by his OBEs, and financed efforts to better understand them, especially with sound design, using himself as a test subject.

He found something called binaural beats could expedite inducing OBEs, and these would be developed into the Institute's patented “Hemi-Sync” meditations.

According to Luigi Sciambarella of the Monroe Institute UK, binaural beats consist of two separate sine waves played independently to each ear. To square the difference, the brain generates a beat frequency of its own.

For example, if you play 100 Hz in your left ear and 104 Hz in the right, the brain cancels the competing sounds and leaves you with a 4 Hz pulse, not actually in the audio file, but generated by the brain.

Sciambarella claims that with practice, listeners can lull themselves into a "mind-awake, body-asleep state" with relative ease after about ten minutes.

Anyone can try a free sampler. You have to pay hundreds of dollars for more, though—or just look on YouTube.

Sciambarella says that other reasons for using the tools could include personal growth or tapping into the creative qualities of the mind. In the same way that “mindfulness” exercises claim to help us pay attention to our waking lives, he believes OBEs can help us pay more attention to our sleeping selves.

Sciambarella says these “mind awake, body asleep states” occur on a spectrum. While we may think of OBEs as peeling away from your physical body, the Institute views them as "moving out of connection with our physical body to different degrees."

Daydreaming—which comprises almost half our waking life, according to researchers at Harvard University—is somewhere on that spectrum, for example. Sciambarella compares it to a familiar car ride: your body operates on autopilot while your mind's elsewhere.

This all made me feel better about my failure to explore moon bases with a lunar sigil. But I still wasn't getting very far.

Sciambarella offered some advice: Start small with visualization exercises where you engage your imagination in easily repeatable actions, like playing with a door handle. Intention is key, too. And relax.

Even with that guidance, I haven't managed to leave my corporeal self behind. While I'm doubtful I'll be exchanging ripostes with Davy Jones soon, my psychic disembodiment efforts have allowed me to reach states of relaxed stupor I hadn't thought possible.

Given the isolated nature of our current reality, there's hardly been a more opportune time for inward reflection. If that leads to outward psychic adventures, well, that's a bonus.

Meet The Redditors Using Astral Projection to Escape Quarantine syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Crush - Chapter 4. The Break

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: I’m SO enjoying editing this, it’s fantastic. It feels like a relationship backwards and something completely different. Love it. Thanks for reading and reblogging and wanting to be tagged!

Tags:  @iammarylastar @badassbaker @pathybo @mimigemrose@frecklefaceb @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @lauraaan182 @kenzieam @tigpooh67

Eric lets her pull him inside, his hand loose in hers, but Abbey keeps her grip tight.

Eric peers around him for the briefest of moments, taking in his surroundings out of habit. It's clean and tidy, mainly dark stained wood, and a lot smaller than it looks from the outside. The kitchen and living space is crammed together but that's all he can make out from the lack of light.

Abbey leads him through a small doorway to a square hallway, only there to connect the bathroom and bedroom and only big enough for two people to stand in at the same time. Eric has to keep himself from sneering at the stupid Amity design and lack of imagination.

Gleefully, he latches back onto Abbey in front of him, her robe floating behind her. It seemed his luck was in. She's offered him her company for the night - he had no plans to abuse it however, if anything he was enjoying spending time with her.

Abbey turns back and smiles at him. "It's probably far from Dauntless, isn't it?" She let's go of his hand, leaving him in the doorway and crosses the room to sit on her bed.

"You're not wrong."

Eric mulls over her room, a typical woman's room, apart from the fact it was dressed typically Abbey. A dark, wooden framed bed with white sheets and far too many pillows that one person would ever possibly need, sat positioned out into the room from the farthest wall. There were floating net curtains by the only window with a dreamcatcher to one side, a dresser with a mirror on top with personal vanity lotions and other things he didn't particularly care for sitting opposite the end of the bed. What grabs him the most are the roughly stuck pictures around her mirror, and he casually strolls over to them.

A picture of her parents, Abbey with some straw hat on her head holding up the biggest, sickeningly sweet bunch of flowers she could possibly have found. More pictures of flowers… He eventually lands on one of interest and he recognizes the picture well. Eric flicks it, admiring the young girl and baby-faced boy. "Seriously, you have got to get over me…"

"Ha-ha, very funny." He peers over his shoulder, smirking at her before turning back and unsticking it from the edge of the mirror. Abbey crumples her face up, detesting the way he was destroying her room and untouched organization – and also for the fact that he really didn't care either. "I like the picture. We came second in our presentation. It was a proud moment for us and my parents."

Eric huffs, rolling his eyes, his thoughts roaming onto all the ways he was always placed second. Second to Four, second to Abbey's fiancée, second in biology… He tags it back messily and turns to face her. She looks tired, so he's not going to keep her any longer. "So, who's taking the floor?"

Abbey shrugs. "No one. Kind of thought we'd share? We're both adults and it's not like we haven't before." She plays with the bed sheets, suddenly peering up at him. "Don't tell me, Dauntless has led you to be too used to sleeping alone?"

Eric steps in front of her and continues to watch him from her seated position. "From time to time I'm not always alone…"

"Good, so it shan't be any bother, then." She stands, her head reaching to just below his neck. She was getting all moody with him and his eyes dance playfully over her. "Stop looking at me like that!" He pouts. "Or that!" She laughs and eventually, she falls quiet, gazing up at him.

Was she expecting something? … Now, this was awkward.

"You going to sleep in your full Dauntless uniform, or?" Abbey doesn't wait and lets the light robe fall off her shoulders. She nimbly chucks it to one side, still standing before him – he notes the way that just under the silky material of her mint-green vest and matching shorts, that she is definitely not wearing a bra, so that meant - no underwear either.

One of her hands reaches out to him and he sighs, flicking his eyes back and forth between her face and how her hands work against his jacket, loosening the poppers, then yanking on the zip underneath. "I can undress myself." He lets the words rumble from his throat rather than spitting them nastily. He didn't really want her to stop.

Keeping his eyes down on her. She doesn't look up and ignores him, motioning for him to take it off, watching him furtively, the air so thick it could burst. Abbey's small hands find the bottom of his vest and she pulls it up a fraction revealing the pale flesh underneath, then meets his eye.

A silent exchange happens. Eric couldn't really place what it was, and his heart felt suddenly like a ton of lead.

He takes off his vest fluidly and throws it to one side, presenting her with finely defined muscles that held themselves taut from years of work. Abbey finds it hard not to look down to the V of his waist, counting the ab's he had kept hidden from her till now. "Roids are really bad for you, you know…" Eric covers an airy chuckle, and she breaks away to the light, flicking it off, leaving just an orangey glow from the lamp beside the bed.

Abbey flips back the sheets and slides herself in, waiting for Eric to finish undressing. Their escapades had gotten way too personal and deep, leaving her a little strangely breathless. Eric pretends that he can't hear it and makes his way over, hesitating for a fraction of a second before getting in himself while Abbey turns off the lamp.

He feels too highly strung that he may not sleep, a tension in his shoulders and a small tingling down his arms… Until Abbey does what she does best – talks. "So, there is no one waiting for you at home?"

"Never has been." Eric shuffles till he's comfortable on his back, looking up at the ceiling. But he's fully aware that she's facing him.

"So, you just find someone who's favorable that night and take them back to yours?"

Yeah, it was pretty much like that – "They're gone after an hour, it's nothing special." And it only made him feel shitty afterward… until the next manly urge took a hold of him. "Wouldn't be jealous now, would you, Abbey?"

She snorts into her pillow laughing, any other person he'd probably shove off the bed and tell them how vile they are, but with her, it's attractive. "You are so smooth. Where do you get this shit?" – she was mocking his simplistic flirting methods, which was just drawing a word out longer than usual…

"Years of practice." He turns his head fractionally towards her. "You should get some sleep."

The blackened room makes their silhouettes just visible, and Eric can see Abbey's bright eyes shining up at him more than anything else. She shifts till she's touching him, then grabs his arm, throwing it up and placing herself at his side, lying her head on his chest and arm wrapped around her.

Her warmth seeps over him and for a minute he's ridged but gives in when he can feel her breathing against his chest.

Eric would never let any old woman sleep near him. He'd be toe punting them out the door the minute he got his fix. But the fleeting thought occurs that perhaps after all this time, that this was why. He just hadn't gotten over Abbey, and by the looks of her, she hadn't either.

"I've missed you," she tells him. "…I had no idea." Her aching voice vibrates against his chest. "Everything's messed up."

Eric pulls her closer, running a hand over her back in comfort, still managing to feel her spine even through the material. It may have been a selfish act before, maybe even whimsical to get Abbey back, but it was so much deeper than he had realized. The journey was harsher, the reality raw.

Eric opens his mouth to say something and she digs her fingers into his body. "It's okay, I know you don't like that kind of stuff." She sniffs and now he's unsure as to whether she's crying or not. The ape-like instinct to grip her head back and search for evidence surely wouldn't go down well.

"Just hold me… like this… just for a while," she pleads.

God, why did he have to be such a cottoned dick? But the simple fact was he actually couldn't openly trust his emotions being aired. He could air hers, memories - but his feelings, no. He was spineless. Emotions and feelings had represented weakness to him for far too long that he mentally ignored them, he'd never realized how powerful they could be.

When Abbey's breathing becomes softer, slower, he allows his own itching eyes to close. Tomorrow he will do Abbey a favor. One that would stop her pain.

He was going to find her fiancée, and make him break up with her…

Eric wakes on his side, Abbey's back pushed up against his chest and his arms thrown over her. It's warm and clammy and he has a hard time coming to terms with leaving. But he has multiple jobs to do and he has no idea what the time is now. All he can make out is the bright light shining in through the window and he knows he's already late.

Eric pushes himself away, rolling onto his back and slipping himself carefully out of the bed. He studies her precariously when he redresses, trying not to wake her. Hopefully, he'll find her pain in the ass inconvenience quickly and get the job done before she's any wiser. Then there is the problem with the factionless that needs his attention.

His phone call yesterday was to Max. He'd asked for more men as he had no doubt that in the next few days there would be disruption with the factionless. But with the extra support, he knew they could intervene before anything made its way to Amity.

Eric's first mistake is throwing her front door open and stepping outside without checking who is around. In fact, he didn't really care. They hadn't done anything worthy of gossiping, but still, the other faces that appear wide-eyed in passing make him realize he better do this quick before word gets around. There was still one small problem though, he still didn't even know who he was looking for and he had a strange sense that perhaps he was - for some reason, in hiding. Did he possibly know about their connection? Eric guessed he must, their picture was stuck by the mirror after all.

The best place for him to go and find out was none other than her little friends at the flower shop who would be so willing to give him everything he needs if he so asked. A small wry smile forms on his face as he sets off… today will be interesting, he can feel it in his bones.

Eric went back and showered so quickly he was sure he left soap still in on his skin. But he felt better, tired, but there was excitement lingering in his veins. The same feeling he gets when he knows he's about to do something really bad.

Was it normal to feel that way – in the sense that he enjoyed tension, eerie vibes? He actually didn't give a fuck... Eric strived to get what he wanted and would flatten anyone who got in his way.

Every muscle in his face tenses when the door chimes as he enters. The stench of pollen thick in the air, damp, sweet and sickly. It takes everything not to hold fingers to his nose to block the smell. He scans the room briefly, a bored expression sitting on his face as he puts his hands casually behind his back. It annoys him that no one comes out to check who has entered straight away – until he sees his dear friend Sandra pop her head up from out back. She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights, eyes wide and jittering with unsure looks as if she may be about to be arrested or even attacked.

"Hello, Sandra."

"Abbey's not here."

Eric smiles. No, that's right, she's probably still asleep in the sheets that now smell like him. "I'm actually not looking for Abbey. I was wondering if perhaps you may be able to help me with a little something?"

Sandra looks confused as if she can't possibly fathom what he was talking about and what exactly she could help him with. "Yes, of course…"

"I need to pass a message to Abbey's fiancée, but I've seemingly forgotten his name…"

Sandra's face flushes just a little. "He's one of Mark's men."

Shit… He must've been standing with Johanna when he arrived on the first day and he didn't even realize. That must mean he definitely knows who he is and he has for sure been trying to avoid him. "I need a name, Sandra," Eric snaps, growing impatient.

"Matt, Matt Wallace."

That was all he needed, he could find everything else on his electronic pad. "Thanks," he says abruptly, marching through the door and slamming it shut to the bell chiming behind him.

Finding Matt's details were easy enough. Finding the right words to use, however, was a whole other subject. He had no idea what he was going to say. He was just going to think of something on the spot as per usual.

Eric knew where to find him, he was a bitch of a bitch so it wouldn't be hard. He'd be around Johanna somewhere.

When approaching Johanna's office, he begins to wish he'd left Abbey's shack much more secretly. He's only just made it inside the barn doors when voices shout and reverberate from above him. Stepping on the first step, Mark looks down at him, and for a split second, he swears he sees joy sweep his features.

"Talk of the devil…" Mark says to the yelling voices and there's a load of footsteps echoing above him.

A man pushes passed Mark, looking absolutely frantic, and he knows he's found the Matt he was looking for.

"Matt, I presume?" Eric says rather calmly, watching as Matt's face contorts in anger. Then to his excitement, the young lad barrels himself down the steps towards him, arms outstretched.

Eric allows him to grip his jacket. Maybe he deserved it. He wasn't sure how Amity fellow dealt with emotions like anguish. It was strange to see an Amity so angry, highly entertaining.

Grabbing his jacket would be the only thing he would allow him to do. He knocks Matt's feet out and slams him backward with one arm, pinning him to the ground against the hay and dirt. "Easy, boy."

"Why were you at Abbey's this morning!?" Matt hisses, trying to push against his locked arm to no avail.

"We're friends, Matt. Have been a long time…" Matt then tries to push him harder and Eric slams him into the floor again, knocking some of the tension out of him. "Easy. If it's a fight you're looking for, you won't win. I can assure you that."

"Let him go, Eric!" Johanna screeches from above. The commotion has bought some Dauntless from one of their watches, guns pointed to the blushing guy on the floor.

"Ease down," Eric commands to the guns, motioning with his free hand to lower them while still holding the front of Matt's jacket, keeping him pinned easily to the floor. Eric's gray eyes have glazed over slightly, a little darker than they were before and he peers down to the sweating, grimacing face of Abbey's fiancee. "I think it's about time me and you had a little chat…" Eric picks him up with the same amount of effort he used when he pinned him – nothing, and pats his jacket down from the hay. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, nothing has happened between me and Abbey." He makes sure to tell the room who are all cautiously listening. "We've known each other since Erudite, that's all."

"Everyone out. Eric, Matt, in my office. Sort this out now and then concentrate on the real situation at hand here!" Johanna raises her voice and everyone leaves, bar the Dauntless who Eric signals eventually.

Matt throws a hand to his forehead and rubs roughly till red marks paint on his skin. His dark hair is clinging to his head with sweat and he agitatedly paces once or twice before storming back over to the steps and up.

Eric follows him a little less hasty and Johanna gives him a long look when he gets to the top, pleading with him almost - what for, he wasn't sure.

"Sort this out between the two of you. After today I don't want to hear any more about it. We don't need this kind of negativity on the verge of attack," Johanna lets out loosely, so he guesses that everyone at Amity now knows the shitty situation she's been trying to hide from them.

"I'm all for that," Eric says, smiling, peering between the two, and Matt appears as if he just can't stand to be anywhere near him, opting to stand a good distance away from him.

Johanna leaves with one last look over her shoulder and the barn falls quiet. Eric inhales a large lungful of air. "Let's not beat this round the bush. She doesn't love you." Well – someone had to start somewhere.

Matt laughs, still pacing. "Right. She tell you that?"

"She doesn't have to. I know her extremely well."

"I know that. I didn't know to what extent. I was just letting you guys have your little reunion. But finding out you walked out of her place this morning, that crosses the line!"

"Nothing happened. I give you my word." Eric walks casually and takes a seat in Johanna's chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. "However, I want you to call the wedding off. She's not happy with you."

"Oh right, but she is with you. Does she even know you're here?"

"Not exactly. But I know for a fact she won't marry you. One doubt and Abbey is extremely stubborn. So…" He fixes a steady look on the stressed man in front of him. "I'm going to give you a free get-out-now with a reasonable excuse… Cut your losses and never think about her again."

"Shouldn't this really be Abbey's decision?" Matt crosses his arms, but he's reluctantly absorbing his words.

"She'd never tell you, she's too Amity, so I'm doing it for her. She won't call off the wedding as she doesn't want bad feelings. However, if you call it off, you get to be the asshole for the day, but then everyone gets what they want."

"Everyone gets what they want … and what you want is Abbey."

Eric stands, rounding the table and perching his ass on the edge. "I won't deny it, nor will I acknowledge it. Call off the wedding today. Find Abbey and tell her this morning, and I'll see to it you get a promotion," he shrugs. "You can work alongside the Dauntless watches if that's what you want." When Matt doesn't reply, he shifts to stand. "Look at this way, it's not really an option."

There's a long pause, the young man's heart breaking into tiny pieces in front of him. He almost felt guilty - almost. "Okay. Just - just don't hurt her."

Eric chirps up instantly, gleefully moving towards the stairs on his exit. "I wouldn't dream of it, buddy."

Matt watches as he disappears, sighing to himself extremely audibly. But secretly, deep down – he kind of knew this was going to happen… but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Eric's pristine in his uniform standing tall and particularly intimidating. He's crowded by other Dauntless as he instructs the watches and movements around Amity. "Every two hours, switch back. Take that path that runs alongside the fences, skim the woods. Nothing is to be left unturned. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." They chime between them, and he watches the one in front flick a look over to one side. "Incoming…"

Eric turns to the wrath that is an angry Abbey.

"Here she is!" He steps away from the Dauntless, but they begin to disperse around him anyway. She looks as though she's been crying, or just shouting as she's red in the face – he wasn't really good at this shit.

"You!" is all she says before throwing a right hook into his arm, propelling away from him in agony from crumpling her knuckles on his solid arm muscle. Abbey hisses loudly, throwing her hand around and biting her lip in agony.

"Woah, Ab's! Let me see."

"Stay away from me!" She's still whimpering under her breath. "You are the biggest asshole I've ever known!"

"Oh come on, that's a bit harsh." Eric tries to conceal his amusement, a smile cracking on his lips and it only riles her further.

"You told Matt to call off the wedding! What… you didn't think I was capable? Why do you have to throw yourself into my business?" When he steps forward, she slaps his arm, then again. But it's petty.

"Gossip got around. The same gossip that you were trying to avoid. He confronted me and it slipped out," he shrugs nonchalantly. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. He couldn't exactly tell her that this is what he was planning, but either way, it panned out pretty well for him. "It's better like this, is it not? This is what you ultimately wanted. Even if you couldn't bring yourself to say it."

"Don't test me, Eric. I'm so close to kicking you in the balls, it's unreal…" She paces just like Matt did and Eric begins to wonder if that was a passive Amity thing. 

Abbey's fiery spirit compels him, and after a second he steps forwards, motioning to his head to the people standing around them. "You want to talk about this somewhere else? I mean, we can do it here if you want? I don't really care."

"You've made me look like a bitch! Him an asshole – depending on who believes what in the rumors. No! No, I do not want to talk to you. I don't even want to look at your stupid face!" Abbey begins walking away but he follows her. She walks to the entrance of a stable and filters her way through in the dimmer lighting. "Stop following me!"

"I'll stop following you when you tell me that you don't want me."

Eric folds his arms, and Abbey freezes, her shoulders curled inwards on his words. She doesn't turn, just seems to be taking a moment.

Eric begins closing the distance slowly. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop." A horse nickers to the side of him as he passes and he runs a hand over the muzzle softly. "Say it Ab's." He's now within a few steps from her.

She suddenly shivers as she feels his approach and turns to face him, keeping her eyes downcast. Eric reaches her, tilting her chin up, locking his eyes on hers and watching as her lips part again. His other hand grips onto her shoulder, sliding onto the soft skin of her neck.

"Well?" he asks, faltering slightly as her fingers grip onto the top pockets of his jacket, pulling him forward. He doesn't resist.

"I can't." She brings herself up on her tip-toes, him leaning down to her, their faces fractions from each other as they both hesitate. Eric can't help the shuddering breath that escapes.

And she kisses him.

Very, very gently, almost non-existent at first. He tilts his head back, wondering if he imagined it or not. But the warming sensation is left pulsing as its own evidence.

She pulls him a little more severely - and when their lips collide, a thousand things seem to pass between them that were left unspoken.

The fumbling young boy and clumsy girl were gone.

At one point their teeth clash, and Abbey lets a small moan escape from her throat as Eric's tongue moves faultlessly against hers. He bites at her lip and lets his hands drop to underneath her ass as she jumps and wraps her legs around him easily.

This felt right. Everything felt right.

Two hands sit on either side of his face as she tilts it back and holds him there, practically leaving him wheezing as she covers his mouth again. "You… are such… a chicken shit," she whispers between frantic, long and loud kisses. She rolls her hips on him and his erection is practically fit to burst.

Eric would take her here in front of the horses but he doubts she would appreciate that - and the fact they could be spotted at any moment. He was still up for it, though.

He lets his fingers curl underneath her inner thighs, beneath her dress, pulling the skin apart where he can already feel the heat pouring from, and she groans. Teasingly, one fingertip runs along her underwear, testing the flimsy material and she grinds against him. "Eric..." Her head rolls back a little before she brushes a finger on his lips. "Not now…" she breathlessly says, her lips swollen and red.

"We're not finished here…" He bites at her again and quite simply wants to fuck her brains out, right here, right now.

He makes sure he leaves marks on her neck. At first running his tongue across the clammy, salty skin before pulling it into his mouth and sucking.

She presses into him and lets him stay there for a little while - till she realizes what he's doing. "Eric, stop! I've got to go to work…"

He laughs against her neck and eventually brings himself to look at her, licking his lips under her gaze. "You're so fucked…" He paints a coy smile on his face, absolutely delighted with himself.

Abbey thumps his back, leaning forward against his lips as she speaks, flicking her eyes between each of his. "I was fucked the moment I met you…"

And she was right…

[imagine-ikebukuro]

tagged in a few things

more under the cut!

92 truths meme

Tagged by: @glitzcake​ thank u!

LAST…

[1] Drink: orange juice

[2] Phone call: a friend of mine, annika

[3]Text message: my brother

[4] Song you listened to: this remix, i’m obsessed with it lately!

[5] Time you cried: aw shit, a few days ago? last weekend? idk man

HAVE YOU EVER…

[6] Dated someone twice: no

[7] Been cheated on: nope

[8] Kissed someone and regretted it: yup

[9] Lost someone special: kind of? but… more in a sense of drifting apart rather than someone passing away

[10] Been depressed: not diagnosed, but i’m pretty sure my mental health is not at its best at all

[11] Gotten drunk and thrown up: lmao yes and not only once either

LIST THREE FAVOURITE COLORS…

[12] grey!

[13] turquoise!

[14] burgundy!

IN THE LAST YEAR…

[15] IN THE LAST YEAR…

[16] fallen out of love: nah

[17] laughed until you cried: pretty sure

[18] found out someone was talking about you: people be talking shit 24/7 and all i gotta say about it: I DON’T CARE AS LONG AS IT’S ABOUT ME

[19] met someone who changed you: mhhhh, no not really

[20] found out who your true friends are: definitely!

[21] kissed someone on your facebook list: yeeeaaah? could’ve been in 2015, my sense of time is terrible Dx

GENERAL…

[22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: 90% of people, 5% others are friends i’ve known for several months or years over the internet and 5% are random people or some “celebrities” i found lmao

[23] do you have any pets: no, sadly not ;;

[24] do you want to change your name: i’m fine with my name, tbh!

[25] what did you do for your last birthday: i went to the museum and ate sushi with my family and a few weeks later had a party with my friends

[26] what time did you wake up: today? 8am

[27] what were you doing at midnight last night: watching youtube videos

[28] name something you cannot wait for: to finally be accepted to college and not being nervous about applying for university and everything, but have it all sorted out

[29] when was the last time you saw your mother: she’s sitting in the same room as me right now

[30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: if i could go back in time, i would do anything to have my father and i get along properly today

[31] what are you listening to right now: a zelda remix playlist

[32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: actually, yes, i had a huge crush on someone named tom, he was two classes above me during middle school

[33] something that is getting you nervous: the thought of me getting my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, ugh. also, general organization and planning shit, like applying for college, moving out of my hometown, living on my own very soon, being forced to meet new people, all that jazz.

[34] most visited website: i guess tumblr? even though, lately, it’s probably youtube

[35] elementary: 2004 - 2008

[36] high school: graduated last year

[37] college: i can apply for my first semester next week. if i’m accepted, i’ll start going there in fall this year.

[38] hair color: i’m a ginger, so red-brown

[39] long or short hair: short! i cut it into an undercut like almost 2 years ago

[40] do you have a crush on someone: no, i avoid that shit

[41] what do you like about yourself: my eye color?

[42] piercings: i literally got zero piercings, not even on my ears, but i wish i had an industrial piercing and i used to really want flesh tunnels, maybe i’ll get there eventually

[43] blood type: i actually don’t know :^)

[44] nickname: some people call me lilly, some call me li. the villagers in my animal crossing town call me ukeprince, wot

[45] relationship status: married to the neighbour’s cat which i saw from my window and went out for just to pet it about 500 times by now

[46] zodiac sign: virgo!

[47] pronouns: they/them, she/her, he/him

[48] fav tv show: at the moment i’m watching PLL (but i don’t like it at all so rip) my favorite’s gotta be buffy the vampire slayer!

[49] tattoos: none yet

[50] right or left hand: right handed

FIRST…

[51] surgery: i had surgery in my mouth last year and like mentioned above, i’m getting my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, if that counts

[52] piercing: none

[53] best friend: she’s not even active on tumblr anymore, rip, her name’s lydia though IF YOU READ THIS, THEN HELLO MY BRO

[54] sport: i’m planning to swim regularly again after recovering and healing up from surgery

[55] vacation: if it counts, my first ever “vacation” was the music festival Rock im Park 2013 with my father and a good friend of mine

[56] pair of trainers: no clue

RIGHT NOW…

[57] eating: nothing

[58] drinking: orange juice

[59] i’m about to: maybe get to playing some loz: botw

[60] listening to: still the loz remix playlist

[61] waiting for: anxious feelings to pass

[62] want: a huge cup of coffee

[63] get married: nopedy nope, i don’t fixate myself on wishing to get married. if it happens, it happens and i’ll be happy about it, but if not, then that’s cool on my terms, too!

[64] career: i’m working on becoming a teacher (i want to teach german, english and ethics in high schools)

WHICH IS BETTER…

[65] hugs or kisses: honestly, it depends, but generally, i’d say hugs

[66] lips or eyes: eyessss

[67] shorter or taller: i don’t care, both is nice

[68] older or younger: as long as it’s pretty close to my age, i don’t mind

[69] romantic or spontaneous: neither LMAO if i had to chose, romantic, bc i’m as spontaneous as a potato, i gotta plan ahead, bruh

[70] nice arms or nice stomach: stomach! and by that i mean any kind of stomach! ripped af or soft, i’m weak.

[71] sensitive or loud: sensitive

[72] hook up or relationship: relationship

[73] troublemaker or hesitant: a nice balance between the two would be cool. let’s be real though, troublemakers always catch my eye, even though i’m quickly annoyed by them just as well wtf is wrong with me

HAVE YOU EVER…

[74] kissed a stranger?: no

[75] drank hard liquor?: yes

[76] lost glasses/contact lenses?: no wtf i’d be walking around half blind

[77] turned someone down: yes

[78] sex on first date?: no

[79] broken someone’s heart?: apparently so

[80] had your own heart broken?: at the time i think i would’ve called it that, but honestly, it wasn’t that horrible, so nah?

[81] been arrested?: no

[82] cried when someone died?: yeah

[83] fallen for a friend?: do lowkey crushes count in which you gush over how amazing someone is? platonic crushes? it’s a thing.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN…

[84] yourself?: i used not to, but lately i’m more confident i think!

[85] miracles?: not really

[86] love at first sight?: no

[87] Santa Claus?: no

[88] kiss on the first date?: sure

[89] angels?: no

OTHER…

[90] current best friend’s name: Lydia

[91] eye color: greyish-green (if i cry or sometimes late at night they’re really GREEN!)

[92] favorite movie: nightmare before christmas!

10 questions ask game.

tagged by @peacefuldesires​ thx!

What things make you smile and all warm-fuzzy inside? CATS no seriously, i can have the worst day, but when i walk home and get to pet a cat on the way, i instantly better. i remember coming home after my last final exam all upset and a cat meowing at me and purring and wanting to cuddle with me and i couldn’t help but smile!

What things make you feel a bit sad (don’t push yourself to answer this one)? my current family situation, there’s a bit of drama and fights going on.

What things inspire you to grow? anything and everything, to be honest. there’s new things you experience and learn every single day. things you conquer and master just fine and mistakes you make and all of them shape you into knowing what to do next time a bit more.

The last song(s) that you couldn’t stop listening to? i can’t really think of anything right now, uhhhh, i’ve been listening to the trust me durarara!! ending lately again haha

5. Are you an introvert/extrovert/ambivert? What kind (are you a shy extrovert, super confident introvert, or perhaps a really confused ambivert :0)?: i’m an introvert through and through. i wouldn’t say i’m exceptionally shy nor super confident. i’m somewhere in between. it really depends, around my friends i’m outgoing and cheering and with certain strangers, especially if i know i have to talk with them for literally no longer than 3 minutes right now (i.e. a cashier or someone you walk past) then i’m polite and rather talkative. i just feel exhausted even after spending a lot of time with friends, though the time was enjoyable, but i need my alone time for sure.

What calms you down? the triangle breath! it’s my favorite method to use whenever i feel anxious, upset, angry, or just need to stop and pause for a few minutes. you picture a triangle in your mind (you can even trace it with your finger, or if you can draw it on a piece of paper). you take a breath in through your nose, tracing one side of the triangle. then you breathe out through your mouth, tracing the second and third side of it. other than that, listening to music, taking a nap, petting a cat, watching videos of cats or other cute stuff, sometimes playing a video game.

A character that you really relate to (perhaps you have similar personalities, or maybe you came from similar backgrounds)?: this is gonna sound trashy, but saeyoung choi from mystic messenger and there’s a story behind it too. my friends were playing it way before me and told me “there’s this character that looks just like you, you know nerd glasses, messy red hair, always wearing a baggy black hoodie. he even acts like you, making puns and using memes ALL THE TIME!” and it’s true lmao. also, kaneki ken to some extent? like i really resonate with his personality, the choices he makes, his thoughts speak to me, he’s pretty harsh on himself and goes through ways that are self destructive if he can help others with it.

One thing you love learning? language, it’s just fascinating to me.

Angst or fluff? ANGST, I AM THE ANGST QUEEN, COME ON

If you punch yourself, does that mean you’re strong or does that mean you’re weak? neither and a little bit of both at the same time. let’s go deep in on this one and take the “punch” as emotional self loathing. bashing yourself down definitely doesn’t mean you’re strong, it doesn’t make you tough at all, it only means you’re harsh on yourself. it doesn’t make you weak either. you’re making yourself believe you are weak, but the fact that you endure that and still have the power to do so, means you’re tougher than you’re think.

MY QUESTIONS:

Now that spring’s here, what’s your favorite thing about this season and what do you not like about it?

What’s your spirit animal? Literally. Which animal do you think resembles your inner self and why? (maybe your Patronus, if you know it?

What’s your go-to order at a café?

Do you consider yourself to be creative?

If you could go back in time and change something, would you? If so, what? If not, why?

Where do you see yourself in 20 years from now?

Home sweet home, what makes you feel comfortable in your own home? What’s the overall aesthetic of your room, any colors, textures, an atmosphere, do you maybe keep many stuffed animals or posters or plants?

What do you think is most important when it comes to friendship?

What’s something you improved in since last year?

Werewolves or Vampires, which are cooler?

I tag: @imagine-your-party-hosts​ || @obsessivefujoshi​ || @dotaccino​ || @mollyxmousey​ || anyone who wants to do this

[oddepia]

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Nestled among the many indistinguishable buildings of Microsoft’s Redmond campus, a multi-disciplinary team sharing an attention to detail that borders on fanatical is designing a keyboard… again and again and again. And one more time for good measure. Their dogged and ever-evolving dedication to “human factors” shows the amount of work that goes into making any piece of hardware truly ergonomic.

Microsoft may be known primarily for its software and services, but cast your mind back a bit and you’ll find a series of hardware advances that have redefine their respective categories:

The original Natural Keyboard was the first split-key, ergonomic keyboard, the fundamentals of which have only ever been slightly improved upon.

The Intellimouse Optical not only made the first truly popular leap away from ball-based mice, but did so in such a way that its shape and buttons still make its descendants among the best all-purpose mice on the market.

Remember me?

Although the Zune is remembered more for being a colossal boondoggle than a great music player, it was very much the latter, and I still use and marvel at the usability of my Zune HD. Yes, seriously. (Microsoft, open source the software!)

More recently, the Surface series of convertible notebooks have made bold and welcome changes to a form factor that had stagnated in the wake of Apple’s influential mid-2000s MacBook Pro designs.

Microsoft is still making hardware, of course, and in fact it has doubled down on its ability to do so with a revamped hardware lab filled with dedicated, extremely detail-oriented people who are given the tools they need to get as weird as they want — as long as it makes something better.

You don’t get something like this by aping the competition.

First, a disclosure: I may as well say at the outset that this piece was done essentially at the invitation (but not direction) of Microsoft, which offered the opportunity to visit their hardware labs in Building 87 and meet the team. I’d actually been there before a few times, but it had always been off-record and rather sanitized.

Knowing how interesting I’d found the place before, I decided I wanted to take part and share it at the risk of seeming promotional. They call this sort of thing “access journalism,” but the second part is kind of a stretch. I really just think this stuff is really cool, and companies seldom expose their design processes in the open like this. Microsoft obviously isn’t the only company to have hardware labs and facilities like this, but they’ve been in the game for a long time and have an interesting and almost too detailed process they’ve decided to be open about.

Although I spoke with perhaps a dozen Microsoft Devices people during the tour (which was still rigidly structured), only two were permitted to be on record: Edie Adams, Chief Ergonomist, and Yi-Min Huang, Principal Design and Experience Lead. But the other folks in the labs were very obliging in answering questions and happy to talk about their work. I was genuinely surprised and pleased to find people occupying niches so suited to their specialities and inclinations.

Generally speaking the work I got to see fell into three general spaces: the Human Factors Lab, focused on very exacting measurements of people themselves and how they interact with a piece of hardware; the anechoic chamber, where the sound of devices is obsessively analyzed and adjusted; and the Advanced Prototype Center, where devices and materials can go from idea to reality in minutes or hours.

The science of anthropometry

Inside the Human Factors lab, human thumbs litter the table. No, it isn’t a torture chamber — not for humans, anyway. Here the company puts its hardware to the test by measuring how human beings use it, recording not just simple metrics like words per minute on a keyboard, but high-speed stereo footage that analyzes how the skin of the hand stretches when it reaches for a mouse button down to a fraction of a millimeter.

The trend here, as elsewhere in the design process and labs, is that you can’t count anything out as a factor that increases or decreases comfort; the little things really do make a difference, and sometimes the microscopic ones.

“Feats of engineering heroics are great,” said Adams, “but they have to meet a human need. We try to cover the physical, cognitive, and emotional interactions with our products.”

(Perhaps you take this, as I did, as — in addition to a statement of purpose — a veiled reference to a certain other company whose keyboards have been in the news for other reasons. Of this later.)

The lab is a space perhaps comparable to a medium-sized restaurant, with enough room for a dozen or so people to work in the various sub-spaces set aside for different highly specific measurements. Various models of body parts have been set out on work surfaces, I suspect for my benefit.

Among them are that set of thumbs, in little cases looking like oversized lipsticks, each with a disturbing surprise inside. These are all cast from real people, ranging from the small thumb of a child to a monster that, should it have started a war with mine, I would surrender unconditionally.

Next door is a collection of ears, not only rendered in extreme detail but with different materials simulating a variety of rigidities. Some people have soft ears, you know. And next door to those is a variety of noses, eyes, and temples, each representing a different facial structure or interpupillary distance.

This menagerie of parts represents not just a continuum of sizes but a variety of backgrounds and ages. All of them come into play when creating and testing a new piece of hardware.

“We want to make sure that we have a diverse population we can draw on when we develop our products,” said Adams. When you distribute globally it is embarrassing to find that some group or another, with wider-set eyes or smaller hands, finds your product difficult to use. Inclusivity is a many-faceted gem, indeed it has as many facets as you are willing to cut. (The Xbox Adaptive Controller, for instance, is a new and welcome one.)

In one corner stands an enormous pod that looks like Darth Vader should emerge from it. This chamber, equipped with 36 DSLR cameras, produces an unforgivingly exact reproduction of one’s head. I didn’t do it myself, but many on the team had; in fact, one eyes-and-nose combo belonged to Adams. The fellow you see pictured there also works in the lab; that was the first such 3D portrait they took with the rig.

With this they can quickly and easily scan in dozens or hundreds of heads, collecting metrics on all manner of physiognomical features and creating an enviable database of both average and outlier heads. My head is big, if you want to know, and my hand was on the upper range too. But well within a couple standard deviations.

So much for static study — getting reads on the landscape of humanity, as it were. Anthropometry, they call it. But there are dynamic elements as well, some of which they collect in the lab, some elsewhere.

“When we’re evaluating keyboards, we have people come into the lab. We try to put them in the most neutral position possible,” explained Adams.

It should be explained that by neutral, she means specifically with regard to the neutral positions of the joints in the body, which have certain minima and maxima it is well to observe. How can you get a good read on how easy it is to type on a given keyboard if the chair and desk the tester is sitting at are uncomfortable?

Here as elsewhere the team strives to collect both objective data and subjective data; people will say they think a keyboard, or mouse, or headset is too this or too that, but not knowing the jargon they can’t get more specific. By listening to subjective evaluations and simultaneously looking at objective measurements, you can align the two and discover practical measures to take.

One such objective measure involved motion capture beads attached to the hand while an electromyographic bracelet tracks the activation of muscles in the arm. Imagine if you will a person whose typing appears normal and of uniform speed — but in reality they are putting more force on their middle fingers than the others because of the shape of the keys or rest. They might not be able to tell you they’re doing so, though it will lead to uneven hand fatigue, but this combo of tools could reveal the fact.

“We also look at a range of locations,” added Huang. “Typing on a couch is very different from typing on a desk.”

One case, such as a wireless Surface keyboard, might require more of what Huang called “lapability,” (sp?) while the other perhaps needs to accommodate a different posture and can abandon lapability altogether.

A final measurement technique that is quite new to my knowledge involves a pair of high-resolution, high-speed black and white cameras that can be focused narrowly on a region of the body. They’re on the right, below, with colors and arrows representing motion vectors.

A display showing various anthropometric measurements.

These produce a very detailed depth map by closely tracking the features of the skin; one little patch might move further than the other when a person puts on a headset, suggesting it’s stretching the skin on the temple more than it is on the forehead. The team said they can see movements as small as ten microns, or micrometers (therefore you see that my headline was only light hyperbole).

You might be thinking that this is overkill. And in a way it most certainly is. But it is also true that by looking closer they can make the small changes that cause a keyboard to be comfortable for five hours rather than four, or to reduce error rates or wrist pain by noticeable amounts — features you can’t really even put on the box, but which make a difference in the long run. The returns may diminish, but we’re not so far along the asymptote approaching perfection that there’s no point to making further improvements.

The quietest place in the world

Down the hall from the Human Factors lab is the quietest place in the world. That’s not a colloquial exaggeration — the main anechoic chamber in Building 87 at Microsoft is in the record books as the quietest place on Earth, with an official ambient noise rating of negative 20.3 decibels.

You enter the room through a series of heavy doors and the quietness, though a void, feels like a physical medium that you pass into. And so it is, in fact — a near-total lack of vibrations in the air that feels as solid as the nested concrete boxes inside which the chamber rests.

I’ve been in here a couple times before, and Hundraj Gopal, the jovial and highly expert proprietor of quietude here, skips the usual tales of Guinness coming to test it and so on. Instead we talk about the value of sound to the consumer, though they may not even realize they do value it.

Naturally if you’re going to make a keyboard, you’re going to want to control how it sounds. But this is a surprisingly complex process, especially if, like the team at Microsoft, you’re really going to town on the details.

The sounds of consumer products are very deliberately designed, they explained. The sound your car door makes when it shuts gives a sense of security — being sealed in when you’re entering, and being securely shut out when you’re leaving it. It’s the same for a laptop — you don’t want to hear a clank when you close it, or a scraping noise when you open it. These are the kinds of things that set apart “premium” devices (and cars, and controllers, and furniture, etc) and they do not come about by accident.

Keyboards are no exception. And part of designing the sound is understanding that there’s more to it than loudness or even tone. Some sounds just sound louder, though they may not register as high in decibels. And some sounds are just more annoying, though they might be quiet. The study and understanding of this is what’s known as psychoacoustics.

There are known patterns to pursue, certain combinations of sounds that are near-universally liked or disliked, but you can’t rely on that kind of thing when you’re, say, building a new keyboard from the ground up. And obviously when you create a new machine like the Surface and its family they need new keyboards, not something off the shelf. So this is a process that has to be done from scratch over and over.

As part of designing the keyboard — and keep in mind, this is in tandem with the human factors mentioned above and the rapid prototyping we’ll touch on below — the device has to come into the anechoic chamber and have a variety of tests performed.

A standard head model used to simulate how humans might hear certain sounds. The team gave it a bit of a makeover.

These tests can be painstakingly objective, like a robotic arm pressing each key one by one while a high-end microphone records the sound in perfect fidelity and analysts pore over the spectrogram. But they can also be highly subjective: They bring in trained listeners — “golden ears” — to give their expert opinions, but also have the “gen pop” everyday users try the keyboards while experiencing calibrated ambient noise recorded in coffee shops and offices. One click sound may be lost in the broad-spectrum hubbub in a crowded cafe but annoying when it’s across the desk from you.

This feedback goes both directions, to human factors and prototyping, and they iterate and bring it back for more. This progresses sometimes through multiple phases of hardware, such as the keyswitch assembly alone; the keys built into their metal enclosure; the keys in the final near-shipping product before they finalize the keytop material, and so on.

Indeed, it seems like the process really could go on forever if someone didn’t stop them from refining the design further.

“It’s amazing that we ever ship a product,” quipped Adams. They can probably thank the Advanced Prototype Center for that.

Rapid turnaround is fair play

If you’re going to be obsessive about the details of the devices you’re designing, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to have to send off a CAD file to some factory somewhere, wait a few days for it to come back, then inspect for quality, send a revised file, and so on. So Microsoft (and of course other hardware makers of any size) now use rapid prototyping to turn designs around in hours rather than days or weeks.

This wasn’t always possible even with the best equipment. 3D printing has come a long way over the last decade, and continues to advance, but not long ago there was a huge difference between a printed prototype and the hardware that a user would actually hold.

Multi-axis CNC mills have been around for longer, but they’re slower and more difficult to operate. And subtractive manufacturing (i.e. taking a block and whittling it down to a mouse) is inefficient and has certain limitations as far as the structures it can create.

Of course you could carve it yourself out of wood or soap, but that’s a bit old-fashioned.

So when Building 87 was redesigned from the ground up some years back, it was loaded with the latest and greatest of both additive and subtractive rapid manufacturing methods, and the state of the art has been continually rolling through ever since. Even as I passed through they were installing some new machines (desk-sized things that had slots for both extrusion materials and ordinary printer ink cartridges, a fact that for some reason I found hilarious).

The additive machines are in constant use as designers and engineers propose new device shapes and styles that sound great in theory but must be tested in person. Having a bunch of these things, each able to produce multiple items per print, lets you for instance test out a thumb scoop on a mouse with 16 slightly different widths. Maybe you take those over to Human Factors and see which can be eliminated for over-stressing a joint, then compare comfort on the surviving 6 and move on to a new iteration. That could all take place over a day or two.

Ever wonder what an Xbox controller feels like to a child? Just print a giant one in the lab.

Softer materials have become increasingly important as designers have found that they can be integrated into products from the start. For instance, a wrist wrest for a new keyboard might have foam padding built in.

But how much foam is too much, or too little? As with the 3D printers, flat materials like foam and cloth can be customized and systematically tested as well. Using a machine called a skiver, foam can be split into thicknesses only half a millimeter apart. It doesn’t sound like much — and it isn’t — but when you’re creating an object that will be handled for hours at a time by the sensitive hands of humans, the difference can be subtle but substantial.

For more heavy-duty prototyping of things that need to be made out of metal — hinges, laptop frames, and so on — there is bank after bank of 5-axis CNC machines, lathes, and more exotic tools, like a system that performs extremely precise cuts using a charged wire.

The engineers operating these things work collaboratively the designers and researchers, and it was important to the people I talked to that this wasn’t a “here, print this” situation. A true collaboration has input from both sides, and that is what seems to be happening here. Someone inspecting a 3D model for printability before popping it into the 5-axis might say to the designer, you know, these pieces could fit together more closely if we did so-and-so, and it would actually add strength to the assembly. (Can you tell I’m not an engineer?) Making stuff, and making stuff better, is a passion among the crew and that’s a fundamentally creative drive.

Making fresh hells for keyboards

If any keyboard has dominated the headlines for the last year or so, it’s been Apple’s ill-fated butterfly switch keyboard on the latest MacBook Pros. While being in my opinion quite unpleasant to type on, they appeared to fail at an astonishing rate judging by the proportion of users I saw personally reporting problems, and are quite expensive to replace. How, I wondered, did a company with Apple’s design resources create such a dog?

Here’s a piece of hardware you won’t break any time soon.

I mentioned the subject to the group towards the end of the tour but, predictably and understandably, it wasn’t really something they wanted to talk about. But a short time later I spoke with one of the people in charge of Microsoft’s reliability managers. They too demurred on the topic of Apple’s failures, opting instead to describe at length the measures Microsoft takes to ensure that their own keyboards don’t suffer a similar fate.

The philosophy is essentially to simulate everything about the expected 3-5 year life of the keyboard. I’ve seen the “torture chambers” where devices are beaten on by robots (I’ve seen these personally, years ago — they’re brutal), but there’s more to it than that. Keyboards are everyday objects, and they face everyday threats; so that’s what the team tests, with things falling into three general categories:

Environmental: This includes cycling the temperature from very low to very high, exposing the keyboard to dust and UV. This differs for each product, since some will obviously be used outside more than others. Does it break? Does it discolor? Where does the dust go?

Mechanical: Every keyboard undergoes key tests to make sure that keys can withstand however many million presses without failing. But that’s not the only thing that keyboards undergo. They get dropped and things get dropped on them, of course, or left upside-down, or have their keys pressed and held at weird angles. All these things are tested, and when a keyboard fails because of a test they don’t have, they add it.

Chemical. I found this very interesting. The team now has more than 30 chemicals that it exposes its hardware to, including: lotion, Coke, coffee, chips, mustard, ketchup, and Clorox. The team is constantly adding to the list as new chemicals enter frequent usage or new markets open up. Hospitals, for instance, need to test a variety of harsh disinfectants that an ordinary home wouldn’t have. (Note: Burt’s Bees is apparently bad news for keyboards.)

Testing is ongoing, with new batches being evaluated continuously as time allows.

To be honest it’s hard to imagine that Apple’s disappointing keyboard actually underwent this kind of testing, or if it did, that it was modified to survive it. The number and severity of problems I’ve heard of with them suggest the “feats of engineering heroics” of which Adams spoke, but directed singlemindedly in the direction of compactness. Perhaps more torture chambers are required at Apple HQ.

7 factors and the unfactorable

All the above are more tools for executing a design and not or creating one to begin with. That’s a whole other kettle of fish, and one not so easily described.

Adams told me: “When computers were on every desk the same way, it was okay to only have one or two kinds of keyboard. But now that there are so many kinds of computing, it’s okay to have a choice. What kind of work do you do? Where do you do it? I mean, what do we all type on now? Phones. So it’s entirely context dependent.”

Is this the right curve? Or should it be six millimeters higher? Let’s try both.

Yet even in the great variety of all possible keyboards there are metrics that must be considered if that keyboard is to succeed in its role. The team boiled it down to seven critical points:

Key travel: How far a key goes until it bottoms out. Neither shallow nor deep is necessarily good, but serve different purposes.

Key spacing: Distance between the center of one key and the next. How far can you differ from “full-size” before it becomes uncomfortable?

Key pitch: On many keyboards the keys do not all “face” the same direction, but are subtly pointed towards the home row, because that’s the direction your fingers hit them from. How much is too much? How little is too little?

Key dish: The shape of the keytop limits your fingers’ motion, captures them when they travel or return, and provides a comfortable home — if it’s done right.

Key texture: Too slick and fingers will slide off. Too rough and it’ll be uncomfortable. Can it be fabric? Textured plastic? Metal?

Key Sound: As described above the sound indicates a number of things and has to be carefully engineered.

Force to fire: How much actual force does it take to drive a given key to its actuation point? Keep in mind this can and perhaps should differ from key to key.

In addition to these core concepts there are many secondary ones that pop up for consideration: Wobble, or the amount a key moves laterally (yes, this is deliberate), snap ratio, involving the feedback from actuation. Drop angle, off-axis actuation, key gap for chiclet boards… and of course the inevitable switch debate.

Keyboard switches, the actual mechanism under the key, have become a major sub-industry as many companies started making their own at the expiration of a few important patents. Hence there’s been a proliferation of new key switches with a variety of aspects, especially on the mechanical side. Microsoft does make mechanical keyboards, and scissor-switch keyboards, and membrane as well, and perhaps even some more exotic ones (though the original touch-sensitive Surface cover keyboard was a bit of a flop).

“When we look at switches, whether it’s for a mouse, QWERTY, or other keys, we think about what they’re for,” said Adams. “We’re not going to say we’re scissor switch all the time or something — we have all kinds. It’s about durability, reliability, cost, supply, and so on. And the sound and tactile experience is so important.”

As for the shape itself, there is generally the divided Natural style, the flat full style, and the flat chiclet style. But with design trends, new materials, new devices, and changes to people and desk styles (you better believe a standing desk needs a different keyboard than a sitting one), it’s a new challenge every time.

They collected a menagerie of keyboards and prototypes in various stages of experimentation. Some were obviously never meant for real use — one had the keys pitched so far that it was like a little cave for the home row. Another was an experiment in how much a design could be shrunk until it was no longer usable. A handful showed different curves a la Natural — which is the right one? Although you can theorize, the only way to be sure is to lay hands on it. So tell rapid prototyping to make variants 1-10, then send them over to Human Factors and text the stress and posture resulting from each one.

“Sure, we know the gable slope should be between 10-15 degrees and blah blah blah,” said Adams, who is actually on the patent for the original Natural Keyboard, and so is about as familiar as you can get with the design. “But what else? What is it we’re trying to do, and how are we achieving that through engineering? It’s super fun bringing all we know about the human body and bringing that into the industrial design.”

Although the comparison is rather grandiose, I was reminded of an orchestra — but not in full swing. Rather, in the minutes before a symphony begins, and all the players are tuning their instruments. It’s a cacophony in a way, but they are all tuning towards a certain key, and the din gradually makes its way to a pleasant sort of hum. So it is that a group of specialists all tending their sciences and creeping towards greater precision seem to cohere a product out of the ether that is human-centric in all its parts.

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How Microsoft turns an obsession with detail into micron-optimized keyboards – TechCrunch Nestled among the many indistinguishable buildings of Microsoft’s Redmond campus, a multi-disciplinary team sharing an attention to detail that borders on fanatical is designing a keyboard… again and again and again.

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Nestled among the many indistinguishable buildings of Microsoft’s Redmond campus, a multi-disciplinary team sharing an attention to detail that borders on fanatical is designing a keyboard… again and again and again. And one more time for good measure. Their dogged and ever-evolving dedication to “human factors” shows the amount of work that goes into making any piece of hardware truly ergonomic.

Microsoft may be known primarily for its software and services, but cast your mind back a bit and you’ll find a series of hardware advances that have redefine their respective categories:

The original Natural Keyboard was the first split-key, ergonomic keyboard, the fundamentals of which have only ever been slightly improved upon.

The Intellimouse Optical not only made the first truly popular leap away from ball-based mice, but did so in such a way that its shape and buttons still make its descendants among the best all-purpose mice on the market.

Remember me?

Although the Zune is remembered more for being a colossal boondoggle than a great music player, it was very much the latter, and I still use and marvel at the usability of my Zune HD. Yes, seriously. (Microsoft, open source the software!)

More recently, the Surface series of convertible notebooks have made bold and welcome changes to a form factor that had stagnated in the wake of Apple’s influential mid-2000s MacBook Pro designs.

Microsoft is still making hardware, of course, and in fact it has doubled down on its ability to do so with a revamped hardware lab filled with dedicated, extremely detail-oriented people who are given the tools they need to get as weird as they want — as long as it makes something better.

You don’t get something like this by aping the competition.

First, a disclosure: I may as well say at the outset that this piece was done essentially at the invitation (but not direction) of Microsoft, which offered the opportunity to visit their hardware labs in Building 87 and meet the team. I’d actually been there before a few times, but it had always been off-record and rather sanitized.

Knowing how interesting I’d found the place before, I decided I wanted to take part and share it at the risk of seeming promotional. They call this sort of thing “access journalism,” but the second part is kind of a stretch. I really just think this stuff is really cool, and companies seldom expose their design processes in the open like this. Microsoft obviously isn’t the only company to have hardware labs and facilities like this, but they’ve been in the game for a long time and have an interesting and almost too detailed process they’ve decided to be open about.

Although I spoke with perhaps a dozen Microsoft Devices people during the tour (which was still rigidly structured), only two were permitted to be on record: Edie Adams, Chief Ergonomist, and Yi-Min Huang, Principal Design and Experience Lead. But the other folks in the labs were very obliging in answering questions and happy to talk about their work. I was genuinely surprised and pleased to find people occupying niches so suited to their specialities and inclinations.

Generally speaking the work I got to see fell into three general spaces: the Human Factors Lab, focused on very exacting measurements of people themselves and how they interact with a piece of hardware; the anechoic chamber, where the sound of devices is obsessively analyzed and adjusted; and the Advanced Prototype Center, where devices and materials can go from idea to reality in minutes or hours.

The science of anthropometry

Inside the Human Factors lab, human thumbs litter the table. No, it isn’t a torture chamber — not for humans, anyway. Here the company puts its hardware to the test by measuring how human beings use it, recording not just simple metrics like words per minute on a keyboard, but high-speed stereo footage that analyzes how the skin of the hand stretches when it reaches for a mouse button down to a fraction of a millimeter.

The trend here, as elsewhere in the design process and labs, is that you can’t count anything out as a factor that increases or decreases comfort; the little things really do make a difference, and sometimes the microscopic ones.

“Feats of engineering heroics are great,” said Adams, “but they have to meet a human need. We try to cover the physical, cognitive, and emotional interactions with our products.”

(Perhaps you take this, as I did, as — in addition to a statement of purpose — a veiled reference to a certain other company whose keyboards have been in the news for other reasons. Of this later.)

The lab is a space perhaps comparable to a medium-sized restaurant, with enough room for a dozen or so people to work in the various sub-spaces set aside for different highly specific measurements. Various models of body parts have been set out on work surfaces, I suspect for my benefit.

Among them are that set of thumbs, in little cases looking like oversized lipsticks, each with a disturbing surprise inside. These are all cast from real people, ranging from the small thumb of a child to a monster that, should it have started a war with mine, I would surrender unconditionally.

Next door is a collection of ears, not only rendered in extreme detail but with different materials simulating a variety of rigidities. Some people have soft ears, you know. And next door to those is a variety of noses, eyes, and temples, each representing a different facial structure or interpupillary distance.

This menagerie of parts represents not just a continuum of sizes but a variety of backgrounds and ages. All of them come into play when creating and testing a new piece of hardware.

“We want to make sure that we have a diverse population we can draw on when we develop our products,” said Adams. When you distribute globally it is embarrassing to find that some group or another, with wider-set eyes or smaller hands, finds your product difficult to use. Inclusivity is a many-faceted gem, indeed it has as many facets as you are willing to cut. (The Xbox Adaptive Controller, for instance, is a new and welcome one.)

In one corner stands an enormous pod that looks like Darth Vader should emerge from it. This chamber, equipped with 36 DSLR cameras, produces an unforgivingly exact reproduction of one’s head. I didn’t do it myself, but many on the team had; in fact, one eyes-and-nose combo belonged to Adams. The fellow you see pictured there also works in the lab; that was the first such 3D portrait they took with the rig.

With this they can quickly and easily scan in dozens or hundreds of heads, collecting metrics on all manner of physiognomical features and creating an enviable database of both average and outlier heads. My head is big, if you want to know, and my hand was on the upper range too. But well within a couple standard deviations.

So much for static study — getting reads on the landscape of humanity, as it were. Anthropometry, they call it. But there are dynamic elements as well, some of which they collect in the lab, some elsewhere.

“When we’re evaluating keyboards, we have people come into the lab. We try to put them in the most neutral position possible,” explained Adams.

It should be explained that by neutral, she means specifically with regard to the neutral positions of the joints in the body, which have certain minima and maxima it is well to observe. How can you get a good read on how easy it is to type on a given keyboard if the chair and desk the tester is sitting at are uncomfortable?

Here as elsewhere the team strives to collect both objective data and subjective data; people will say they think a keyboard, or mouse, or headset is too this or too that, but not knowing the jargon they can’t get more specific. By listening to subjective evaluations and simultaneously looking at objective measurements, you can align the two and discover practical measures to take.

One such objective measure involved motion capture beads attached to the hand while an electromyographic bracelet tracks the activation of muscles in the arm. Imagine if you will a person whose typing appears normal and of uniform speed — but in reality they are putting more force on their middle fingers than the others because of the shape of the keys or rest. They might not be able to tell you they’re doing so, though it will lead to uneven hand fatigue, but this combo of tools could reveal the fact.

“We also look at a range of locations,” added Huang. “Typing on a couch is very different from typing on a desk.”

One case, such as a wireless Surface keyboard, might require more of what Huang called “lapability,” (sp?) while the other perhaps needs to accommodate a different posture and can abandon lapability altogether.

A final measurement technique that is quite new to my knowledge involves a pair of high-resolution, high-speed black and white cameras that can be focused narrowly on a region of the body. They’re on the right, below, with colors and arrows representing motion vectors.

A display showing various anthropometric measurements.

These produce a very detailed depth map by closely tracking the features of the skin; one little patch might move further than the other when a person puts on a headset, suggesting it’s stretching the skin on the temple more than it is on the forehead. The team said they can see movements as small as ten microns, or micrometers (therefore you see that my headline was only light hyperbole).

You might be thinking that this is overkill. And in a way it most certainly is. But it is also true that by looking closer they can make the small changes that cause a keyboard to be comfortable for five hours rather than four, or to reduce error rates or wrist pain by noticeable amounts — features you can’t really even put on the box, but which make a difference in the long run. The returns may diminish, but we’re not so far along the asymptote approaching perfection that there’s no point to making further improvements.

The quietest place in the world

Down the hall from the Human Factors lab is the quietest place in the world. That’s not a colloquial exaggeration — the main anechoic chamber in Building 87 at Microsoft is in the record books as the quietest place on Earth, with an official ambient noise rating of negative 20.3 decibels.

You enter the room through a series of heavy doors and the quietness, though a void, feels like a physical medium that you pass into. And so it is, in fact — a near-total lack of vibrations in the air that feels as solid as the nested concrete boxes inside which the chamber rests.

I’ve been in here a couple times before, and Hundraj Gopal, the jovial and highly expert proprietor of quietude here, skips the usual tales of Guinness coming to test it and so on. Instead we talk about the value of sound to the consumer, though they may not even realize they do value it.

Naturally if you’re going to make a keyboard, you’re going to want to control how it sounds. But this is a surprisingly complex process, especially if, like the team at Microsoft, you’re really going to town on the details.

The sounds of consumer products are very deliberately designed, they explained. The sound your car door makes when it shuts gives a sense of security — being sealed in when you’re entering, and being securely shut out when you’re leaving it. It’s the same for a laptop — you don’t want to hear a clank when you close it, or a scraping noise when you open it. These are the kinds of things that set apart “premium” devices (and cars, and controllers, and furniture, etc) and they do not come about by accident.

Keyboards are no exception. And part of designing the sound is understanding that there’s more to it than loudness or even tone. Some sounds just sound louder, though they may not register as high in decibels. And some sounds are just more annoying, though they might be quiet. The study and understanding of this is what’s known as psychoacoustics.

There are known patterns to pursue, certain combinations of sounds that are near-universally liked or disliked, but you can’t rely on that kind of thing when you’re, say, building a new keyboard from the ground up. And obviously when you create a new machine like the Surface and its family they need new keyboards, not something off the shelf. So this is a process that has to be done from scratch over and over.

As part of designing the keyboard — and keep in mind, this is in tandem with the human factors mentioned above and the rapid prototyping we’ll touch on below — the device has to come into the anechoic chamber and have a variety of tests performed.

A standard head model used to simulate how humans might hear certain sounds. The team gave it a bit of a makeover.

These tests can be painstakingly objective, like a robotic arm pressing each key one by one while a high-end microphone records the sound in perfect fidelity and analysts pore over the spectrogram. But they can also be highly subjective: They bring in trained listeners — “golden ears” — to give their expert opinions, but also have the “gen pop” everyday users try the keyboards while experiencing calibrated ambient noise recorded in coffee shops and offices. One click sound may be lost in the broad-spectrum hubbub in a crowded cafe but annoying when it’s across the desk from you.

This feedback goes both directions, to human factors and prototyping, and they iterate and bring it back for more. This progresses sometimes through multiple phases of hardware, such as the keyswitch assembly alone; the keys built into their metal enclosure; the keys in the final near-shipping product before they finalize the keytop material, and so on.

Indeed, it seems like the process really could go on forever if someone didn’t stop them from refining the design further.

“It’s amazing that we ever ship a product,” quipped Adams. They can probably thank the Advanced Prototype Center for that.

Rapid turnaround is fair play

If you’re going to be obsessive about the details of the devices you’re designing, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to have to send off a CAD file to some factory somewhere, wait a few days for it to come back, then inspect for quality, send a revised file, and so on. So Microsoft (and of course other hardware makers of any size) now use rapid prototyping to turn designs around in hours rather than days or weeks.

This wasn’t always possible even with the best equipment. 3D printing has come a long way over the last decade, and continues to advance, but not long ago there was a huge difference between a printed prototype and the hardware that a user would actually hold.

Multi-axis CNC mills have been around for longer, but they’re slower and more difficult to operate. And subtractive manufacturing (i.e. taking a block and whittling it down to a mouse) is inefficient and has certain limitations as far as the structures it can create.

Of course you could carve it yourself out of wood or soap, but that’s a bit old-fashioned.

So when Building 87 was redesigned from the ground up some years back, it was loaded with the latest and greatest of both additive and subtractive rapid manufacturing methods, and the state of the art has been continually rolling through ever since. Even as I passed through they were installing some new machines (desk-sized things that had slots for both extrusion materials and ordinary printer ink cartridges, a fact that for some reason I found hilarious).

The additive machines are in constant use as designers and engineers propose new device shapes and styles that sound great in theory but must be tested in person. Having a bunch of these things, each able to produce multiple items per print, lets you for instance test out a thumb scoop on a mouse with 16 slightly different widths. Maybe you take those over to Human Factors and see which can be eliminated for over-stressing a joint, then compare comfort on the surviving 6 and move on to a new iteration. That could all take place over a day or two.

Ever wonder what an Xbox controller feels like to a child? Just print a giant one in the lab.

Softer materials have become increasingly important as designers have found that they can be integrated into products from the start. For instance, a wrist wrest for a new keyboard might have foam padding built in.

But how much foam is too much, or too little? As with the 3D printers, flat materials like foam and cloth can be customized and systematically tested as well. Using a machine called a skiver, foam can be split into thicknesses only half a millimeter apart. It doesn’t sound like much — and it isn’t — but when you’re creating an object that will be handled for hours at a time by the sensitive hands of humans, the difference can be subtle but substantial.

For more heavy-duty prototyping of things that need to be made out of metal — hinges, laptop frames, and so on — there is bank after bank of 5-axis CNC machines, lathes, and more exotic tools, like a system that performs extremely precise cuts using a charged wire.

The engineers operating these things work collaboratively the designers and researchers, and it was important to the people I talked to that this wasn’t a “here, print this” situation. A true collaboration has input from both sides, and that is what seems to be happening here. Someone inspecting a 3D model for printability before popping it into the 5-axis might say to the designer, you know, these pieces could fit together more closely if we did so-and-so, and it would actually add strength to the assembly. (Can you tell I’m not an engineer?) Making stuff, and making stuff better, is a passion among the crew and that’s a fundamentally creative drive.

Making fresh hells for keyboards

If any keyboard has dominated the headlines for the last year or so, it’s been Apple’s ill-fated butterfly switch keyboard on the latest MacBook Pros. While being in my opinion quite unpleasant to type on, they appeared to fail at an astonishing rate judging by the proportion of users I saw personally reporting problems, and are quite expensive to replace. How, I wondered, did a company with Apple’s design resources create such a dog?

Here’s a piece of hardware you won’t break any time soon.

I mentioned the subject to the group towards the end of the tour but, predictably and understandably, it wasn’t really something they wanted to talk about. But a short time later I spoke with one of the people in charge of Microsoft’s reliability managers. They too demurred on the topic of Apple’s failures, opting instead to describe at length the measures Microsoft takes to ensure that their own keyboards don’t suffer a similar fate.

The philosophy is essentially to simulate everything about the expected 3-5 year life of the keyboard. I’ve seen the “torture chambers” where devices are beaten on by robots (I’ve seen these personally, years ago — they’re brutal), but there’s more to it than that. Keyboards are everyday objects, and they face everyday threats; so that’s what the team tests, with things falling into three general categories:

Environmental: This includes cycling the temperature from very low to very high, exposing the keyboard to dust and UV. This differs for each product, since some will obviously be used outside more than others. Does it break? Does it discolor? Where does the dust go?

Mechanical: Every keyboard undergoes key tests to make sure that keys can withstand however many million presses without failing. But that’s not the only thing that keyboards undergo. They get dropped and things get dropped on them, of course, or left upside-down, or have their keys pressed and held at weird angles. All these things are tested, and when a keyboard fails because of a test they don’t have, they add it.

Chemical. I found this very interesting. The team now has more than 30 chemicals that it exposes its hardware to, including: lotion, Coke, coffee, chips, mustard, ketchup, and Clorox. The team is constantly adding to the list as new chemicals enter frequent usage or new markets open up. Hospitals, for instance, need to test a variety of harsh disinfectants that an ordinary home wouldn’t have. (Note: Burt’s Bees is apparently bad news for keyboards.)

Testing is ongoing, with new batches being evaluated continuously as time allows.

To be honest it’s hard to imagine that Apple’s disappointing keyboard actually underwent this kind of testing, or if it did, that it was modified to survive it. The number and severity of problems I’ve heard of with them suggest the “feats of engineering heroics” of which Adams spoke, but directed singlemindedly in the direction of compactness. Perhaps more torture chambers are required at Apple HQ.

7 factors and the unfactorable

All the above are more tools for executing a design and not or creating one to begin with. That’s a whole other kettle of fish, and one not so easily described.

Adams told me: “When computers were on every desk the same way, it was okay to only have one or two kinds of keyboard. But now that there are so many kinds of computing, it’s okay to have a choice. What kind of work do you do? Where do you do it? I mean, what do we all type on now? Phones. So it’s entirely context dependent.”

Is this the right curve? Or should it be six millimeters higher? Let’s try both.

Yet even in the great variety of all possible keyboards there are metrics that must be considered if that keyboard is to succeed in its role. The team boiled it down to seven critical points:

Key travel: How far a key goes until it bottoms out. Neither shallow nor deep is necessarily good, but serve different purposes.

Key spacing: Distance between the center of one key and the next. How far can you differ from “full-size” before it becomes uncomfortable?

Key pitch: On many keyboards the keys do not all “face” the same direction, but are subtly pointed towards the home row, because that’s the direction your fingers hit them from. How much is too much? How little is too little?

Key dish: The shape of the keytop limits your fingers’ motion, captures them when they travel or return, and provides a comfortable home — if it’s done right.

Key texture: Too slick and fingers will slide off. Too rough and it’ll be uncomfortable. Can it be fabric? Textured plastic? Metal?

Key Sound: As described above the sound indicates a number of things and has to be carefully engineered.

Force to fire: How much actual force does it take to drive a given key to its actuation point? Keep in mind this can and perhaps should differ from key to key.

In addition to these core concepts there are many secondary ones that pop up for consideration: Wobble, or the amount a key moves laterally (yes, this is deliberate), snap ratio, involving the feedback from actuation. Drop angle, off-axis actuation, key gap for chiclet boards… and of course the inevitable switch debate.

Keyboard switches, the actual mechanism under the key, have become a major sub-industry as many companies started making their own at the expiration of a few important patents. Hence there’s been a proliferation of new key switches with a variety of aspects, especially on the mechanical side. Microsoft does make mechanical keyboards, and scissor-switch keyboards, and membrane as well, and perhaps even some more exotic ones (though the original touch-sensitive Surface cover keyboard was a bit of a flop).

“When we look at switches, whether it’s for a mouse, QWERTY, or other keys, we think about what they’re for,” said Adams. “We’re not going to say we’re scissor switch all the time or something — we have all kinds. It’s about durability, reliability, cost, supply, and so on. And the sound and tactile experience is so important.”

As for the shape itself, there is generally the divided Natural style, the flat full style, and the flat chiclet style. But with design trends, new materials, new devices, and changes to people and desk styles (you better believe a standing desk needs a different keyboard than a sitting one), it’s a new challenge every time.

They collected a menagerie of keyboards and prototypes in various stages of experimentation. Some were obviously never meant for real use — one had the keys pitched so far that it was like a little cave for the home row. Another was an experiment in how much a design could be shrunk until it was no longer usable. A handful showed different curves a la Natural — which is the right one? Although you can theorize, the only way to be sure is to lay hands on it. So tell rapid prototyping to make variants 1-10, then send them over to Human Factors and text the stress and posture resulting from each one.

“Sure, we know the gable slope should be between 10-15 degrees and blah blah blah,” said Adams, who is actually on the patent for the original Natural Keyboard, and so is about as familiar as you can get with the design. “But what else? What is it we’re trying to do, and how are we achieving that through engineering? It’s super fun bringing all we know about the human body and bringing that into the industrial design.”

Although the comparison is rather grandiose, I was reminded of an orchestra — but not in full swing. Rather, in the minutes before a symphony begins, and all the players are tuning their instruments. It’s a cacophony in a way, but they are all tuning towards a certain key, and the din gradually makes its way to a pleasant sort of hum. So it is that a group of specialists all tending their sciences and creeping towards greater precision seem to cohere a product out of the ether that is human-centric in all its parts.

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TechCrunch: How Microsoft turns an obsession with detail into micron-optimized keyboards Nestled among the many indistinguishable buildings of Microsoft’s Redmond campus, a multi-disciplinary team sharing an attention to detail that borders on fanatical is designing a keyboard… again and again and again.